Authors: Leeann Whitaker
He breathes my name out, scrunching his eyes, then peaks with me. With an elated pant, he stops with a tremor, and buries his head into my neck.
I’m bursting inside. I have never been pleasured so superbly. I’m on a whole other planet. He’s whisked me to another dimension and I want to stay, do it again. And again. And again.
I rifle my fingers in his wild damp hair, and smile gleefully. He hoist his head; his golden eyes are relaxed. His lips softly touch mine as he stares. This is a strange feeling. I’m so content. I feel remarkable. But there’s something else, a kind of warm tingle ablaze inside me.
He pulls out, and swings his legs off the bed. I wrap the red silky sheet around me, and fall back in tranquillity. He retrieves his jeans from the floor, and turns to me.
“Was that satisfactory, Miss Lovell.” He smiles, cocky, as I thank the heavens above for letting this man be born.
“Hmm,” I grin, watching him pull up his zipper.
Holding his shirt he bends to kiss my head. “I have to go out.”
Is he joking? I can’t tell. His face is as straight as a die. I do hope he is.
“Make yourself at home. There’s food and juice in the kitchen.”
He goes into his walk-in closet, and comes out in a black hoody, holding his sneakers. I watch in perplexity, wondering what the hell this is. He can’t spare one minute after we’ve just had one of the greatest sexual encounters of all-time.
“Where?” I sweep back my messy hair, sitting upright.
He sits on the edge of the bed fastening his laces with a sideward glance. He sighs with a sweet but guilty expression, then turns his attention back to his sneakers.
“I have to go to the office.” He stands, pulling some white earphones out from his pocket. “I won’t be long.” He kisses me quick and leaves without another word.
Well, that was one hell of a brushoff. When a guy runs out like that, it’s usually due to a post one night stand freak-out. I thought I did okay. Maybe I wasn’t up to scratch in his standards. Shit. He’s probably going over the whole thing right now, wondering if I’m worth a second shot.
Dazed, I lay for a few minutes. But how can I relax now?
I get up with the sheet still cloaked around me and wander around his room. I stand before the fire, looking on the mantelpiece. There’s an antique German solid silver clock, and two chrome trinket boxes. I lift one of the lids and it opens out into different compartments. Cufflinks, at least two dozen pairs, and not cheap. I pull one out and study it. It’s platinum, with the initials A.K engraved in it. Very extravagant. I pull a pout and hum out, twirling the piece of jewellery between my thumb and finger.
Put it back Liz. You know you’ll drop and lose it. You’ve always been a klutz.
I mooch across the room, deciding to take a sneak peek in Mr Knight’s closet, and all I can say is,
wow
. I mean the guy must have a tie for every day of the year.
I pull on the lowering rail. It wouldn’t surprise me, looking in this vast immaculate dressing room, that’s bigger than my bedroom, if he had specified dates stitched into each one. These are the three main colours that Mr Knight’s tie collection consists of: grey, silver, and pink. I don’t see the point. He could get rid of his tie fetish in one easy step. By just sticking with three ties.
I turn to the mirror and see his pressed suits hung in rigorous order on the left wall. Jackets and waistcoats displayed high. Shirts in the middle. And pressed trousers below. All designer. Again all of his suits lean toward the three colour code inclination: navy’s, greys, and blacks. Then I see his more casual attire, displayed in a separate organised shelving space. Pressed jeans. Casual shirts. Sneakers and boots. All of which are lined in an OCD manner.
I don’t get it. My wardrobe consists of around thirty items, including the peach bridesmaid gown that needs throwing out. Half the stuff in there, I haven’t worn in years. I stick to the usual: jeans, leggings, blouses, and cardigans. Footwear: flats or boots. Everything in a plain one tone. Nothing in bold print, or an in-your-face colour. I suppose I don’t need to make a statement the way he has to.
Well, I guess I should get dressed now all the passion has been zapped out of me.
