Page 27 of Saint

Sweat beads dotted my skin.

Victoria contorted her face.

I quickened my pace.

Tracing the place of her nub

With pressure, I rubbed

With intensity, she cried out

Until every decibel died out

To a steady hum in sync with the stroke of my thumb as it drummed and swiftly made her become dumb–I mean drunk on pleasure. She got even wetter, felt even better, and I could feel her cumming. Twitching and jerking, she worked every muscle, expelling her wetness… compelling my erectness to follow the leader.

I collapsed on my back, pulling her close, fully engrossed in the strokes of manicured fingertips running through my pussy-stained beard.

Freeing myself from her grasp, I grabbed a wash rag from the bathroom. I cleaned us both, watching as she reached for me to rejoin her in bed.

“Where are you going?” Drowsily, she petitioned for me.

“To my bed, Beauty,” I revealed, planting a kiss on her lips.

The light of her afterglow diminished slightly upon my revelation. “Stay with me.”

The slackness my body recently acquired fled me with haste as my features went rigid. How could I explain to her that I needed the familiarity of my bed to sleep?

I couldn’t.

Not with those puffy supple lips and lustful sleepy eyes beseeching comfort. So I gathered her in my arms and carried my bride to the opposite side of the hall. She melted into my king-sized bed, looking like she belonged there. When I climbed in beside her, she tossed a leg over me, resting her head against my chest until she was dozing peacefully. Organically, my hand traced the length of her thigh.

Outside, the storm continued painting the sky in blackish blues and grays, but I remained unfazed in a blissful daze, a sleepy haze, and wholly amazed by my current predicament.

To hell with a weighted blanket. This was a thousand times better.

I woke up to warmth. Not from a weighted blanket. Not from the heat of a thigh. It came wet, sloppy, and disrespectful on her knees as she bobbed and weaved. Inch by inch, Victoria took me in her mouth, slobbing, sucking, and licking until I was fully alert and able to appreciate the professional quality of the job she was giving. My hand crept through her afro, gripping –less for guidance and more for the enjoyment of the position– and she continued, up and down.

“Victoria.” Groggily, I groaned, lifting my head to absorb the view. Up and down, she was making a mess, which was really the only way to do what she was doing.

“Call me wifey, Tori, or Beauty, Saint. We’re well past formalities now,” she floated in between sucks with this look of lust threaded with satisfaction.

Our gazes fused, and she stuck her tongue out, teasing the head and tracing along my shaft. She looked so sexy doing what she was doing. Giving me a smirk, she planted her lips around the head and sank back down as her hand milked from the tip to the base. It was the best way I could have ever expected to wake up.

“Tori, baby,” I groaned, covering my face with my arm as she sucked me into an orgasm.

Pungent smoke blew in my direction, permeating the air around me and birthing the wry expression on my face. Seated in the wide chair, my father toked his cigar as if it were the last breath he’d take. When his face met mine, he sat the bundle of tobacco down.

“Close the door, son. We were waiting on you.”

Doing as was requested, I took one of the seats across from his desk. Sincere sat in the right seat while Supreme stood across from us beside our father.

“Good to see you, Saint. I didn’t think you’d surface from your little slice of heaven so soon,” Supreme toyed with a grin.

It had been a little over three weeks since our trip to Indonesia and my sham of a marriage. Admittedly, I’d been enjoying the hell out of Victoria since that night we first had sex. When either of us weren’t at work, we were screwing each other’s brains out. The sexual chemistry was insane. She had a week off before she returned to work, and we’d made the most of that time, ­learning each others’ bodies. It had been so long since I’d enjoyed the comfort of a woman that I was basking in her company.

“Whatever,” I tossed, brushing the top of my head with my palm.

“So, is she still your wife on paper only, or are the two of you–”