Wild Knights

by Blaise Kilgallen

  Carla swallowed hard, resting her forehead against his shoulder, letting him do what he wanted because all of it felt so wonderful. It had been a long, dry, agonizing spell without a real man to make love to her. She was still uncertain if she could go through with what she intended, but she wanted to. Oh yeah! She wanted to all right, but she'd have to screw up her courage first.

  He kept squeezing gently, rubbing a nipple a bit harder. Finally, he heard a small, audible sound of pleasure escape from her. He bent and kissed her nape, got a whiff of her flowery perfume, and lapped her skin with the tip of his tongue.

  If I'm gonna get it, it won't be in the front seat of the car like a wham-bam-thank-you-m'am fuck job, he thought. I'll give her what she wants. I want her wild in bed; creamy, wet and naked--and begging me to give it to her.

  He broke away from her. "Let's go inside. Give me your key."

  Aching with need, almost hypnotized by Evan's kisses, Carla fumbled in her purse for the bunch of keys. She handed them to him.

  He got out of the car and closed the door very gently before coming around to her side to help her out. Feeling her tremble, he saw Carla's anxiety and wondered at it. Still, she didn't stop him as he escorted her up to the front door and finally, jammed a key in the lock.

  "Be careful," she remembered to say. "Don't let the cat out."

  He turned the doorknob and pushed it open just enough so both of them could squeeze inside. The house was dark. He shut the door behind them and grabbed her again.

  This kiss was longer than the one in the car. Carla dug her hands under his T-shirt, smoothing her palms over his ribs and back. Her short fingernails raked over skin covering the hard muscles beside his spine, felt no flab. He was like touching heaven: warm, delicious, male flesh. She pressed closer, their bodies glued together from shoulders to knees, his prominent erection pushing into her belly.

  "Where's your bedroom, Carla?" His deep baritone whisper was low and urgent. "Don't turn on the lights. Just show me."

  "I-It's upstairs. C'mon." Carla led the way to the large feminine-looking bedroom with its ruffled bedspread and pillowcases. The dim light of a summer moon beamed through a window of the bedroom. Carla paused for a moment, not sure how to start this business of getting fucked by Evan Lupo. Fifteen years ago, she'd slept with her first and only man. Now, tonight, it felt again as if it might be the first time. She didn't want Evan leaving without fucking her, nor did she want him disappointed by her amateurish lovemaking. She'd been so out of touch with sex. Why in the hell did she let it go so long before finding someone?

  Looking at Evan Lupo, Carla knew he'd been in a number of local beds and probably had lots of practice. She had gazed into his eyes at the Pub; they were dark and more exciting than any she'd seen for some time. He had bedroom eyes that, at the drop of a hat, would erase a woman's inhibitions and have her shedding her clothes in seconds flat. His eyes reminded her of pools of delicious, melted chocolate.

  Evan was the reason she decided to do herself a favor. But at this minute, her courage was wavering. She was 37 years old, for God's sake, even if he didn't know it. He had to be almost ten years younger. What if he laughed at her?

  "I'm not sure I can do this," she said in a tiny voice.

  Evan felt as if he'd been dumped on by a waterfall of ice cubes.

  For a long moment, silence reverberated between them.

  "Dammit, Carla, I'm hard as a rock. You're jerking my chain, and..."

  "I-I'm not jerking your chain, Evan. It's only because..."

  "I thought you wanted this."

  "I do, I know I do, but ... well, maybe I'd better lay it on the line." She blinked hard. "I haven't slept with anyone since I was twenty-two. I'm 37 now. I'm embarrassed to tell you that I don't know how to start this..."

  She heard his sharp inhale.

  Jesus H. Christ! It'd be like screwing a virgin. And he hadn't done that in a very long time.

  Evan grabbed her and pulled her against his erection. "Dammit, Carla, don't you know you're sexy as hell? Just thinking about you tonight had me jumping out of my skin like a hot jackrabbit."

  Oh God, why am I such a wimp? she thought.

  "I-I really want to do this. It's just that I need some ... help."

