In between sessions two and three we have lunch, some pizza that Connie had delivered to the hotel for us. When I’m done I look at my watch and see that there are still another twenty minutes before the third and final signing gets going, so I decide to step out of the room for a second to get some air. We’ve been in here for hours now and I could definitely use a temporary change of scenery. It’s risky to take a break in the lobby because there are a bunch of readers out there waiting to get in, but everyone here has been super respectful and nice with giving us space.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell the guys.
“No problem, see you in a few.” Grayson’s cleaning up his table and doing a little mini setup for the next wave, and Colton just waves at me since his mouth is still full of pizza, red sauce painted all over the outside of his face.
“Get a napkin, man. Pizza face is a bad look for selfies all over these women’s social media.”
I take what’s left of my venti coffee—which isn’t much at this point—and head into the lobby. It’s cooler out here, probably because it isn’t an enclosed little space and the front doors keep opening and closing. The drop in temperate feels nice, and I didn’t even realize how much I needed to step out until I actually did. I take a deep breath, still stuffed from that pizza, and exhale as loudly as I can.
“That’s a really deep breath you just took.” I stepped out from the far door, away from where the readers are lining up, but I hear the voice to my right. I turn to see Everleigh, standing next to me.
“Too much pizza. I ate like a damn pig.”
“You’re allowed. This isn’t real life, take fun as it comes.”
“I’m not sure how to interpret that,” I tell her, really not sure if she’s speaking in code, or just telling me not to feel guilty for stuffing my face.
“Stop being a writer for a minute, not everything is a metaphor or cloaked subtext. I literally meant enjoy your pizza.” She giggles and so do I. She’s right, that’s a writer’s problem if ever there was one. We tend to overanalyze situations and see real life as if it’s been plotted out and edited to include all sorts of meaning that isn’t there. It comes with the job.
“Sorry, force of habit. And I enjoyed it at the time, but now that I stopped eating I’m paying for it.” I take one last chug of coffee, hoping that the little bit of caffeine left at the bottom of my cup might get me out of the carb-induced brain fog I’m feeling.
“I’ve been there,” she says. “But I think I have something that might cheer you up, or at least make you forget about the carb loading.”
“That would have to be something mighty powerful,” I joke, but then I see her raise her eyebrows and grin deviously, as if to communicate that’s exactly what’s coming.
“You tell me.” She extends her hand and gives me an envelope. It’s tan, and only says my name on it. Inside there’s a little note that reads, “Later was fine last night. But it’s not last night anymore. I want you, and I know you want me. The ball’s in your court. I’ll be up there after the dinner tonight.”
Inside the envelope, behind the note, is her room key card. I look up from what’s in my hand to see that same devious grin. She doesn’t say anything else and she doesn’t need to. Now I know that we’re on the same page, and I get to steal another glance of her walking away, my cock turns right to stone.
14
Knight
The rest of the day is about as perfect as it gets.
The third signing ends up having the fewest readers but they’re all great people. We end up signing more books than we ever thought we would at a single session, and everyone left that room happy and with arms full of our stuff. Grayson, Colton and I all decide to take naps like old men in between the signings and the formal dinner tonight. It’s fun doing all that interacting, but it’s also exhausting to be social without any break for hours on end, so we’re sleeping it off. The dinner tonight is the last hurrah for this event, organized by Connie in the formal dining hall of the hotel.
I pass out for a few hours, and when I wake up it’s only an hour and a half before dinner. I have to shower and put my nice clothes on. I wipe the sleep from my eyes and stretch my arms a little. Before dropping my clothes in a heap on the floor and taking a shower I text Everleigh.
Me:What are you wearing later?
I expect to leave my phone to charge and come back after my shower to see how she responds, but I can see that she’s already writing back. Her message pops up on my screen instantly.
Everleigh: As little as possible.But if you mean the dinner I’m wearing a black cocktail dress.
