by L.J. Shen
Sage: I can explain.
Sage: But not right now. You’ll have to wait a few weeks.
Sage: You’ll need to trust me on this one.
Sage: You really think I’m cheating on you? Are you high or something? Have you been asleep the past DECADE?
Sage: I hope you weren’t upset in front of Elle.
Sage: Answer me.
Sage: I’m coming back home, and my coach and manager are not going to be happy about it.
Sage: There’ll be a lot of ass-kissing afterwards. We’ll have to entertain them AND their wives to smooth things over. But you asked for it.
Sage: You better be naked when I get there. I’m taking the next flight home.
Sage: At the airport now. So. You think I’m cheating on you. Do you also think I’m brain-dead by any chance? Why the hell would I cheat on you in our house? I can afford a nice hotel room.
Sage: Although I’m guessing that’s not what you want to hear…
I’m holding my first glass of wine. It looks good in my hand. You know what else looks good? A cheeseburger. I decide to neglect the wine, pick up my phone and Uber-eat it. Life is too short to pick up your own food. Especially when your husband may be cheating on you. I call Elle’s babysitter, because there is no way I’m picking her up from pre-school piss drunk. “I need you to take Elle for a few hours after school.”
“Count on it.”
The hours tick by. The cheeseburger is consumed, digested, and reminds me why raw onion is the work of Satan. I’m currently watching Friends. If Jennifer Aniston bounced back after Brangelina, this, too, shall pass. Right?
Wrong. I feel like throwing myself off a cliff.
The only thing stopping me is Elle.
But somewhere deep down, even though my husband is offering me zero explanation for the lipstick, I’m still not convinced Sage has cheated. I just feel…angry. And sad. And happy. And horny.
Jesus Lord, what is happening to me?
I stand up to get myself another bottle of wine when the door opens.
I’m not expecting anyone.
I look up at the overhead clock. Jesus, it’s already the afternoon.
I swivel my head back toward the door.
My husband is standing there, looking just about ready to murder someone.
Someone unreasonable.
Someone hormonal.
Someone like me.
Sometimes dicking your wife is not a matter of want. You need to do it as a national service.
Like, when she starts to have random, weird, unhealthy thoughts that are completely unwarranted. I can’t tell her who the lipstick belongs to, because it’s part of a surprise. A surprise I’m hoping will result in a lot of anal. Not—in fact—a divorce.
“What the fuck, JoJo?” I drop my duffel on the floor and advance on her. We are twenty-five now. Older and wiser than we were when our one-time roomie hookup took place. She should know better than to think I’d bang some random, and in our house, of all places. Jesus Christ, who does she think I am?
Sage Poirier. The guy who banged his way through every girl in college. What else should she think?
JoJo does what she always does when she knows I am going to catch her—she runs. This time, she darts to the bathroom, slapping the wall as she rounds the corner. Big mistake. I was thinking about bathroom sex all throughout my speedy flight from Colorado. She gallops to the en-suite in our room, and I’m on her heels, faster and stronger and with the instincts of a pro athlete. I wasn’t drafted to one of the most popular teams in the NFL for nothing.
“Not so fast, little rascal.” I hook my arm around her waist and jerk her into my raging erection. I’ve been thinking about that sad, sulky face of hers the entire flight back home. I’m going to get so much shit from my coach and manager for bailing on my team, and this is so out of character from my sensible, reasonable, not to mention sane wife. The least I deserve is a sex worthy of my trouble.
“What are you doing?” she hisses, baring her teeth.
“What the fuck does it look like?” I grind my cock into her ass and the friction alone could start a fire. Goddamn JoJo and her love for yoga. Her body is lithe and tight everywhere, yet her skin is the softest thing I’ve ever touched. It’s like I was born to be weak for her, and only her. No one else but her. “I’m baking a cake. Nope. Wait. I’m claiming what’s mine. And it just so happens to be a very mouthy, very impulsive wife who thinks very little of me.” I flatten my palm on her lower back and bend her over our Jack and Jill sink in one swift movement. Our eyes meet in the mirror. Jolie is panting hard, her body quivering under my big palm, shaking, anticipating. I’m not sure if she is more angry or turned on. Doesn’t matter. Either will get her to come so hard she’ll turn into Jell-O.