  "Well, then, hot shit, tell me how I can help!"

  CHAPTER SIX

  "You're lookin' for a stud, is that it?"

  "Er ... I guess I am." Her voice had a definite waver in it. "Just for tonight. I-I'm really sorry. Maybe we should just forget it, huh?"

  Evan let her go and walked across the room to a window. He stood with his back to her. There was a long, drawn out silence before he turned around. "You haven't been fucked in 15 years?"

  "I was married 15 years ago. My husband was killed overseas. In Desert Storm."

  "Oh." He returned to her and peered down into her eyes.

  Finding some nerve, Carla explained further. "Evan, I don't even know why I went out with you. But I saw you at the Spa, and ... well, watching you working in the rose garden turned me on. Then I saw you at my birthday party at the arena and..."

  "That was you at Showtime?" His eyes roamed her face. "Yeah, now I remember. That was you with that bunch of hot, screaming chicks?"

  "They're my assistants at the Spa. All of them are in their twenties. Like you. Anyway, I promised myself I'd ... do it ... before I turned 40. That's why I went to dinner with you. I figured you've been in sacks all over town. One more fucking wouldn't hurt, and I supposed you'd hop in with anyone, including me. I'm sorry, but no hard feelings, okay? I'm really embarrassed."

  "Look, I'd like to help you out."

  "No!" she exclaimed. "No, I can't do this now."

  "Why not? You're a woman, aren't you? And just as sexy as those chicks the way I see it. I'll be your 'Stud for a Night.' No prob."

  She shook her head, then turned away, but he grasped her bare arms. She flinched when he touched her. Deep inside, a deep yearning that wouldn't go away still burned through her.

  His voice coaxed, slow and deep. "We can take it easy, Carla. There's lotta time to enjoy ourselves. I'll even stop if you ask me to. You'll probably be pretty tight, but I can fix that..."

  Ducking her head, mortified, her eyes focused on the floor, she stood like a statue.

  "Work with me on this, Carla. I promise I won't bite you."

  She reacted to his toothy grin when he chuckled.

  "Oh God."

  "Well, not right away. C'mon, loosen up, woman. We'll both get what we want tonight."

  She allowed him a tight-lipped, half-smile, and slowly shook her head. "I think not. I've had my fantasy for this week. You'd better leave."

  He grabbed her gaze with his dark eyes and held it for a long while. His thoughts were well hidden behind those thick ebony lashes. She couldn't read his expression, though she knew he was angry with her. You're yanking my chain, Carla, he'd said until she explained. But he seemed to have gotten control over his emotions. The ones that counted, that is. She knew he wasn't going to rape her, but he could have. He was big enough and aroused enough. She'd seen him in the rose garden, and embellished what he'd look like in her fantasies. She had hungered for more of him, at the Spa, and at the jousting matches. But she was sure she'd lost her chance tonight.

  Without another word, Evan strolled to Carla's bedside table and flicked on the frilly lamp. He pulled out a pen and a small notepad from a back pocket.

  "Here's my number. Call me when you're ready." He tore off a page and dropped it onto the table, then turned off the light again. Heading out of the room, he paused in the doorway. "I'll let myself out. Be sure to lock the door." He smiled. "G'night, Carla. Call me. Soon."

  And he left.

  * * * *

  Carla couldn't sleep. Her nerves jangled, and it was difficult to stop thinking about what had happened earlier.

  How dumb can I be? I could have gotten this out of my system, once and for all. I'm as jumpy as a cat on a hot roof and still
feel scared and guilty--at my age. Dammit. Kissing him made me crazy. I wanted so much more. Why was I so afraid to let it all hang out?

  But she knew why.

  I guess with my upbringing, I still have some Puritan morality left in me. What if he simply got a big kick out of sleeping with someone as old as me? He'd probably brag about how he helped out a sex-starved widow.

  She turned over and buried her face in her pillow.

  But all of that wishy-washy thinking was about to change.

  The girls don't give a damn about talking about sleeping with their boyfriends. I hear them bragging about it in the coffee room every Monday morning.

