Her hands feel amazing, and she’s teasing me without being obvious about it, running her face near my cock and brushing my throbbing head against her lips. She keeps moving, and with every near miss my cock throbs. When it does she squeezes even harder, teasing me and pleasuring me at the same time. I want her mouth, but I want to be inside of her even more than that, so I waste no time. I push her back on the bed and fall over her, keeping my weight elevated once again, but pressing my hard cock against her body. She doesn’t wait for me. She reaches underneath with her hand and puts the head right on the outside of her lips, and the sensations of warm and wet are all I can feel. For a second it’s too much, and the excitement seems to overwhelm everything. I panic that I’m going to come right there on her leg, so I take a deep breath instead and try to slow down a little.
“What’s the matter?” she asks.
I open my eyes and look at her. “I’m so turned on right now and I don’t want to. . .I want to go slow for a minute.”
“Go slow,” she says, caressing the back of my head lovingly with her fingers. “I’m not going anywhere.”
She’s so understanding, just waiting underneath me without moving, even though she wants me as much as I want her. I take one more deep breath to steady my nerves before I proceed. This time I reach down so that I can control the pace. I hold myself steady and tease her clit, rubbing the head of my cock over it, then up and down over the outside of her lips. I’m feeling good, but not too excited for my own good, so when I rub downwards to the right spot I slip inside of her seamlessly. My cock is a hot knife through butter, pushing inside of her with no effort at all except a gentle thrust foreword with my hips, until I’m so deep that I can feel my pelvis pressed against hers. I stay there, deep in her, not moving an inch. I start kissing her from the top as she starts gyrating her hips from the bottom, moving herself so that I hit all of the right spots.
We keep going for a few minutes. I sit back on my knees and grab her legs, putting them together in front of me and hitting her pussy as hard as I can with some forceful thrusts of my hips. She starts to scream, and I increase my speed, hitting her hard and fast over and over again until I need to slow down a little. I spread her legs back open and leave them hanging in the air. Reaching down I start rubbing her clit in fast, gentle circles while I fuck her, moving in and out of her slowly while I keep the pace of my hands fast. It doesn’t take but a few seconds for her to come, and when she does it’s an explosion of passion. Her body thrusts underneath me uncontrollably, her hips moving up and down, and her eyes closed so that she can experience the overwhelming sensations. It’s only a few seconds, but when it’s over her energy is drained and I feel her body relax. I haven’t finished yet, but I’m so happy with what just happened that I decide to take a break and pull out.
“Do you want me to finish you?”
“Absolutely,” I tell her. “But like you said, I’m in no rush. Just taking a breather and letting you bask in the afterglow a little.”
“That was so fucking hot,” she says. Her cheeks are flushed red and her hair is all messed up. She has that I-just-got-fucked look to her, and her chest is heaving up and down as she struggles to catch her breath. I lean in and kiss her, then collapse on the bed next to her for now.
In this room she’s not just my lover—she’s my redemption. Her body isn’t a thing to be felt, it’s a mystery to be solved, a thing to lose myself in and find myself in simultaneously, and as I experience the splendor of it all, only her name can escape my lips.
“Everleigh,” I whisper in her ear as we lay next to each other, naked and sweaty. “Can we just stay here forever?”
15
Everleigh
“That’s fine by me,” I answer. “But you’d have to at least get your computer so you could do some writing. I’m counting on that next book.”
“Holy shit,” he says, popping up out of bed like a little kid on Christmas morning. “Let me tell you about it!” He looks funny. He literally jumped out of bed and is standing there, half erect, naked as the day he was born, and he’s trying to talk to me seriously. I’m trying to look in his eyes but it’s distracting—his body is amazing and he’s moving his hands a lot, which of course makes other things move a lot. . .
“Tell me.”
“So, it’s about this guy, a down-on-your-luck sort, only he used to be this high powered attorney. . .” As he starts to tell me about the plot of his book I feel really happy. Yes, I’m in post I-had-sex-with-Michael-Knight bliss and all that, but that’s not why I feel happy. I feel so good because he’s genuinely enthusiastic right now. He’s frantic, pacing back and forth, waving his hands around, and speaking so fast that I can barely keep up with what the book is even about. But I don’t care about the plot, I care that he feels good enough to write anything at all. The rest will work itself out.
He talks for about five minutes, telling me all about the main characters, the setting, how it’s going to be part of a three book series, all of it. He’s so excited and it’s making me excited for him. The sex was great, but honestly, this is even better. And it wasn’t just sex for me either. I’ve never been that girl to just sleep with a guy like that, no matter how attractive I find him. And Michael’s about the sexiest man I’ve ever seen. His body is muscular and tight.
His eyes are light and haunting to look into. He’s tall, which never hurts, but more than all those features he knows how to use them—how to stand just over you to make you feel his height without being intimidating or dominant; how to cock his head just slightly to the side and give you that kind of intense eye contact that makes you feel like the only woman in the room. I just stare as he starts to wind down his story, my ears listening to his words and my eyes taking in that amazing body that I just want on top of me again.