Me: How will I know when it’s time to use that key?
Everleigh: When I make my exit and leave the girls behind, you’ll know. I know you’ll have your eyes on me, so when I disappear towards the end, give me five minutes and come find me. Don’t text, just come.
I get excited even reading those words. It sounds mysterious, inviting, and I want to run over right now, naked as I am, and fuck her silly. I don’t want a plate of filet mignon with asparagus and mashed potatoes, I don’t want some shitty cheesecake for dessert. I appreciate the idea of dinner, but right now it’s just a nuisance, and distractor from what I really want my main course to be. But it’s part of the gig, so I know I have to smile and put my best face forward, even though all I’ll be thinking about is Everleigh. I think I’m going to leave the hot water off for this shower. I need my dick to not look like a spear my stomach is wielding before I put on my nice dress pants.
I shower and get dressed, and for some reason I’ve become that annoying, nerdy writer who has to take his laptop everywhere just in case inspiration hits. When did I become that guy? Oh, yeah, last night. Fuck it, I’ll go with it, even though I’ll have no time to write. I put the laptop in my backpack, sling it over my shoulder, and head down to eat some overcooked filet mignon.
<> <> <>
The formal dinner comes and goes. The food is better than decent—somewhere between crappy Sweet 16 and okay wedding food, no dancing required, thank God. I sit there and do my thing, talking it up with my boys and interacting with fans whenever possible, even though they’re sitting at their own little tables all over this gigantic room. Even if we walked around for an hour straight, there’s no way that we could meet and talk to everyone, so after we finish the food we all just get up and let people come over to us.
Even though I haven’t spoken a word to Everleigh since our encounter in the hallway where she slipped me her room key, I made it a point to find her table the second I walked in here. She’s sitting with her two friends, of course, and in between talking to all the people who approach me I make it a point to look over and see if she’s still there.
About forty-five minutes after dinner ends I look over to her table for like the tenth time, only now she’s gone. My heart starts racing a mile a minute, and before I know it I’m scanning the room frantically like a parent looking for their lost kid in a crowd. A few women are standing by me, trying to ask me about my next book and where my inspiration for writing comes from. They’re really nice, and the last thing I want to do is be rude, but I’m not even looking at them right now. I just scan as quickly as I can to make sure I’m not crazy. But once I see that she’s gone I know it’s time to act. I finish up the last bit of conversation so as not to seem rude, and then I excuse myself from the group.
Gray and Colt each have their own following encircling them, but they make eye contact with me as I start to walk out. I can tell when I walk away that they’re both a little annoyed with me. Neither says anything, but the looks on their faces scream of ‘where the fuck are you going?’
I feel bad, but there’s really no choice.
If it’s between meeting Everleigh in her hotel room or throwing a few beers back in a hotel bar, then there’s absolutely no choice to be made.
I’m coming.
I put my bag at my feet as the elevator takes me to the fifth floor, and the ding that co
mes before the opening of the doors sets my heart going a step faster than normal. The truth is that I’m already excited, the rising of the elevator from the first floor to the fifth took me on a journey. When the doors closed I was concerned about what Gray and Colt were thinking, concerned for the readers I felt that I was neglecting, and feelings of guilt that I wasn’t doing my part for the group.
But that was four floors ago. Now I’m here. Now the doors are opening. They’re not just the doors to the fifth floor of the hotel, they’re the last barrier to her. They’re the doors to the future, and once they open I walk through them without hesitation, taking giant steps down the hallway to her room, 514. I read the numbers on the door as they increase, each one a little bit closer to her. My heart is pounding in anticipation of what’s going to happen. I stop in front of her door and look back to make sure no one sees me, but the hallways are clear. Everyone is down at the bar, taking shots, taking pictures, talking about whatever the hell they’re all talking about. And I’m here, where I’m meant to be. Where she invited me. Where she is.
