Wild Knights

by Blaise Kilgallen

  "Yeah, right. I remember now." So he stopped. But he did grab her foot and even kissed her toes.

  "Did you like that, hmm? Just wait."

  He flipped her on her back and moved up to lie next to her. "C'mon, now you can climb on. You're going for a horseyback ride tonight."

  He helped her mount the top portion of his heavy thighs. Just the size of them spread her legs wide, and her cunt split open, slick, and ready. His erection was already rampant, a foot long and hard, resting again his groin.

  Starting to fondle him again, Carla's fingers skimmed lightly over the impressive sex organ. But he pushed her hands away. "You're next," he said, making it sound like they were taking turns.

  She cupped her own palms on her breasts, watching Evan watching her. She leaned her head back and touched one of her nipples with a finger, feeling it bud immediately.

  "Umm," she sighed. "This feels good. Why don't you..."

  "You're getting to be a damn tease, Carla. Let me take care of you."

  Seeing her pleasuring herself, he leaned up and sucked a nipple into his mouth, pulling on it so hard she felt the tug all the way to her womb. "Aah, Evan! Hurry! We need a condom!"

  He released her nipple, grabbed the condom and slipped it over his pecker. He grabbed her hips, lifting her off the mattress. He swiped the tip of his penis along her wet opening once or twice to lubricate it, then, headed for heaven like a homing pigeon. He directed her hips to the tip, letting her sink onto him. Her body accepted him with ease like before. He showed her how to move.

  "Do you like doing it this way?" he asked, his voice husky and raw. "Do you want more?" "Uh, yes, please."

  She had opened her legs, taking him deep, deeper, until her pubic hair met the coarse hair at the base of his cock. She thought his penis had never been so thick, so long. She leaned forward slightly, letting him rub against her clit, anxious for him to take her over the top.

  She played with his actions as he moved inside her, riding him with a variety of rhythms: raising up, leaning forward, almost pulling out, then letting herself glide back down on him. Their sweating bodies slapped together, fluid from them drenching his patch of coarse black pubic hair.

  "Tell me what you want, Carla. Do you want it slow or fast?"

  "Both," she said.

  "Dammit, Carla, stop playing games," he grumbled, abruptly, raising his knees so she had something to lean against. He reached between her legs and stroked the puffy nub of flesh with a wet fingertip. It took only seconds before she swiftly jerked back her head while her vagina spasmed wildly.

  "Oh God, oh God," she exclaimed, needing to grab onto him before she fell apart, small pieces of her soul splintering and flying out onto the wonderful, vast, uninhibited landscape of her new sexual universe.

  "Oh please, hold me, Evan. Don't let me go!"

  He plunged harder, plumbing her innermost core with his cock while she joined him in a sky-high flight to ecstasy. He captured her gaze, held it, answering the gleam in her eyes goading him to bring her multiple climaxes.

  The powerful sensations streaked through her scintillatingly and often. Eyes shut tight, Carla's senses whirled, spinning like a top in a dark vortex, drawing her into its relentless center of gravity, deeper and deeper, until she grew dizzy and sucked for breath, experiencing more excruciatingly extraordinary climaxes.

  Panting, she slumped over onto his chest, her cheek pressed against his damp skin.

  He wrapped big arms around her, heard her sob, her body shaking like a leaf. He tightened his hold even more as he soothed her. He was still hard inside her, waiting for his own release.

  When her trembling finally ceased, he whispered, "Are you okay, sugar?"

  She nodded slowly, her chin moving against his chest. "Uh, I think so. Oh Evan, I've never felt anything like that before. Hold me, please. I don't want to let you go, ever."

  Then she realized what she had blurted out during her moment of uninhibited glory.

  "I'm here," was all he said, caressing her naked back with tender, comforting strokes.

  After a minute, she focused on his face, wondering if he heard her remark. She saw he was staring at the ceiling, not at her.

  When she moved, he switched his attention to her. She hadn't given him much time to recuperate, but he was still hard, and he pumped his groin against her belly gently once or twice, watching her face. When she didn't complain, he flipped her over onto her back and started to move in earnest, keeping his weight off of her. Despite the many times he'd fucked her, he couldn't seem to get enough of her. Sometime during those last days and hours, he realized he needed to stay close to her in every way that mattered.