***
I finish fastening the last button of my shirt as I make my way into the kitchen. I open the fridge. There’s not much in there. Just a few cartons of fresh juice, and a lonely stick of celery that looks about as lost as me right now. I wonder where all the food is he told me to help myself to. If he’s referring the celery, I’m afraid that looks a little too miserable to eat.
I go for the pineapple juice. I pull out the carton and hunt around the kitchen for a glass. I’m sure Adrien is the type to lose it if he knows his cartons have been contaminated with saliva. I can’t find one, so needs must. I quickly pull the carton up to my mouth.
The front door rattles and opens, making me jump. Crap. The juice has slipped out of my hand, onto the floor, and has splashed everywhere. It’s all up the spotless cupboards, and under the fridge. Oh god. It’s even splattered up the pristine white walls.
“Miss Lovell.”
It’s Sara, and she looks a bit surprised to see me. She walks by the kitchen island, noticing the mess I’ve made.
“Sara.” I offer a shameful smile. “Sorry.”
She opens a cupboard under the island, takes out some kitchen roll in a huff, and tears off a big handful.
“Where’s Mr Knight?” She asks, dropping the paper onto the floor, using her heels to mop the spillage up.
“He said he had something to take care of… in the office.”
“Oh, for fuck sake!” She slams her bag on the worktop.
What’s her problem? Come to think of it, why is she here; does she not have a home to go to? She’s always here, tottering around in her lap dancing shoes, showing way too much leg. Is she actually after sleeping with my, Mr Knight?
“I suggest you leave. He’s always the same when he’s been laid,” she snaps.
I’m not going anywhere. I was going to, because frankly he blew me off in the rudest way. But now she’s telling me to go, I refuse. All this stuff about him getting laid has got me interested.
So no Sara, Mr Knight has just blown my brains out in that bedroom, and he told me to make myself at home, so that’s what I’m going to do.
“What do you mean?” I ask, bravely.
She mumbles and delves into her white handbag. She takes out a bottle of that stupid green vitamin drink, and hands it to me.
“Let’s just say, Mr Knight has one hell of a thirst after he’s been laid,” she says like a true jealous bitch.
So he’s a sex related alcoholic; is that what she’s implying?
She stares daggers at me as I try to pluck up the nerve to tell her to piss-off. But I can’t. She’s so sour and difficult. All I manage to do, to show my dislike, is slam the tonic down on the worktop. I lower my head, whip up my jacket, and charge toward the bedroom.
“Sara.” I hear Adrien’s voice and fireworks flare in my gut. “Elizabeth.”
He stops me in my tracks as he pulls down his hood. It’s obvious he’s picked up on the thin atmosphere between Sara and me. His eyes dart from me to her, as though we’ve just been scratching each other’s eyes out.
“What you doing here Sara?” He asks, taking out his earphones.
She scowls. “Are you okay, Mr Knight?”
“Of course I am.” He beams across at me. “So… what are you doing here?”
She hums in a fluster. “I… I came to give you your schedule for the next few days.” She swiftly fumbles through her bag, and takes out her IPad. “There have been a few changes… Mr Carmichael has altered the summit to tomorrow evening.” She holds a piece of paper out to him.
His face stiffens with a jaw clench. He blusters over to Sara and grabs the sheet. His pupils read, angrily.
“He’s an asshole. He’s gone behind my fuckin back… I told him after the holidays.” He slams down the paper. “And I told him we’re not using the damn Malmaison Hotel again. It’s not suitable.” His business side is very intimidating, and kind of sexy. “Never mind… Sara.” He sees me nervously waiting. “Call Carmichael and give him my itinerary, that will piss him off. Oh and have Dominic organise transport to collect Cornel from the airport… not in a cab this time.”
“Yes Sir.” Sara picks up her handbag and pauses to look at me. “Would you like me to drop Miss Lovell off at home?”
“No,” he snaps. “That’s is my job.”