I use the key that she gave me. I insert it, downwards into the hole, and wait. It’s only a second of waiting, but in that space the small amount of insecurity that I have comes to the forefront of my mind. What if this whole thing was a mistake? Those thoughts have no time to linger, because I push the door open and there she is.
She’s wearing black lingerie, the kind that I’d describe in a scene in my book, only now I don’t have the words to describe how she looks accurately, except to say that she’s everything I’ve ever wanted, standing right before me in one small package. Her hair is down, falling along either shoulder, draping down and falling just on top of each breast. She doesn’t say a word, and it builds the tension even more between us. But, then again, what words do we need at this point? The expression on her face speaks volumes, communicating all that I need to know at that moment.
She steps back, and I walk into the room. I step across the threshold willingly, and close the door behind me so that we can be truly alone. The room is dim, almost pitch black, save for a small lamp with a low wattage in the corner. It lights the room enough to not be in total darkness, yet creates the effect of a glow that bounces off of Everleigh’s face. She doesn’t look away from me, not even for a second, and with every step she takes backward, I take a step forward. She stops after three, the edge of the bed tapping against her thigh and halting her momentum.
She doesn’t fight the fall.
She collapses backwards onto the bed, her back falling almost angelically against the softness of the comforter. I stop just in front of her body and look down. Her erect nipples are pointing upwards towards the ceiling, while her arms are spread out. It’s a position of vulnerability, of submission, allowing me to do to her whatever it is that I want.
I’m rock hard already. I don’t remember feeling that happen, it’s just there, ready to go, and I give in to the sensations. In fact, I’m giving in to this entire moment. On some level I was fighting it yesterday, and maybe that was the right thing to do. I said that I wanted to wait, that I wanted to get to know her better, and that the last thing I wanted was for sex to ruin what could be. But that late night text from twenty-four hours ago seems an eternity. I don’t know that guy right now.
He’s levelheaded. Rational. Good at controlling his impulses. That Michael isn’t in the room with this beautiful woman who’s lying half naked on the bed in front of him. No. That Michael wouldn’t be good in this situation.
I’m the real Michael right now.
The one who doesn’t care about consequences. I’m the guy who can feel his cement-like cock protruding against the front of his pants more than he can sense the responsible thing to do. I’m the Michael who’s about to fuck this woman like she’s never been fucked before. The one who isn’t worried about ruining the future, but rather the one who knows how to create the most memorable present she’s ever known in her life.
I post my hands on either side of her body and hover just above her mouth. I can feel her warm breath against my mouth, and she lifts herself up just slightly to meet my lips, but I pull back. I want her to want me, and I want her to know that I’m in control of when this happens, no matter how bad she wants it. She tries again, lifting her head, and again I pull up just a little bit—maybe a half of an inch—until her kiss just misses me, but I feel her breath against my lips. As she’s dropping her head down I follow, kissing her hard and aggressively, and she responds in kind.
Her arms are around me, clawing at my back in a frenzy of passion, all the while I hold her in place with my body. She can move her hands all she likes, but her body stays where I want it—where I can do what I want to it. She uses the only control she has to her fullest ability, digging sharp nails into my back so hard that I can’t separate pleasure from pain. I know that she wants me to react, to yell out or to retract so that she knows that she’s in control. But I won’t. She can pierce my skin and wrap my back up as tightly as her arms will allow, but she’s still going nowhere. I keep kissing her, my tongue plunging willingly into her mouth, and she starts to moan, a sign of submission that turns me on even more. The real pain isn’t against the raw skin of my back, it’s pushing in vain against the front of my jeans.