“You think I’m cheating on you?” I ask, my voice low, never breaking our gaze.
“I think I never wear red lipstick. Nor do any of my friends.” Her eyes narrow at the mirror defiantly, but she is pushing her ass into me, and I dig my fingers into her delicate flesh under her clothes, probably marring it red.
I push her yoga pants down, then get rid of her tiny white thong. I would tear it off of her and leave marks on her ass if it wasn’t for the fact I’m truly fond of these panties. “Listen to me carefully, Wifey,” I spit up the title with enough venom to show her that she wasn’t the only person to get butthurt today. “No matter what you think you’ve seen or caught me doing, even if it looks so bad you want to pluck my eyeballs, rest assured, there’s a good explanation for it. I will never cheat on you. I will never look at another woman. I barely even register other women exist, save for my mama and Elle.”
My dick springs free from my briefs the minute I shove my jeans down, pressing it into her pussy, that’s already swollen and dripping with her want for me. I poke at her slit, so pink and wet and ready for me, torturing her like she tortured me when she chose not to answer any of my messages and calls.
“You like that?” I breathe into her ear and her entire body blossoms into goosebumps, melting under my touch like butter under the blistering sun.
“Fuck me,” she growls quietly, throwing her head back against my shoulder and squeezing her eyes shut. Yeah. Like hell I will. She will have to beg for it now.
“You want a cheater to fuck you?”
“If you cheated, I want you to get the hell out of my house. But…fuck me first. Jesus.” Her head drops to the cold tiles and she closes her eyes, pushing her pussy into my cock. Jesus sounds about right. She hates what comes out of her mouth, but she isn’t going to take it back, because it’s true. She would give me permission to fuck her right now even if I’d killed Rebel, our dog. I can feel the moisture crawling down her inner thighs. JoJo’s always been hot for me.
“Spread your legs,” I growl into her ear. She does. I drive into her once, my thrust in sync with her—that’s what we do, we are legends inside our bedroom, gods who play a very sinful game—and pull out immediately.
“Ohhh…” She shivers all over, her knees wobbly.
“Oh-in-fucking-deed. Now tell me again. Do you really think I would cheat on the love of my life? Bring a stranger into the home I built with you, to the place where we raise our daughter?”
“I…I…” she stutters.
“Bring me that lipstick. I know you kept it. Now.”
It takes Jolie a few seconds to compose herself, straighten her posture and stalk out of the bathroom to get the red lipstick. She returns naked from the waist down, a pink camisole hanging loose around her chest. I snatch the lipstick from her hand, pop it open, and whaddayaknow, it is brand new. I’m happy the person it belongs to didn’t use it yet, or I would get a lot of shit for what I’m about to do.
“Come here,” I seethe. She does. When she is close enough to me, I apply the lipstick to her lips, grab her hair, and push her down to her knees.
“I love you, sweetheart, but you were very bad to reach such an incorrect conclusion too fast, too soon, and
without giving me the chance to explain myself. You also brought me here all the way from Colorado, so you better suck my dick like a goddamn Hoover, otherwise you’re not coming for an entire month.”
I’ve never seen someone so hungry for a dick. She devours my long, thick shaft, the red lipstick smearing all over my skin and her face. A thick drop of cum dangles from my tip, and she hurries to swallow it into her mouth. She is sucking, lapping, slurping, pulling, and my balls are tightening in pleasure and awe. JoJo is really, truly, carnally in love with my dick. Which is a good thing, because I would legitimately marry her pussy if it was legal.
Don’t say that out loud. She is acting crazy this week. She might blame you for wanting to cheat on her again.
Most of my cock disappears inside her pretty mouth when I decide, “You don’t deserve my cum in your mouth.”
