9. Chapter Nine
Chapter Nine
Beckett
W here is our king?
He’s busy. Tonight, it is only you and your knight.
Is that so? What shall we do with our time then?
Allow me to worship you.
Before she can speak, I whisk my queen off her feet and carry her to the bed. I set her down on the edge and untied her boots. Neither of us speaks as I begin my work on undressing her. When her feet are freed from their confines, I grab the oil and warm a tiny bit in my hands.
Her gaze is questioning, but the second that I begin to massage her aching arches, her entire body melts with an audible moan.
I wonder if Lola would let me take care of her like this. Would she let me be the knight to her queen?
When I look down at the time, I am shocked to see that I have managed to write for eight solid hours straight. My excitement at that realization is quickly doused when my stomach clenches hard and lets out a deafening growl.
Dammit. I forgot to charge my watch last night, so I never got any reminder alerts.
As funny as it sounds, it completely slips my mind if I don’t have something to tell me to eat.
Part of the beast, I suppose. You get in the groove and lose yourself to your work. The next thing you know, all you have eaten in the past ten hours is a pitiful egg sandwich.
Which reminds me, I really need to order some groceries. One of the many modern conveniences I embrace as fully as possible. I fucking hate going to the grocery store. It always feels like the cashier is judging my purchases.
Which is ridiculous, I know. Most of the time, I am sure the cashier could care less about my Twizzler addiction. Especially when the elder lady next in line is buying a suspiciously shaped vegetable, duct tape, a plunger, and petroleum jelly.
Oh, come on...
I can’t be the only one worried about what kind of fun she’s about to get up to.
Not that I am kink-shaming; I just don’t think her hips are in the proper condition for that sort of thing.
I open the fridge and groan. Yep. Just as I figured. It’s completely empty except for a stick of butter and some lemonade. I close the door as my stomach growls again and decide to tackle a grocery order over some takeout.
I quickly grab my phone and order my usual from the pizza place on the same block. Although they don’t offer delivery, the owner’s teenage son happily brings my food in exchange for an extra nice tip.
Once that is done, I gather my silverware, glass with ice, and plate and set them down on the coffee table. After all that work, I am treating myself to a movie night. Then, I quickly move around the kitchen, take stock of the essentials, and assemble my cart using the market app on my phone.
Once I am done, I try not to cringe at the total. I really let my stuff get down too far. I was even out of peanut butter. I no sooner hit enter after adding my card info on the grocery order for tomorrow’s delivery when there is a knock on my door.
Perfect timing.
Tossing my phone on the couch, I quickly make my way to the door and pull it open to reveal a fifteen-year-old boy with a blemish-free dark complexion and perfectly spaced braids. This kid is going to be a heartbreaker for sure. If he isn’t already. I know not all teens are like I was. Nose firmly in a book.
Not that it has changed much. Once a nerd, always a nerd.
“Hi, Mr Langford.”
“Hey there, Khol. How are things?”
“Not too bad, sir. Do you mind if I set this down on the coffee table? Dad said you already paid with a card.”
He brings the two smaller boxes in and sets them on the table while I fetch the envelope. When I hand it to him, he gives me a curious look.
“So you know those new neon green kicks we were talking about? Well, the guy at the shop owes me a favor, so I figured you might enjoy a pair.”
His eyes tear up a bit. He’s chatted with me a load of times over the last year. Their family is getting by ok with the business, but Khol ends up stuck with hand-me-down everything from his big brother.
“Mr. Langford, I can’t take this.”
“Oh yes, you can. I already cleared it with your father, and he would be pretty pissed if he found out you turned down an early birthday gift like this.” When excitement wins out, and a smile breaks across his face, I can’t help but smile back.
“Oh, thank you so much, Mr. Langford. Now I am really glad I snagged you an extra cup of Mama’s garlic butter.”
My stomach growls loudly at the mention of my favorite condiment. “You are a life-saver, Khol. Enjoy the shoes!”
The poor kid is so stunned he just keeps nodding as he walks out the door.
I have a soft spot for families that smile through the struggle. Probably some deep-seated desire that my own mother would have been more like that.
She wasn’t the smiling type. Like ever. It was always about her struggle and what I cost her or what we didn’t have. She shopped at thrift stores for me while she wore fresh name brands and high-quality suits. Well, as high of a quality as her legal assistant budget could afford.
Some of her outfits almost seemed to be gifts. Since she refused to tell anyone who my father was and spent a suspicious number of late nights in the office, I had a few ideas about where they might have come from.
Plopping down on the couch, I snatch a big piece of the stromboli and the garlic butter. Once I dip the end in and take a big bite, I fall face-first into a foodie orgasm.
I love food. I really, truly do. And Dante’s Italian Eats has the best stromboli. But as I pop the next bite in my mouth and am filled with bliss, my mind wonders how weird it would be to lick some of this garlic butter off Lola’s creamy skin.
I shake my head and laugh at myself. Clearly, my brain is torn between my cravings for food and the cravings that are heavily building for a certain curvy queen.