“That’s basically all I have so far,” he says, sounding more out of breath now than when we were having sex. “But I think it’s enough of an outline to go on. It’s funny, I usually don’t do outlines or even think about where a story is going before I start writing it.”
“You just write?” I ask.
“Kind of, yeah.” He looks up to think about what to say next. “I start with characters in my head, and I try to make them as real as possible, even if I don’t include the details in the book. Like how some great actors know details about their characters that don’t end up in the movie, they just use them to get into the head of whoever they’re playing. It’s like that, only the writing version. Once I know who a character is, I kind of know how they’re going to behave, so the plot kind of writes itself a little.”
“I see, that’s really fascinating. I know all writers are different, so are your fellow Wordsmiths the same? What’s their deal? I’ve always wanted to know.”
“How much time do you have?” he jokes. “Each one of those guys could take a few days to tell you all about. But if you mean their writing process, I’m not really sure. Believe it or not we’ve never spoken about that—actual writing—very much. We more talk about author stuff.”
“Wait, I’m confused, what do you mean ‘author stuff?’ Isn’t writing the most important part of being an author?”
“Sort of,” he answers. “I read a quote once by some gazillionaire who publishes sci-fi novels—some dude you’ve never heard of but has a rabid fan base of readers—on some promotion website where he said ‘it’s a writer’s job to write, and an author’s job to sell and promote their books.’ That always stuck with me, and it makes sense. So me and the guys have always discussed author stuff more than we ever have writing stuff.”
“I see. That makes sense. I guess it’s like the difference between a chef and a cook. People think they’re the same thing, but they’re actually very different.”
“That’s a fair comparison. Do you work in the food business?”
“Yes,” I tell him. I hadn’t mentioned my job to him in our conversations yesterday or today, but now’s as good a time as any. “I’m actually
a small business owner. I own a bakery that’s been in my family for generations now.”
He looks at me and raises and eyebrow. “Oh, shit, really! That’s great.”
“On some days it is. I’m not rich or anything. Not some restaurant mogul. It’s just my little place in Queens, New York.”
“Wait, wait, wait, hold on. You’re in New York?”
“Now I am, yeah. My family’s originally from New England—Massachusetts. My sister Hadley goes to school there.”
“See, I knew I heard those vowels. That sure as hell doesn’t sound like any New York accent I’ve ever heard, and I’m from there.”
“I know,” I tell him, trying not to sound too stalkerish.
“How do you. . .oh right, social media. I’m still old school in so many ways, I swear. I forget how much of our personal shit is out there. That’s crazy that we’re in the same area, though.”
“It’s a crazy coincidence, right? I’ve known for a while ‘cause you mention that you’re from New York. You know how many times I wanted to contact you and just be like ‘hey, we’re both in the same area, wanna. . .’ I don’t even know what I would have said, honestly, but thank God I stopped myself. You would’ve thought I was nuts.”
“I don’t think you’re nuts,” he tells me, lying down next to me and stroking my hair gently. “I think it’s amazing that we’re near each other. We have to get together at some point.” There it is. I knew that eventually we’d be having the ‘What comes next’ discussion, but I let him take the lead.
“I’d love that, Michael,” I tell him, looking deeply into his beautiful eyes. “But only if you want to. You don’t have to tell me that out of obligation, or because you want me to feel better ‘cause we slept together. I only want you to say that if you really want to see me again.”
I start to look down as I say the last part, afraid of rejection from him in a way that I didn’t really think I would be, but he puts his fingers under my chin and gently angles my head up until we’re looking at each other once more. “Listen to me, Everleigh,” he begins. “In some ways we know more about each other than two people normally do after 48 hours together. But there’s more that we don’t know about each other. Here’s something you should know about me—I only say things that I mean. I’m a man of conviction, and as uncomfortable as it would be, if I didn’t want to see you after this I’d tell you straight out.”
Wow. I wasn’t expecting that kind of blunt honesty from him, but it’s really refreshing. “Most people can’t handle that level of honesty face to face. Easier to tell a comforting lie and just ghost the person later on when they try to contact you.”
“Cowards,” he says. “Cowards act like that, and I’m no coward. But more importantly than all that, I genuinely want to see you again. I’d be sad if this were it.”
“I’d be sad, too. I want to see you again.”
“Then you will. You’ll be seeing a lot of me.”
“I already do,” I joke, looking right down at his huge cock which, even when he’s relaxed, is impressive. I reach down, grazing my hand across his thigh until I hit it, and I wrap my fingers around him like a vice. “See, I see a lot of you right now.” He gets instantly hard as I start to stroke him, his eyes rolling back in his head. He lays all the way back so that he’s totally flat—the only thing upright is his massive dick in my hand. I stroke slowly but firmly, making him feel every inch of the movement of my hand, squeezing tighter as I roll from the base to the gigantic head. “You never finished before. It’s your turn. Let’s keep it going so you can come on me.”