  "Oh God, he was really hot last night. He drove me nuts!"

  "Jeezus, he screwed me a couple of times. No wonder I'm bleary-eyed."

  "He used three condoms. I counted them in the wastebasket."

  Carla rolled over and turned on the light, interrupting Cleo who was curled in a ball next to her. "Sorry, pussycat. Go back to sleep. Not time to get up yet." She glanced at her electric alarm clock. Five-twenty. She usually got up at eight on the weekends. And today was Sunday. She reached for the switch on the lamp to turn it back off when her glance fell on the scrap of paper on the bedside table. A myriad of sensations flashed through her. He'd left his phone number. She should heave it in the trash. Then she wondered if it was unlisted. If so, she wouldn't be able to call him if she changed her mind.

  She lay back on her pillows and stared at the ceiling, her thoughts spinning. Should she or shouldn't she? She couldn't make up her mind.

  He'll know what I want. He won't need to guess.

  She leaned over and turned out the light.

  I'll think about it. If I call him, I've got to go through with it even if I make a complete asshole of myself, because it's not fair to either of us.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  By mid-morning the sky had clouded over and a light drizzle started and hung on. Carla threw in two loads of wash then went to read the Sunday papers. She wasn't hungry after the meal from the night before, so she toasted an English muffin and opened a container of yogurt. She made fresh coffee and drank two cups, the kitchen wall phone directly in her line of sight. She avoided looking at it, but her eyes kept coming back to it. Evan's telephone number was upstairs on the bedside table. All she had to do was mount the stairs, pick up the phone there, and dial the number. Maybe he was home. Maybe he had nothing else to do. Maybe he wanted to come over for a visit. Maybe he wanted to stay and fuck her.

  Not likely after she turned him away.

  She swallowed the last of her coffee and kept her eyes off the telephone. She washed the few dishes and wandered into the living room. Cleo was asleep on her chair. Carla pulled out the New York Times Sunday crossword puzzle and picked up a pencil with an eraser, determined to get some of the puzzle filled in.

  Just then the telephone rang. Her heart jerked in her chest. Could it be him?

  Naw, she told herself. Why would he call me? He left his number. It was up to me to call him, not the other way around. That's what he said.

  She let it ring, let the machine pick it up. "Hi, Carla, this is Tara. It's Sunday at two-thirty. I'm calling to say I won't be in tomorrow, but I'll be in on Tuesday. I'll tell you why when I get back. Bye."

  The rapid thrum of Carla's heart eased down to normal. She picked up the paper and started the crossword puzzle again, but her mind wasn't functioning. She rested her head on the high cushion of the wingback chair and closed her eyes. Pictures of Evan Lupo's handsome face and beautiful body flashed across her mind, and she began to go over vivid memories of last night. Suddenly, she remembered she hadn't taken out the last load of wash from the dryer. She stood up and went to the basement. She was climbing the stairs again, a plastic laundry tub cradled in her arms, when the front doorbell chimed.

  Who can that be?

  As she turned the corner into the hallway from the kitchen, she saw the dark head of curls through the circular window of the front door.

  Oh, for cripes sake! She groaned aloud, almost dropping the basketful of clean clothes and linens. In dismay, she reviewed her appearance. She wore faded shorts and a washed out T-shirt. Her feet were stuck into a pair of beat-up leather scuffs. And she didn't have on a bit of makeup. As usual, her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, half of it coming out of the purple rubber band; the one she had saved from a bunch of broccoli.

  Evan rang the bell again. And this time, he peered through the fancy window into the house.

  Carla was standing in the hallway, and she knew he couldn't miss seeing her. She put down the basket and went to open the door.

  "Hi," he said.

  "Hi," she replied.

  "Uh, can I come in?"

  She stepped back and pulled the door wider. He walked in, and she closed the door behind him. When she turned around, he was smiling down at her.

  "Remember, I told you yesterday I was lonesome?" His smile grew. "I'm still lonesome."