I hoist her up to her feet and throw her back against the counter. I bend her over again, push my hand between her thighs and borrow some of her juices. Her greedy pussy is so wet, it is literally dripping, and I rub it all over her skin, then suck my fingers to taste what I do to her. She bucks her hips, begging for my hand, for some friction, for anything, but I curl my fingers to borrow her juices and smear them into her tight back hole.
“You don’t deserve my cock,” I groan, pushing my cock—wet from the blow job—into her tight little ass. “But you’ll get something, JoJo. You’ve been good to me so far, so I’m going to let you come. As long as you know I won’t be so fucking nice the next time you accuse me of cheating.”
She nods enthusiastically as I push into her slowly from behind, one hand guiding my cock, the other plucking out the electrical toothbrush by her sink.
“Yes. Oh, God, yes, Sage. I promise. I promise.” She is falling apart at my first thrust into her ass. Jolie is a sexual animal, but right now she is borderline possessed. I wonder what she had for lunch and how do I get her to eat it three times a day so we can always do it like rabbits.
“Open your legs wider for me,” I bark out the order, watching her beautiful, innocent face smeared with red lipstick as I fuck her ass mercilessly. She does. I press my thumb to the button of the electric toothbrush and it vibrates alive as I shove it into her pussy, filling her ass and cunt at the very same time, and thrusting both holes in the same, punishing rhythm.
“Sage! My Lord, Sage!” she is screaming now. I’ve never done that before. Taken both her holes. Not entirely possible with only one cock, and that’s usually how it goes in the human anatomy. Anal is also a special treat in her marriage, so I’m going to go ahead and guess that my wife is going through something highly hormonal to be acting like this. The vibration from the toothbrush makes her ribcage rattle, and I take the hand that guided my cock into her and pinch her nipple hard.
“You wanna know the worst part?”
She gulps loudly, but doesn’t answer me.
“The lipstick was a part of a very good surprise.”
“Huh?”
“Oh yeah.” I drill harder, deeper, faster into her, feeling her orgasm washing over both of us. The violent tremble of her ass against my body. My dick is pulsing with heat, and I know I’m about to burst, too. “That lipstick, baby, belonged to a real estate agent. I bought your mama and pop a house next to us, so they can help you with Elle and all our future babies. Now that they’re retired”—I pull the toothbrush from her pussy, yanking her by the hair and turning her around. I elevate her over the counter and drag my dick along her thighs, marking her with my cum—“more time to help you. And you’ll need all the help you can get, honey, because with the amount of fucking we do, we are going to populate the entire state.”
She comes so hard, her sweet cunt clutches the fingers I shove into her in a death grip. I almost stumble backwards from the impact of shooting my own load between her thighs, the scent of her juices, our sweat and our sex mingling together in the air like a perfect cocktail. I grab her jaw in my hand and guide her lips to mine, planting an all-consuming kiss to seal this fuck on the right note.
“I love you, Jolie. You’re my world, my universe, the air I fucking breathe. I will never cheat on you, and next time you pull a stunt like this, I will punish you with unfulfilled orgasms. You better believe it.”
With that, I turn around and stalk out of the bathroom, leaving her to collapse on the floor to regroup.
I can feel her gaze on my back.
It tells me I redeemed myself.
That she is in love.
I look down at my deflating cock, tucking it back into my briefs as I turn the shower on for us to share together. As I wait for the water to warm up, I think back to the last time we had such crazy sex. I vaguely remember she was acting weird, too.
I swivel my head back to watch her, and the penny drops.
It was right after we found out Elle was coming for us.
“Baby,” I say.
“Yeah?”
“After the shower I’m going to go buy you a pregnancy test.”
Two weeks after
Boy, do I regret drinking those few sips of wine the day Sage came back from Colorado for me.
“Show it to me again.” My husband snatches the ultrasound photos from my hand. Oh, God. If guilt was water, I’d be drowning. No matter that I drank two weeks ago, and my doctor told me that I was perfectly fine, and that it didn’t matter—I still feel incredibly guilty. Funny thing is, I am on the pill. I wasn’t planning on getting pregnant again anytime soon, but it just happened. I wasn’t on antibiotics or anything. But as my OB/GYN said, “There’s always that small percentage. And you fell right into it.”