  "Should I stop?"

  "No! I want you to finish," she told him.

  "You're a glutton for punishment, woman," he said, his words laced with a small, shameless chortle. He thrust hard and fast, triggering another lesser, orgasm in Carla, but both reached for the summit and tumbled into oblivion together.

  "Do you know, woman, you're gonna be the death of me?" he muttered as he lay on top of her, his lance useless now and shriveled.

  He finally rolled off her. Waves of emotion crashed over him like waves pounding on a sandy beach. He lay there, contemplating several surprising sentiments, because this time with her was not simply pleasure from a passionate fucking. He forced himself not to say the words that demanded to be pushed out between his lips. If he heard them out loud, they would scare the hell out of him.

  * * * *

  They made love again before breakfast.

  Evan donned his shirt and trousers while Carla pulled on jeans and a T-shirt blazoned with the words, "Woman Power" on the front, and "It Takes a Woman to Finish the Job" on the back.

  He chuckled when he read it. "You got that right, lady," he said bussing her cheek on their way downstairs and into the kitchen. "Where's your pussy? I didn't see her last night at all."

  "Cleo," Carla called. She spotted the cat curled up in her favorite spot. Cleo rose and stretched, taking her time. Finally, she jumped down and came to greet Carla. When she picked the cat up, Evan tickled Cleo under the chin. "She a pretty pussycat, like her mother." Then he tickled Carla under the chin, too.

  She laughed and made a face at him.

  "Come on. I'll fix breakfast. What do you want? Eggs and bacon? Toast?"

  "That's great as long as you let me make the coffee."

  "Go right ahead, boss man. I'm always ready to let a youngster do the hard work."

  Evan grabbed her where she stood in front of the refrigerator. He spun her around and thrust her back against the door. "Do you have something against young lovers, Carla?"

  She realized his gaze had become intense. He wasn't teasing this morning.

  "No, of course not. Young lovers are the best," she said, not knowing what else she should have said.

  "How many have you had?" he asked suddenly, his frown deepening, his tone almost a sneer. "Boy toys, I mean?"

  When she looked up, for some unknown reason he was angry or upset. What was bothering him? Was it possible she'd hurt his feelings? Why had he taken what she said to heart? It had been a joke, a tease, nothing more than that. Did he think she'd simply been playing games with him all these weeks? Didn't he know she'd fallen under his spell for good?

  "I haven't fooled around with anyone, Evan, not since my husband," she said truthfully. She met his fierce, piercing gaze. "You can believe that, or you can't, it's up to you. I've never been promiscuous, and I never invited anyone into ... into my world until now."

  She continued, indicating her kitchen, her bed and her body. "I haven't been seeing anyone since you left town."

  The painful grip on her shoulders eased.

  "Sorry, Carla, I didn't mean to hurt you. Sometime, I don't know my own strength."

  He seemed embarrassed about his burly physique, his towering size.

  "I-I need to be with you, okay?" His words were subdued, apologetic, when he backed off. "Now," he
said, clearing his throat and turning toward a kitchen cabinet. "Where do you keep the coffee makings?"

  Carla's heart took a spiraling leap. She wasn't at all sure what he truly meant when he said, "I need to be with you." Well, she could hope, couldn't she?

  She never thought marriage was on their agenda. The age difference between them loomed too high in her estimation. Ten years of differences in upbringing, backgrounds, and just plain living in a wider, hustle-bustle world, separated them; plus the fact he wouldn't be around for months because of his knight's job.

  Don't fool yourself, Carla. Don't believe what it sounds like or something that's going to happen. Don't make any future plans at all that include Evan Lupo.

  When everything was said and done, it probably was best--and a whole lot safer--to cross him off her list of fantasy lovers, forget him, keep the memories for her old age, and let him go when he was ready to call it quits.

  While breakfast was started, standing at the counter, Carla glanced at Saturday's local paper, reading the headlines, then handed it to Evan. He grabbed the sports page and the comics. Carla looked over the current news. Breakfast on the table, they began to eat, silently but not uncomfortably.

