Bad to the Bones(70)
Lytton handed Knoxie the papers as Ford went on, “So I came up with this way to thank you. You and Bellamy need a decent place to live. Not that there’s anything wrong with Lytton’s.”
Lytton said, “Thank you for clarifying that.”
“But let’s face it, it’s someone else’s backyard and house. You need a place, especially with those kids of yours visiting once a month. Teens need their own bedrooms. I know that from my own experience as a kid.” Ford seemed to get embarrassed then. “So here’s the deed to five acres near my house on Mescal Mountain. You can use the salary we discussed to build your new house. Oh hell, here she is. Am I going to have to say this all over again?”
Just as Knoxie looked at the papers, the shed door opened and Bellamy stood in a rectangle of light. She had been allowed a few days off since her father was visiting for Passover. They had been at the Mormon Mountain cottage preparing some Seder dishes. It filled Knoxie with joy to see them together. He had never been able to feel affectionate toward his father before he had died. Watching Bellamy and her dad argue over wine, herbs, or matzo gave him a warm, familial feeling. He was still sore that Bellamy couldn’t have more children thanks to those f*cktards in Merry-go-round Canyon.
Now Knoxie gathered Bellamy to his chest, planting a kiss on her warm head.
“What’s up?” she asked. “I was working in the hangar when Speed told me to come out here.”
“No working,” declared Ford. “Your fiancé is the new landowner of five acres on Mescal Mountain. I was just handing him the deed.” Ford and Lytton both clapped Knoxie on the shoulder before vanishing into the rectangle of light, like aliens returning to their ship.
“What the f*ck?” Bellamy said brightly, glancing at the paper but not daring to take it from him. Since gaining her ‘Property Of’ patch—and wearing the wooden necklace containing a photo of Knoxie—Bellamy had taken her role very seriously.
Every day Knoxie thanked his lucky stars for Bellamy. Every day she was evolving, blooming, becoming more trusting, more open, more aware of herself. She had changed from the indifferent, callous waif into a curvy, sensitive—dare he say it, enlightened—woman of the world.
The na?ve refugee he’d found asking him to penetrate her was now an emotional, passionate woman discovering aspects of herself she never knew existed. One didn’t often find a twenty-five year old discovering the pleasures of the female orgasm. It made Knoxie feel younger just helping her explore. She’d been putting the puzzle pieces of herself back together again.
He had to remind himself she’d been locked away in a bizarre world whenever she asked him something that seemed so basic, like who are the Kardashians, how do I text on this phone, or what is twerking. He loved her naivety. Most of the things she didn’t know weren’t a necessity anyway to become a fully-fledged human. He still had to go slow with her—bondage or discipline was not a good choice for someone who had been through her ordeals—and sometimes she scared him with her over-the-top reactions to unexpected things. But it was all a part of regaining who she was. Gathering all the parts together, closing ranks on herself.
“Ford gave me five acres near his house. You like that view, don’t you?”
“What the f*ck? Holy shit! Yes, remember that time I had the meltdown and I cried for you? When you came, you were like a savior with a halo around your head. We stood on Ford’s deck watching the sun rise. I wanted so badly to throw my arms around you and kiss you. But we had too much strange shit going on.”
“Strange shit going on,” Knoxie echoed, putting the papers down and taking big handfuls of Bellamy’s ass. She had gained weight and he loved how substantial she was. A full-figured, whole woman in his hands. He kissed her, fully savoring each small sip at her lips, tickling her tongue-tip with his. As he kissed the tip of her nose, then dipped his head to lick her little buck teeth, he turned her around. Now he could lift her with just a slight bend of his knees and place her on Ford’s bomb-making counter.
“I can’t express how much I love you,” she whispered against his mouth.
“I know the feeling,” he agreed, intent on gathering handfuls of her country and western skirt. She usually wore tight leathers and a sweet little tan buckskin bolero jacket with fringes—that’s where she’d sewn her “Property Of” patch—but this week she’d been dressing in a new, feminine, and frilly style, maybe to commemorate her father’s visit. “It’s hard to say in words.”
“No,” she whined, ladylike. “I mean, it’s really hard to express, Knoxie. I literally can’t verbally express how much I love you. It’s too painful. It wrenches my heart.”
Knoxie murmured, “Why don’t you just say it in sounds? I have a feeling you’ll be making some loud-ass sounds the second I move these booby traps and fuses away from your butt.”
Sliding aside a pile of brackets, cylinder, and pipes, Knoxie yanked Bellamy’s skirt to her thighs, exposing the virginal white triangle of panty covering her pubic mound. Falling to his knees, he plastered his mouth to her swollen * and breathed out, warming it. Immediately, she let loose with a long, low wail, like a foghorn.
He’d never been in a better position for praying. Better, more heartfelt, than any prayer he’d ever done in a church.