We look at the ultrasound photos again. Our baby looks like a bean. Or a peanut. Whoops, now I’m hungry again. Pregnancy really is a magical thing.
“Do you think it’s going to be a boy or a girl?” Sage looks up at me, his eyes shimmering with joy.
I smile. “It’s fifty-fifty.”
“What fifty does your gut tell you? That’s where the baby is. It must know.”
“A boy,” I tell him. He smirks, dragging me to sit on his lap. Elle appears from her room, skating across the shiny floor of our house. She comes to a halt beside us, flips her bangs away, and grins.
“Guess what, Daddy?”
“What, baby?”
“Mommy said I can have a cock.”
Sage’s face turns from smiling to stunned. He twists his head to me, still talking to our baby girl. “Baby, you will not be getting a cock any time before I’m six feet under.”
“Sage.” I slap his chest lightly, giggling.
He grins. “She means a chicken, right?”
I nod. “I made the same mistake.”
Sage pinches my waist. “That’s because you’re horn—” I flick his ear, so he catches himself, “horribly imaginative.”
“I think so, too. By the way, you know what else you are going to get, baby?” I turn to my sweet, beautiful daughter who looks just like her father.
“What?”
“A brother or sister.”
Her mouth falls open, and I can’t help but laugh.
She frowns. “But…I’m still getting a cock, too, right?”
Sage and I both laugh, and I bury my nose into my husband’s delicious neck. There is only one word floating in my head right now, but it’s the only one that matters.
Mine.
Surprise Bonus Content
This year started out on an amazing note for me. I was humbled and excited with all the love you have given Midnight Blue, my rock star romance, which came out on January 17th. My readers are much more than just readers. They are my tribe, my home, the people who make me push myself harder with each book. I have therefore decided to treat you to a little extended epilogue from Vicious (Sinners of Saint #1). If you haven’t read the novel yet, please skip this part. If you have, I hope you enjoy.
Thank you for your continued support and passion for the written word. You make the world better. Well…at least mine!
L.J. xoxo
Extended Epilogue: Vicious
“Kneel.”
There’s menace in this voice, and I grew to love the man who carries it like a loaded weapon. Every word is a sharp edge of a knife, sinking into my skin.
Kneel.
Sit.
Open your mouth.
Touch yourself.
Repeat after me: Vicious, I’m yours.
Most married couples fall into a blissful, albeit drowsy domestic routine of laundry, family dinners, and Netflix.
Most married couples are not Vicious and me.
We were different from the beginning. A yin and a yang, fighting over which color took more space, black or pink. We started out as enemies, and I think that, although we are still crazy in love, we will always be rivals on some level. We will always be passionate, and angry, and desperate.
We will always be us.
“I’m sorry, I don’t take orders from people who aren’t my boss,” I say coolly, dropping my funky, colorful bag at the door and erasing the distance between us in wide, confident steps. He is standing in front of me, his Armani suit impeccable, his raven hair slicked back, his icicle blue eyes devouring me in ways that make being eaten alive worth it. He scans the length of me, a slight sneer on his face. I’m still me, even so many years later. The tips of my light brown hair are still cherry-blossom pink. The soles of my shoes are yellow, for Christ’s sake.
“That could be arranged, if you continue your sass.”
“How is that going to work, Vicious? Are you going to re-employ me against my will?” For the past eighteen years, I’ve been managing my own gallery in L.A. A gallery he bought for me shortly before our engagement. I have a career, an income of my own. Truth is, he gave me a push, but the entire journey to where I am today was made by me, and only me, and he knows it.
He cups my cheek, yanks me by the hem of my funky powder blue blouse with little suns into his body and leans down for a kiss. Our lips brush briefly, promising scattered clothes and ragged breaths, just as the door swings open and our son walks in. He slams the door behind him, his eyes still intently glued to his phone.