I roll over onto my knees and wrap my mouth around it, and he lets out a deep moan that just gets me going even more. I’m already turned on by him, but knowing that I’m bringing him that kind of pleasure makes me keep going. He’s huge, but I manage to fit all of him inside my warm mouth, stroking the base as I deep throat him. “Oh my fucking God!” he yells, so I just keep going. I stroke faster and faster, gripping him hard and creating a suction around his head that I know will make him come quickly. In a few seconds he warns me, “I’m going to fucking come, don’t stop!” I don’t. I pull it out of my mouth just as he’s exploding, a spray of his hot cum flying all over the bed and my face.
It’s his turn to just lay back and be pleasured, and as I stroke a few more times—his cum on my face—I feel great that he exploded so fucking hard. I wipe my face on the sheets and fall back next to him. We’re both exhausted, our energy drained from the last few minutes, and now there’s just time to feel each other’s warmth.
16
Knight
We nod off, which I only realize once Everleigh wakes me up, frantic. I have no memory of falling asleep, or even starting to fall asleep, but clearly we did because we’re still both naked.
“What’s going on?” I ask, still out of it.
“Ro and Harley are coming back soon,” she says, sitting down next to me in the bed. “I knew they were planning on having a night out after the dinner, that’s why I invited you here. I told them that I had a bad headache, and that if they came back too early to just go into Harley’s room while I slept for a few hours, but it’s been that long and they just texted asking if I was awake.”
“Shit. How long do I have?”
“Probably 15-20 minutes, but I’m making that up, I’m not sure exactly.”
“I’ll get dressed. But first. . .”
I lean over and kiss her gently. She smells so good. I wish there were time for another run, but there just isn’t right now. I jump up after we kiss and start getting dressed as quickly as I can so I can get out of there. We’re both quick to get our clothes back on, and Everleigh opens up the room widow to air out the smell of sex that must be lingering in the air.
It takes about a minute, but I get my shirt, pants, and shoes on well enough to not look like a drunk guy getting dressed in the dark. There’s only one thing. . .oh fuck.
“Oh, fuck!” I yell.
“What’s wrong?”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. My laptop! Where is it?
“Did you see me bring a bag in here?” I ask as the anxiety rises in my chest.
“I don’t remember seeing a bag. Were you supposed to have one?”
“I had it on me before, but I don’t see. . .” I stop right there because I realize where I left it. If I could punch myself in the face I would. “I’ve gotta run.”
“Wait, tell me what’s going on,” she says as I speed towards her door. There’s no time to explain right now, but I’ll tell her later when I hopefully find my laptop.
“I’ll text you,” I tell her as I open the door. “I need to go find something I lost right now.”
“Okay, good luck.”
I pull the door closed behind me and run out like a crazy person. I was keeping my shit together in front of her, but I’m gonna lose it if that laptop is gone. I turn the corner and hit the OPEN button over and over on the elevator. Those few seconds feel like whole minutes, but eventually I hear the ding and the doors open up, left and right, to a completely empty little box. No laptop. Nothing.
“Fuck.”
I get on and hit ‘1.’ When I get to the lobby I run out and go right to the front desk. I must look nuts, because I’m breathing heavily and haven’t even bothered to look in a mirror since I woke up next to Everleigh. I wasn’t exactly expecting to be seeing other people at the moment. “Excuse me,” I say a little too loud, but it gets the attention of the woman behind the counter.
“Yes, sir?”
“I’m Michael Knight, one of the authors here for the event.”
“Yes, Mr. Knight, how are you this evening? Is your room meeting your satisfaction?”
“It is, yes,” I say, trying to not be rude but get to what I really want to know. “It’s not that—see, I lost a bag of mine in your elevator a few hours ago. It’s kind of important, has all my stuff in it.”
“Oh,” the woman says, understanding the severity involved.
&nb
sp; “Exactly. I’m panicking a little right now. I looked in the elevator and it’s gone, I was just wondering if anyone here turned in a bag.”
“Let me check.”
“Thank you.”
She scurries away into some room in the back and comes out about thirty seconds later with nothing in her hands. “I’m sorry, Mr. Knight, nothing was turned in here. Maybe check the elevator one more time, or ask the readers here if they’ve seen it. Perhaps one of them found it and just wants to give it back to you personally.”
“Thank you for looking.” I walk back to my room using the stairs, taking my time as I do. It’s not a terrible idea asking the readers, without tipping them off as to what was inside the bag. I take out my phone as I’m walking up the stairs and post in the reader group. I don’t go into detail, I just mention that if anyone comes across my ‘empty’ bag that I left behind that they can send me a private message. We’ll see if that helps. I’m not counting on it. I’ll say it one more time.
FUCK!
Back in my room I collapse on the bed. There are a bunch of texts from the guys asking where I am from earlier. I ignored them when I was with Everleigh, but now I have to respond. I text them that I didn’t feel well again, and that I’m back in the room now. I also text her. I decide to go with the direct, blunt approach.
Me:Hey. I lost my laptop. It had my new stuff on it. The front desk doesn’t have it. I’m ready to kill someone.
Everleigh:Oh my God,” she writes back. “Michael, I’m so sorry. You can re-write.
Me:Thanks. I’m going to sleep now. I had an incredible night and I’m sorry it had to end like this. It’s not you, but I need to just sleep this off and decide what I’m going to do in the morning.
Knight: The Wordsmiths Book One Page 12