I feel its frustration at being restrained, and all I want to do is let my cock out, but that would be like bringing your Queen out too early in a game of chess. I have to pace myself. I have to be patient. I have to make her body ache for me as much as mine is aching for her, but that means taking my time and letting her body build up the excitement that I’m already feeling. My mouth leaves her lips and migrates down, ever slightly, to her neck. I can tell right away that her skin is sensitive, because as soon as my warm lips press into her—my mouth slightly open so that I can suck on her—her whole body moves upwards in a small convulsion. It gives away enough for me to know that I’ve hit a sweet spot, and I put even more pressure on that spot, and on the rest of her neck, moving my body up and down against her as I do. It’s a tease for her and I both, but I want to give her only the slightest taste of what’s coming.
Her hands are still at work, rubbing and clawing on my back, and she wraps her legs around me from the bottom, squeezing my torso between her thighs. I can feel the warmth and wetness between her legs. It feels like opportunity. It feels like everything my body was made to connect to, and soon my cock will be deeply buried inside that warmth, but not just yet. I’m not ready to rush that part, but we need to lose some of these unnecessary fucking clothes. I’ll start.
I sit up and take my shirt off, tossing it next to me on the bed. I’m not vain, but I become very aware of the contours of my own muscles as I feel her hands rubbing against my pecks, and then tracing a path down across my washboard abs. I work hard on my body, and I can tell that it’s turning her on. I flex as hard as I can, making my chest into stone, and I allow her hands to explore every facet of it. When she’s done rubbing her hands against me I grab both her wrists and pin them down next to her head. We kiss a little bit more in that position, and then I let go, leaving her hands where they are.
I don’t know what comes over me, but when I’m turned on I’m not thinking with my brain, I’m feeling with my body and my heart. I reach down and rip her lingerie open down the middle, exposing her white, creamy breasts. Her nipples are rock hard, and her tits are perfect circles, symmetrical in their beauty, and begging to be held.
I grab on to her left breast with my hand, squeezing her flesh and isolating her nipple so that I can suck on it. She convulses again when I put the full suction of my lips around her nipple, which makes me go even harder. She tries to sit up but I put her back on her back, removing my mouth and putting it to better use. My lips trace a vertical line downwards, passing in between her tits, down over her stomach, and all the way down to just above her. . . I stop. Her panties have to go. I sit up and remove them quickly, yanking at her hips as she lifts up to assist me. Once they’re gone I t
ake my place again. My face stops just above her pussy, which is clean shaven and waiting for me to go to work. My tongue hits her first, right above her clit, and I keep my head perfectly still while my warm tongue dances in small circles over the top of her clit. She starts moving around and making sounds, and I love how much pleasure I’m already bringing to her.
This is about her, not me. I want the lead only so that I can control how much I bring to her body and soul. And right now it’s working. I work my tongue over the same spot for a while, before lowering my head even more and plunging my tongue inside of her. She gasps as I lick back upwards, hitting her clit with as much force as my tongue can generate, while reaching a finger inside her at the same time. She’s so wet that even with only one finger inside her, my entire hand is bathed in a matter of seconds just from being pressed against her dripping pussy. She’s dripping because of me, and I’m as hard as I’ve ever been because of her. I move my finger in and out of her at different speeds, fast or slow depending on how I’m moving my tongue, but I vary it so that she’s getting the sensations of fast and slow at the same time no matter what I do.
She’s soaking the bed, a combination of her juice and my spit melded together. I work her clit with my tongue until I feel her getting close to coming, and then I immediately stop. The time for teasing is over. I sit up again and undo my pants, clumsily getting them off of my waist and down my legs. My boxer-briefs follow, and I’m standing in front of her naked, but not feeling even the slightest bit uncomfortable. She sits up on the bed, and comes face to face with it, my hardness staring her in the face, only inches from her lips. She reaches out with her hand and grips me, examining my dick with her eyes as she caresses it, as though she’s never seen anything quite like it. She never hesitates, however, and even as she stares she’s stroking me, working her hand seamlessly from base to tip, applying just the right amount of pressure to drive me insane. I try not to show it on my face but I don’t think I’m going to be able to maintain that facade of control for long.
Knight: The Wordsmiths Book One Page 11