  Her entire body shook inside, quivers racing from the top of her head to her toes. For some reason, now that he was here, she was all but certain something was going to happen between them this afternoon. She may have chased him away last night, but--Thank you, God--he came back. And yeah, she wanted him to.

  "Come on in," she said, preceding him into the living room. "Can I get you a beer? Coors(r)? I don't have any Bud(r)..."

  "You've got a good memory. But Coors(r) is great."

  Carla started for the kitchen and Evan followed her. She wished he hadn't. She wanted a minute to gather her wits, put on some lipstick and fix her hair. But all that went down the tubes when she turned around and found him right behind her. He placed his hands on her shoulders, holding her at arm's length. His appraisal began from the top of her head to her painted toenails. "Yeah," he said softly. "Love those long legs." He chucked her under the chin and let go.

  Flustered by his unexpected appearance and his casual touch, Carla managed to twist out of his hands, delve into the refrigerator, and pull out a cold can of beer. Meanwhile, he prowled around the kitchen, stuck his head through the doorway to the screened porch, and looked out into the back yard. "Nice place."

  She handed him the beer. "The house belonged to my parents. When they died, it became mine."

  "That your car in the driveway?"

  She ignored his casual question. "Evan, what are you doing here?"

  He popped open the can, raised it to his lips, and took a long swallow, his gaze fastened on hers. "I came to gave you some beginner lessons."

  "Lessons?" She might be as nervous as a chicken without her head, but she couldn't imagine what lessons he was talking about. "Riding lessons, you mean?" She remembered getting a faint whiff of something that smelled a bit like a horse. Of course. He worked with horses all the time at Medieval Showtime.

  His grin was wolfish. "You could say that."

  "No thanks. I'm too old to break something when I fall off."

  "Not when I show you how. Believe me, you'll learn real fast if you let me teach you."

  The light finally dawned when she saw his wily expression. He wasn't talking about horses or horseback riding. He was talking about a different kind of riding. She blushed.

  "I have your number. I was supposed to call you when I was ready," she continued, "if at all."

  "You're cute when you blush. And besides, I couldn't wait."

  "I'm too old to be cute..."

  "Will you stop saying that?" He sounded annoyed, and quick as a snake striking, he stepped toward her, bent down, and kissed her, hard. When he pulled away, she opened her mouth to say something, and he kissed her again. This time he grabbed her face and pushed his tongue into her mouth. He kissed with confidence, as if he done it a million times, and probably never got slapped. She wasn't about to slap him either.

  When he let go, she said, "Evan, you can't just come in here and..."

  "Sure I can. You're lookin' for a stud, ain't you? Well, you're lookin' at
one. Happy to oblige, m'lady. We can start whenever you're ready. Well ... as soon as I finish my beer." He grinned and tipped the can toward her in a salute, and poured it down his throat in a series of pumping swallows.

  "But it's broad daylight..."

  "So what? People screw during the day all the time. C'mon, Carla. Lighten up."

  "You're a dirty mouthed S.O.B."

  "Yeah." He wiggled his eyebrows at her. "But I said we'd take it slow. I'm giving you Lesson One today."

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The first thing he did was rip the rubber band off her ponytail and rake his fingers through her shoulder-length, blonde hair.

  "Your hair feels nice. Has anybody ever told you that? It's shiny and really soft." His voice trailed off. He bent low and rubbed his lips over her mouth again.

  "Better?"

  She nodded.

  "Tell me what you like, Carla. I don't take notes." His expression was mischievous. "But I'll try to do what you want, what you like, if you tell me."

  "Evan..."

  "You know, you were very good to my mother, so I'll be real good to you. A nice lady like you deserves to get what she wants."

  "Evan..."

  "Let me finish. I don't mean you're anything like my mother. If you were, I wouldn't be here. I had the hots for you last night, Carla, but I could tell you were nervous and not ready until you thought it over." He gave her a questioning look. "You did think it over, didn't you?"

  When she didn't reply, he read the answer in her eyes and said, "I thought so. Then we can do this in a couple of easy lessons. We'll both get what we want. Okay?"