Knight

  As he came down he took me gentle then slid in full and both his arms moved to wrap around me, one at my belly, one under my breasts.

  “Love you, baby,” he murmured against my skin.

  “Love you too, Knight,” I murmured back.

  “Stay there, don’t move. I’ll be back. Gonna clean you up.”

  “Okay, sweetheart,” I whispered.

  Gently, he slid out, his hands drifting across my skin in a light caress as his arms left me then I felt the bed move as he got out of it. I saw dim light, heard the faucet in the bathroom then I felt the bed move as he came back. He wrapped an arm around my belly then glided a warm cloth between my legs and my hips jerked.

  “Sensitive?” he whispered.

  “Yeah,” I answered.

  “Like it like that,” he muttered.

  I did too.

  He kissed my shoulder and the cloth went away. “Don’t move.”

  “Okay.”

  He left the bed again to take the cloth back to the bathroom but wasn’t gone long before I felt him enter it again at his side.

  Then he ordered, “Climb on me, Anya.”

  I shifted to him immediately. He had his back to the headboard, legs straight so I threw one over his hips to straddle him. His arms closed around me, pulling me to him. His knees cocked and I felt his thighs against my bottom, his big, powerful, hard, warm body lightly and openly cocooning me.

  Now that. That I loved.

  I settled my weight into him, cheek to his collarbone, forehead to his neck. His hands drifted, sweet, light, beautiful on my skin. Fingers gliding through my hair making it slide along my back adding to the caress.

  I melted into him, giving him more of my weight. We did this and we did it often. I totally loved it. It was supremely comfortable. It made me feel safe, precious, treasured. I could sleep like this and I knew that as a fact since I’d fallen asleep against him when we did this more than once.

  “You dream?” he muttered.

  “No,” I answered.

  He drew in a slow breath then let it out.

  They were gone, my dreams. The good ones, the bad. My sleep was dreamless, completely. It felt bizarre not having them but I didn’t miss them.

  Knight had been right. It took some time but talking them through, living our life, I let them go and they left me.

  “Know it’s late, Anya, but we got somethin’ to talk about,” he said quietly.

  I pressed my lips together and tried not to tense.

  We did. I just didn’t know I’d given that away. I thought I’d been hiding it.

  But Knight noticed everything.

  One of his arms closing around me, he angled to the side taking me with him and the light came on. I blinked in the sudden bright and then focused on his hand at the nightstand, fingers curled around and thumb flipping up the top of a small, square, expensive-looking box.

  Then he pulled out what was inside as I held my breath, stayed completely still and watched as his hand came back, lifted mine from his chest and somehow he managed to position and slide the ring on my finger.

  It was a band, thick gold at top and bottom, the middle inlaid all around with sparkling, perfect, not small by a long shot diamonds.

  I stared.

  His fingers curled around my hand then brought it back to his chest and pressed it flat.

  Oh my God. Oh my God.

  His arm that never left my back got super tight.

  “Not what you’re thinkin’,” he said gently. “You know how I feel about that shit.”

  I blinked, rapidly, but my eyelids were the only thing that moved.

  I knew. I did. He explained it to me ages ago.

  We’d now been together, starting from when we met, closing on two years. We met in February. It was November the year following. After I (officially) moved in that August, he gave us a couple of months then, in bed, the first time we cuddled like this after he made love to me, he explained he was not only not into labels but also not into traditional rituals. This included things like Thanksgiving and Christmas.

  It also included things like marriage.

  He told me he was committed to me but he’d never marry me. I was his, he was mine, we were together and we always would be but “the government knows who I’m fuckin’, everybody else can stay outta my fuckin’ business.”

  I didn’t agree with this. I was Catholic though I didn’t attend church very often (as in never since my parents died, my religious education something else my aunt never saw to). Still, I did when they were alive and I kept that part of them with me. I was lax with it in a variety of ways but it didn’t mean it wasn’t important.

  I was also a girl who wanted her day.

  We discussed it and he didn’t make me yield. We went to Vivica and Rhashan’s for Thanksgiving dinner though Knight left to go to work. He let me have a Christmas tree but no Christmas music, cookies or other decorations. He did give me a gift, only one, but since it was a pair of ruby and diamond earrings that were exquisite, I didn’t quibble. But he didn’t stuff a stocking for me and made it clear he did not want me to give him one so I didn’t. We spent time together that day, I made a nice dinner, we made love, we cuddled and watched movies but we did none of the traditional things that day except exchange presents (I got him more than one, obviously, since it was my holiday and I liked to spoil my man as much as he liked to spoil me).

  But this was as far as Knight was prepared to give in.

  Marriage was not going to happen.

  Although this was a disappointment, I knew it wasn’t him preserving an out.

  This was it, him and me. He loved me. He was committed to me. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with me and intended to do it.

  I felt the same.

  So I gave in. It wasn’t a hardship. I had Knight and, truthfully, I didn’t need a piece of paper.

  So, right then, I didn’t get the ring.

  Knight, as ever, explained.

  On an arm squeeze and another one at my hand where he’d just slid what had to be a crazy expensive ring, he whispered, “You’ve been quiet.”