  "Are you leaving soon?" Carla asked over her shoulder as she got up and started to wash the breakfast dishes. Evan sat at the table nursing another cup of coffee.

  "Yeah. I've been gone almost a week. I have some things to tackle."

  "Are you going to call Rocco?"

  Evan gave her a frowning, inscrutable look. His eyes drifted away from her face. "Don't worry. I'll get to it. I'm stopping by at my uncle's later today. Rocco lives close by. Maybe I'll breeze by his house."

  By 10 a.m. he was gone. Carla had the rest of the weekend to herself.

  Yeah, she thought. To do what? Miss him?

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Evan went to Medieval Showtime and spoke with the manager. He asked if he could take a few more days of his vacation time as long as he arranged for someone to cover for him. He was granted permission.

  He stopped by the barns to curry and talk with King Arthur. By then it was 2:00 p.m. He headed for his uncle's house. He visited with Tony for a half-hour, drank a beer, and said he was going to stop by Rocco's house. He planned to put the fear of God--or the fear of Evan--into Rocco's head, believing his cousin was no threat. Rocco would be smart if he learned that early. If not, Evan would teach him he couldn't threaten anyone he loved, including Carla Moore.

  Unfortunately, no one answered the doorbell at the Gardenia house. Evan strolled around the rear of the house, certain someone must be at home or in the pool on a hot day like today, but he saw no one. One spot was empty in the three-car garage when he peered inside.

  Evan didn't spot the shadowy shape in an upstairs window watching him roam around the backyard. He wondered when he dropped by, why one of Rocco's punks hadn't come out of the house to challenge him. He remembered Tony saying that Rocco hired a couple of musclemen to tag along with him, and Carla said there was one of his flunkies with him when Rocco hassled her. Not being the case now, however, Evan left without seeing or speaking to anyone, and drove off, making up his mind to get hold of Rocco tonight or tomorrow and give him a freaking earful.

  * * * *

  "Why the hell were you hassling Carla Moore, Rocco? If I hear of it again, I'll break a couple of your bones."

  "Woo-ee, big cousin. Better not try it. You got the hots for that one, huh, Evan boy?"

  "You're damn right. Stay away from her, Rocco. She don't know anything about this business."

  "Maybe it's time she found out what kind of a family she's mixed up with."

  "She's already got a good fix on you, punk. What's been in the Star-Ledger the past couple of weeks has 'mob' written across the forehead of a couple of councilmen. And that means you, Rocco, so don't get nasty, or I'll print your name in foot-high letters if you fool with me."

  "Okay, okay. I didn't do anything but talk to the lady. I just asked where I could find you. Since you called me, we can talk. I wanna know if you talked to Tony."

  "Uncle Tony don't wanna talk to you. He's had it with the Gardenias. He's pretty sure your people were mixed up in my father's murder, and he wants some feedback."

  "You're talkin' 25 years ago, Evan. What the hell is he bringin' that up for now? That's all dirty water under the bridge."

  "Not with my uncle, it ain't. And not with me."

  Evan heard the hesitancy in Rocco's voice on the other end of the telephone line.

  "I guess I'll have to speak with our uncle myself."

  "I wouldn't call him 'uncle' if I were you," Evan commented. "And don't bring your punk into the Lupo house with you. Tony won't like it. Hear me?"

  "I hear you."

  Evan added, not mentioning his proposed visit to Rocco's father, "I've got some unfinished business in Newark this week. Meanwhile, we got nothing else to talk about."

  * * * *

  Monday was rainy, dull and dreary. Melody accosted Carla first thing in the morning room over coffee to hear about her "big date."

  "Well, give," Melody said, sitting at the small table reserved for coffee breaks. After a moment, two more of Carla's assistants showed up. "Hey guys, Carla had a date on Friday. She's going to tell us all about it. Aren't you, Carla?" Melody said.

  "I really don't think..."

  "Aww, c'mon, boss lady. We'd tell you..."

  "That's the difference between you gossipy kids and me," Carla said with the stern-mother voice she used to chastise a couple of neighborhood boys who had traipsed through her yard and demolished part of her vegetable garden. "You can't keep a secret to save your lives. Don't you know some things are ... well, private?"

