72. Dante
72
DANTE
T hings have been going good between Kingsley and me. Until she refers to me as her lover . She may have noticed my pause, but I’m not sure she would have been able to interpret my reticence after that word. She will always be beautiful and desirable, but something inside me cools when she utters that word, and I can’t understand why until I leave her sleeping in her bed and pull on my pants, then trail out to the living room.
I pour myself a drink and sit, tossing the word around in my head, trying to understand what it is that has affected me. What it means for me. I have been with many women in my life, but never in a relationship like this. Never one that has lasted this long. Never one I never want to end. The word lover denotes something short term. Almost like an informal arrangement. I sit there for hours, tossing the word around in my head as sleep eludes me.
“Dante?” King’s soft voice comes from the doorway. I look up and find her with her hip cocked, leaning against the door frame, wearing only her panties. Her hair trails down her chest, covering her breasts in the most exotic way I’ve ever seen. My breath stutters even before it has a chance to reach my lips, my eyes fixed on her body. She is the most beautiful woman I have ever met. And she’s all mine.
“Aren’t you coming to bed, baby?”
And that right there answers all the questions that have been running around rampant in my head. I hate the thought of being King’s lover simply because I don’t want to be something temporary in her life. I don’t want to have casual or informal with her. I don’t want to be just her lover. And I don’t ever want to think of any other man in her bed.
* * *
I order King out of her penthouse at 8am, telling her to meet me for breakfast. I keep it casual, taking her to a little cafe up the street, close enough to the relative safety of our buildings, and easy for our security team to follow us on foot. Over breakfast, I tell her the penthouse is off limits today so I can organize a handyman for some non-existent maintenance work of some issues I noticed yesterday. She is more put out that we won’t be having sex for lunch than any damage to her home.
“But why can’t it wait?” she argues. “Does it have to be today?”
“That leak in your bathroom could cause major problems, King.”
She doesn’t believe me. She fixes me with a look that clearly states ‘are you kidding me, right now’ then reminds me that the home has recently been renovated. I don’t know why I even try to underestimate King; she’s always one step ahead of me.
“I’ve already been in contact with the contractor who did the original work, King. There’ll be hell to pay once I’m through with him.”
She fixes me with another disbelieving look.
“ You’ve been in contact with the contractor?”
I know exactly where she is going with this, and I don’t want to do this right now. This will probably be the last time I try to fool Ms Bossy Pants into believing me.
“Be ready for us to have dinner together at six,” I tell her, my arm cradling her waist as I drop her off at the office. “I don’t want you waltzing up there while a stranger’s in your home. I’ll pick you up at six and we’ll head up together.”
* * *
When we enter the penthouse a few minutes after 6pm, we are hit with the aromatic medley of every Italian herb and spice known to man. I watch as King stops in the doorway, spellbound by the wafting scent, then scrunches her forehead in confusion.
“Oh my God, did the plumber cook while he was here?” she asks, walking toward the kitchen in disbelief. If I know anything about King, it’s that she’s territorial about her things being used. I’m amused that she thinks it’s possible the plumber used her kitchen. And I’m even more amused by the fact that she would never guess what happened here today.
I remove a thin scarf from my suit pocket, and stand behind her as she surveys the spotless kitchen. I am so close, I know she can feel my breath on the back of her neck and her body stiffens in anticipation.
“We’re going to play a little game,” I whisper near her ear, and I watch as goosebumps appear along the length of her arms. She is wearing a sleeveless red dress that hugs her like a wrap and falls to her knees, making me weak inside at the sight of her bare legs. “Do you want to play, King?”
I always ask her this question. I would never do anything to cause her discomfort or unease. That is the beauty of why we work so well together.
At her nod, I proceed to wrap the blindfold around her head. I move my hands up and down her arms slowly, appreciating her skin under mine as I cherish her body in ways I’ve never done with another woman. My arms embrace her, my mouth slides to her ear and I nip it, causing her to moan. She is already delirious. But I don’t want her that way, I want her wide awake for what is to come.
I grab her hand and guide her gently to the dining room. Once there, I resume my place behind her and place my hands on her hips. I walk her into the room slowly, until we are in the middle of the room, next to the dining table. I look around the room, take in our surroundings, and crack my neck. This is happening. Just the way I planned it.