  Shit, I had. Damn.

  “And I gave you that, baby, lettin’ you work it out. I waited for you to talk to me. You didn’t. But I know, Rhashan puttin’ his ring on Viv’s finger and her bein’ all about her wedding plans, you’re seein’ what you’re not getting.”

  He was wrong. I wasn’t quiet because of that. I was quiet because of something else. I was over the moon that Rhashan asked Viv to marry him three months ago.

  Knight kept talking.

  “So, I gotta give you something. It’s for you and for me. For me bein’, that ring, no one will mistake it, you’re mine. Wherever you go, with me or without me, they’ll see. It makes that statement and I like that. For you, you get a little of what you want. With this,” his thumb moved over the gold and diamonds now at the base of my left ring finger, “I’ll give you a party. You wanna buy a beautiful dress, do it. You want it to be ivory, buy it. Sit down dinner, champagne, celebration, whoever you wanna invite. But I’m not cutting cake. No dancing. No fuckin’ speeches. Just a celebration. You wanna have an anniversary, I’ll spoil you, give you a gift that shows you what you mean to me, take you out to dinner and we’ll do it every year on the night we met.”

  Oh. Wow. That wasn’t everything but it was unbelievably sweet.

  And I’d take it. Definitely.

  He wasn’t done.

  “It means somethin’ to you, you get it for me, I’ll wear your symbol. Whatever you want. Including a band on my finger so everyone can see I’m yours.”

  “I want that,” I whispered immediately, his arm got tight and his body shook with a short chuckle.

  His voice shook with it too when he muttered, “How did I know that?”

  I stared at his hand around mine and my beautiful ring.

  Then I told him, “I want the party too.”

  He pulled me up, I lifted my head and h
is eyes came to mine but he didn’t move his hand pressing mine against the solid heat of his chest.

  Then he said gently, “Plan it. Whatever you want, flowers, food. Wherever you want, I’ll give it to you. No big dress that looks like a cake. This is just a party but it’s a party that celebrates you and me.”

  I stared into his vivid, blue eyes twisting my hand at his chest so my fingers curled around his.

  Then I whispered, “Okay, Knight.”

  He stared into my eyes that were getting wet.

  “You know I don’t like tears, baby,” he whispered.

  I sucked in a breath through my nose and held his hand tightly. He watched me do this and waited until I got control.

  When I did, he muttered, “Good.” Then, “You like the ring?”

  “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen outside of you.”

  His eyes flashed as his head gave a short jerk.

  Then he whispered, “Fuck me.”

  I knew what that meant and felt my lips quirk.

  Then I whispered back, “Thank you.”

  His arm slid up my back and got tight in a way my face had to move forward even as his hand crushed mine in his.

  “I love you, Anya,” he growled fiercely, so low, deep and rumbling I felt it through my body. “You know that, babe.”

  “I do, honey,” I whispered, clutching his hand and I felt my nose sting again.

  “No tears,” he ordered.

  I pressed my lips together, took another breath in through my nose and nodded.

  His arm and hand relaxed.

  “Now, sleep.”

  I nodded again.

  He turned out the light and settled us, Knight on his back, me pressed to his side, his hand still holding mine against his chest.

  Okay, that was beautiful.

  Okay, that was amazing.

  Okay, I loved this man.

  But I had a secret. A secret I was worried would not please him. A secret that pleased me greatly but I was worried it would make him angry.

  And he knew I had a secret. He sensed it. He’d guessed at what was bothering me.

  But he was very, very wrong.

  And after he gave that to me, with all that he’d given me, I had to find a way to share my secret.

  I just didn’t know how.

  * * * * *

  The thin, high heels of my ludicrously expensive sandals clicked on the floors of our apartment as I moved through the L-shaped hall toward the living room-kitchen area.

  I had my phone to my ear.

  “She’s working my last nerve,” Vivica declared. “Are you fuckin’ coming?”

  After a brief respite, Sandrine went on the prowl again. Then we had another brief respite after she hooked herself a handsome, built, wealthy jerk. They got engaged within a month and married two months later in an extravaganza that she threw together in a frightening display of “I’m a princess, all bow to me” that cost her father a fortune and, nearly, Vivica’s friendship. Against Knight’s advice, I forged in and held my posse together by the skin of our teeth. But her behavior definitely lost her any of the dregs of what was left of the respect she had from Knight and Rhashan. They both put up with her for Viv and me and that was as far as it went.

  Now they were getting a divorce and she was on the prowl again. Since she and her husband separated two months ago, she’d met and discarded two “loves of her life” both holding this title for less than a week.

  She was looking for number three.

  Her hunting ground wasn’t normally Slade or other clubs. At twenty-nine, even Sandrine knew she was beyond that. She mostly hunted high-brow charity functions, dragging, on occasion, Vivica (who was now at a different hotel with no “assistant” in her manager title and a huge pay hike) or, more frequently, me along with her.

  But she wasn’t averse to hitting the scene.

  She also wasn’t averse to getting her groove on, getting hammered and doing stupid stuff.

