Page 59 of Dark Verse

I crack the door open, the steam attacking my glasses with vigor. Pulling them off, I wipe them on my shirt.

“I was just saying that I’m back.”

“Good morning, sweetheart,” he replies. I felt buzzed reading him call me that. Hearing him say it makes me feel giddy. “Hope you don’t mind, I’m using some of your body wash.”

“Not at all. I grabbed us some breakfast if you’re hungry. Coffee and pastries.”

He pulls back the shower curtain so I can see his face. Soap drips from his hair all the way down across his shoulders. I can’t see much more of him beyond that.

“Sounds great. Want to come join me before we eat? The water is nice and warm.”

His expression is mischievous and extremely tempting.

I scoff. “With this hair? Nice try.” I flip my braids over my shoulder for emphasis.

When Knox joins me in the kitchen, he’s still dripping wet, the towel wrapped tightly around his waist. The line of dark hair on his chest and stomach draws my eyes downward and I take a long look at his form. I fancy myself the consummate professional, so despite our initial meeting, I’ve done everything in my power to view him as an employee first and foremost. Anytime I’ve caught myself trying to ogle him, I have busied myself with some other task. That’s basically impossible to do at this moment.

Knox is fit and not overly muscular, the kind of build that suggests consistency, not outright gym rat-like obsession. Narrower shoulders but defined arms and strong legs give him an air of easy athleticism. The light catches the water droplets in his full beard and short, damp hair, highlighting the few grays he has. He looks perfectly comfortable in his own skin, strong and rugged, his tattoos on full display. In my haste this morning, I didn’t bother with underwear, but the rest of my clothing makes a good faith effort to spontaneously combust as I watch him move around the space.

His left arm is covered in a half-sleeve, the theme of the music obvious, even from a distance. Music notes, staff lines, and instruments make up the tattoo. His right arm has a large tattoo running down three-quarters of it, snaking up over his shoulder and across a small part of his chest. The bright yellows and deep browns of the sunflower motif look more dynamic, indicating it’s a newer tattoo.

“I felt like a fancy m’fer with these silk pillow cases,” Knox says, leaning over to kiss me.

I welcome it, but keep my lips pressed together, realizing I need to brush my teeth.

“It’s good for the hair and the skin,” I say, opening the brown bag and fully releasing the smell of the pastries.

We’re bombarded with the smell of browning sugars, warm fruit and allspice. It reminds me of Saturday mornings when I still lived with my parents. Dad really got into baking as I entered middle school, and every weekend was filled with taste testing his new recipes.

“I wasn’t sure how you like your coffee, so I got you a few options,” I point to the cardboard drink carrier.

Knox looks at me sideways, his lopsided grin adorable, “Is that a setup for a joke?”

“No, should it be?”

He shrugs, “Bright, bold, complex…creamy. Those words can describe a lot of different things. Coffee is only one of them.”

Knox grabs the closest cup to him and takes a long sip, his gaze never leaving mine. Oh my god, this man looks like he wants to eat me alive. Placing the cup back down, Knox leans over me, taking up my whole visual space and attacking my other senses. The smell of my body wash has changed on his skin, the rosewater taking on a decidedly more earthy tone.

The hair of his beard tickles my skin as his lips press into mine, his tongue running across the seam of my lips. My lips part automatically, and he draws me into his body without hesitation, his hardness obvious through the fabric of the towel.

“We should eat,” I say, my words breathy.

“That’s what I’m trying to do.”

I can’t help but giggle. “I’m serious.”

“Me too,” he insists, squeezing my ass firmly.

Leaning back enough to break the kiss, I meet his eyes.

“I have to be at the venue in an hour, and I still need to shower.”

“Should have showered with me,” he says, running the tip of his nose against my neck. The action sends a spasm down my spine. I almost let the hind brain take over, but I’m again reminded of the time when my alarm tells me my usual bus will be at the stop in ten minutes.

“Like any real cleaning would have happened in there,” I tease.

“Mmm…true. I’d still have you bent over taking every inch of me like the good girl I know that you are if you had joined me.”