  "You promised, Carla, remember? Tell us who he is." Melody wasn't giving up.

  "Okay, okay." She took a seat across the table from Melody, Kerry, and Sissy. "But I'm not telling you who he is..."

  "Not fair, Carla," Kerry said, taking a sip of her hot coffee.

  "Take it or leave it, girls. You wouldn't know him, anyway."

  I would never tell them Evan was one of the knights or I'd never hear the end of it.

  "Melody, I went to the Gilded Lily and bought a plain black sheath and strappy sandals, Oh and yes, the black pantyhose you suggested. And thanks, because I would have been mortified if I wore something else to go dancing to the club that he took me to."

  "Well, go on."

  "We went to a place called the Captain's Table..."

  "Oh yeah, I know the place," Kerry piped up. "A short way from here. Dark and romantic, a teeny weeny dance floor. You almost have to crawl into your boyfriend's pants if you move. And there's that moon over the river ... yummy, Carla. Just dancing that way can make you hot enough to ... well, you know. Did you neck in the car?"

  Carla scowled at her and then laughed. "Of course not. We had a couple of drinks, danced a while, and then he took me home."

  "Ohh, come on. You mean he didn't..."

  "I'm a lot older than you girls, you know," Carla went on. "When you're touching 40 you don't do gymnastics in the back seat of a car. At least, I don't."

  But I'm finding out you can do a lot of things in a big soft bed with the right partner and a short rest in between.

  "At my age, my back couldn't take it. So don't ask me if he did or he didn't." She decided she'd give them something to think about. She winked at Sissy. "I'm not going to tell you any more other than to say I thoroughly enjoyed myself."

  "I bet he did, too," Kerry giggled. "Are you seeing him again?"

  Melody pushed a little harder before Carla had a chance to answer. "Did he like what he saw? Your curves, I mean, poured into that dress? You've got nice legs, too, Carla. He must've been bug-eyed."

  Carla just smiled. "Okay, gals, time to go back to work. "What happened to Tara and Pat?"

  "Mrs. Wright wanted them for something. They'll be up here in a half-hour or so. Then you'll have to go over your date with them."
/>   CHAPTER TWENTY

  Newark's North Ward Park wasn't crowded even on the best of days. Just before lunchtime on Thursday, Evan drove slowly, the Caddy's top down, on the winding macadam lane through the park searching for the bocce players. He was determined to get some information from Franco Gardenia, his mother's older brother.

  He passed a couple of small ponds. The wispy branches of several old weeping willows swayed, dipping their feathery leaves into the water's glistening, diamond-like surface, disturbed by a light southerly breeze. Young mothers pushed baby carriages, and toddlers screeched like noisy banshees as they played on the park's well-tended grass. Evan spied a set of red and yellow swings and a twisted giant slide, but no one was using them today. He realized that Rocco, a Newark councilman, was making sure his local bailiwick was nicely groomed and spotlessly clean. Trash baskets were placed within 30 feet of each other along the gravel walkways. No empty soda or beer cans or bottles littered the paths. Nor were cartons of fast food scattered around like flotsam. Nothing marred the beauty of the park's sylvan setting.

  As he cruised the park, Evan heard male voices coming from his left. He pulled over and stopped, certain the voices came from the bocce court. He got out of the car and strolled toward a wooded area to observe.

  A group of seven or eight older men sat facing one another. A couple of beers and open packages of snacks sat on the wooden tables. No women were in sight. Only Italian men played bocce. The men cackled, pointing at success with a slap of a thigh or shoulder, or heckled in failure when a player made a bad throw.

  Evan stood unobserved at the crest of a slight slope, trying to pick out his uncle's face. He hadn't seen Franco Gardenia in 25 years, and he didn't expect to see him or speak to him during the next 25 years if he could help it.

  The bowlers had just finished a set and turned to the tables to get a drink or to rest while others took the field. One of the men, a short, brawny player, turned and noticed Evan. A watchful expression crossed the Italian's face as he squinted, unable to distinguish the features of the large figure watching the game.