***
I sit in the passenger seat of the Land Rover, secretly stealing a glance every now and then. I’m tingling all over, playing out the entire evening in my head. But there’s this tiny niggle. Why did he run out on me like that? I’m waiting for the right moment to bring it up. And now we’ve stopped at a red light, I have the chance.
“Did you manage to get what you needed done at the office?”
“Look… I’m sorry about that. It was ill-mannered of me, and I don’t want you to think it was a reflection of what we did.”
I inhale an extensive breath. “Was I… I mean did I…”
“Elizabeth… it was all better than okay.” He flashes a sly beam. “Now please don’t spoil it by worrying.” He turns his awareness back to the road as I look out of the window, feeling all glorious.
He pulls up to the curb and puts on the handbrake. I fiddle with the strap of my handbag as he angles his body across to me. I presumed I’d be receiving a kiss, but he’s now rummaging in the back of the glove-box. He pulls out a brown paper bag.
“Here, these are for you.” He places the bag on my knee.
I purse my lips and take a look inside. There are six of those supplement drinks he loves so much in there. I nod with a puzzled frown.
“Just humour me.” He grins. “One a day, and you’ll feel fantastic.”
I scrunch up the top of the bag. “I already do.” I smile, biting my lip.
He runs his fingers under my hair, pulls, and kisses me softly.
“Goodbye for now, Elizabeth.”
I wave and swoon outside my apartment block, closing the car door. It’s a battle to stop the ear to ear smile that’s persistently displayed on my face. I’m so light and carefree, as though a huge weight has been taken off my shoulders. He checks his wing-mirror, and my Knight and his steed disappear from my sight.
I pick up the mail from the mailbox, and rummage through as I climb the stairs. There’s a package addressed to Cate. One those mail-order hair catalogues she receives every month. And a small envelope addressed to me.
I toss my bag on the phone unit, while flicking off my shoes. What am I supposed to do with myself now? I should eat something, but I’m full. Full of delight and racy memories.
I sigh and rip open the letter. It’s from work, and typed very professionally. Not at all something Harry would do. I read:
Dear Miss Lovell
In regards to your position at Aroma.
All staff will continue in their roll when the shop has been refurbished. Your current pay level will increase after a period of eight weeks, if your dedication to the chain has been sufficient. New rotas, and uniforms, will be sent out in due course.
Exactly what do I think of that? This. I screw up the paper. Harry knows I won’t work for a chain like cost-a-fortune. It won’t be the same. But then this is my living, and I don’t have the luxury of choice. I un-crumple paper. Just till I graduate, I tell myself.
***
It’s 2am and I can’t sleep. I’m wired and so tempted to call him. How am I going to cope now he’s going to be in Birmingham on business for four nights?
I take my phone from the bedside table. It tells me I have only four hours and thirty-five minutes before I have to get up for uni. I scroll down to his name, and get a thrilling sensation inside my belly. Is it too late to text, and just what do I put?
Hey Mr Sex god, I really can’t wait till next time
.
God Liz, put it down. You’re being needy.
I turn over and curl into my pillow when my room suddenly lights up. I spring over and see my phone flashing. I bounce and snatch it up. It’s a text, from none other than my very own charming. I giggle, all rosy red like a naughty school girl. I feel like a naughty teenager. I open and read.
Elizabeth. I never send messages. I find them an immature form of communication. But as I sit here thinking of your bare beauty, I’m drawn to join the masses. See how you have affected me. So, I am free next Saturday night, and shall pick you up at 7pm on the dot.
Adrien
P.s Pack an overnight bag.
I read it again. I’ve never been so excited over a text message. Even if it was a bossy one, it’s got me in a tizzy. Can I allow him to be so presumptuous? Assuming I can drop everything to go and spend the night with him, without questioning it? I am after all, an independent woman. I do have my own life and friends to think of. I grin mischievously.
Mr Knight. Thank you for rudely waking me from my slumber :( to inform me of your plans for next Saturday. But I shall have to check my diary and get back to u. I am a very busy girl, and have a lot of commitments xxx