  Like, obviously, she was doing now.

  I moved into the kitchen.

  “I’m about to leave. I’ll be there in fifteen.”

  “Move your ass, girl, or Knight will be activating the cleanup crew to mop up blood after a very messy homicide,” Viv replied and I grinned.

  “Gotcha. There in fifteen.”

  “Later.”

  “Later.”

  I disconnected and shoved my phone in my red clutch. It was one of fifteen clutches I owned, seven of these being red. My dress was also red and it was one of about fifty that I owned, around thirty-five of those being red.

  This wardrobe enhancement was because I liked to be around Knight and our schedules, me at the spa during the day, him at the club at night, except for Sundays, meant we didn’t have a lot of time together.

  So I often went to Slade.

  I did not know any of his “girls” but I did suspect, from some looks, some comments (not overt but thoughtful and respectful) that a number of them came to my spa. When I cottoned onto this, they shocked me. They weren’t exactly what I would think of as professional, classy call girls. They also weren’t skanks. They just looked like, well… women.

  But I did know most of his waitresses and bartenders, there was a heavy turnover of both so there was always a new one, and all of his bouncers and security. Those didn’t turnover. Knight was selective, he trained them carefully, treated them right, they respected him, he returned the favor, paid well and they stuck.

  So I had Knight on occasion, his staff and often Vivica, Sandrine (unfortunately, these days) or one or several of my other friends would show and keep me company.

  I also had my own, small VIP section. The last time Knight gutted the club, he’d had it built for me. It was higher than the others, could accommodate around ten people, was fit for comfort, had some cool-as-heck screening that provided some privacy though you could shift to see whatever you wanted to see but it was also positioned so, from his window, Knight could see me.

  When at Slade, I hung in Knight’s office or in my section with myself, his staff or my friends.

  I was never bored.

  I usually showed around ten, left around twelve thirty. I didn’t see a lot of Knight but I saw him and I knew he also saw me.

  And I knew, even though he never told me, he liked to see me.

  So I often went to Slade.

  I was about to make a move to the front door when something caught my eye.

  A flash of bright red.

  I knew Viv needed me but still, I took a moment and surveyed the space.

  Although there was nothing wrong with them, I got rid of Knight’s counter appliances and replaced them with the same but in red. On the end of the bar delineating the kitchen from the living room there was a tall, slender, red vase that widened at the top that we paid a florist to come once a week and fill. She also filled the squat, magenta, cylindrical vase that sat on the chest at the upper landing by the wall in the living room. And, at Knight’s demand, every week there were new flowers arranged in the two round, black vases in our bedroom, one on the coffee table in the seating area, a smaller one on my nightstand.

  These were always, exclusively, perfect ivory roses.

  Also Knight’s demand.

  I’d kept the rug in the sunken living room but got rid of the streamlined, leather couches that did not invite lounging or, well, anything. Now they were black, slouchy suede couches that practically begged you to kick your shoes off and relax. They were covered with different size toss pillows in magenta, aubergine and dark gray.

  I’d also gotten rid of the print that didn’t do anything for me. Getting what Knight called a “wild hair”, I’d hired a professional photographer to come when Knight’s parents were in town. I invited my posse, Knight invited nobody and we had a party while the photographer took photos. Now on that wall was a custom-made mess of interlocking, multi-shaped and sized black frames with ivory matting and black and white candid photos of family and f
riends.

  Now that made me feel something.

  And the black bowls on the chest were gone. Even though the wall above it was filled with photos, along the top off the vase of flowers, the chest was filled with more.

  And those were just Knight, me or us together. Color and black and white, in Slade, at Thanksgiving at Rhashan and Vivica’s, at my spa, at Sandrine’s crazy wedding, in our apartment, dozens of silver framed photos sitting on the chest, jumbled. You had to get close really to see any of them. But I loved them. Mostly because Knight loved them too. So much, he got into it and, not often, but it happened, I’d be sitting on the balcony or at a stool at the bar, I’d turn my head and see he was taking a picture of me.

  I returned the favor.

  I loved the photos someone else took of us together.

  The photos we took of each other were a close second.

  It wasn’t much (though it all cost a fortune) but it made Knight’s apartment our home. It didn’t look like a museum. It felt like a place where people lived happily. Something which was true.

  Even though it still was kickass.

  I grinned to myself and walked out of the kitchen, switching off lights on my way. I went to the hall closet, got my sleek, black, to-the hip evening trench with the soft sheen and shrugged it on.

  Then I walked to the door and stopped at the narrow table I’d put there that had a big, oval bowl on it where we tossed our keys. I grabbed my keys and looked up.

  Then, as it always did when I saw it, pure joy slid through me.

  Knight’s only addition to making our house a home, outside my ivory roses in the bedroom, was what was mounted on the wall above that table. It was hanging there, I knew though he did not say, so we would see it every time we came home and dumped our keys there and every time we left.

  When I moved in, he’d found the faulty cell phone I never got around to throwing out probably because it meant something to me. Then he’d had it mounted between two sheets of square glass framed in a black frame.