by Imani King
“I’m just not—I want to leave my skirt on. I’m not nice and smooth there. I—” She pauses. “I gained forty pounds with Trixie, and then I had a c-section at the last minute.”
I trace one finger over her shoulder and down the impossible curves of her breasts. Gravity-defying, round, soft, high on her chest. For good measure, I take one in my mouth again before I speak, rolling my tongue over the turgid flesh. She moans, low and guttural, and takes fistfuls of my hair in her hands. The shiver travels all the way down my spine, and my cock grows even harder, straining against my jeans. Jesus, this woman is sexy. Far more than any other woman I’ve been with, in actual goddamn fact. “Stand up,” I whisper.
“What?” She comes out of her trance and looks at me with pure nervousness.
“I’m going to show you what I think of your insecurity. I was just planning on fucking you until you couldn’t walk tomorrow, but I’ve got something to show you first.” When she doesn’t respond, I lift her up and put her feet on the floor. She stands there with that sexy little black skirt on, and nothing else. I certainly could fuck her just like this, skirt hiked up around her waist, brushing against me.
But instead, I take off my shirt and throw it to the side. And then I unbuckle myself, cock coming free. I realize she hasn’t seen it up close, and she gasps when she sees its size, distracted enough that she doesn’t flinch when my hands move to her skirt again. I pull her closer so that she’s standing between my legs, and I deftly find the zipper, resting my fingers there.
I look up at Helena. “I’m going to unzip your skirt now. And I’m going to show you something.”
She nods weakly, her eyes still on my cock. Glad I have that to distract her with, anyway. I pull the zipper down and let the high-waisted skirt fall in a puddle on the floor. Before she can say a damn thing, I pull off her lacy little panties too. “Step out of those panties, Hel, and kick that all aside. I want you just as you are.” Her hands fly to cover the curve of her stomach, and I pull them away. “No, woman,” I say forcefully. “Let me look at you.”
“But the stretch marks—and the scar—”
I put my hand to her stomach, thumb tracing over each of the scars there. “This means you’re a goddamn woman, Helena Landon. You carried a baby. My baby. And when I fuck you tonight for the first time, I’m going to feel every inch of your perfect skin.” I keep one hand there and bring the other to my cock. “And this is what I intend to show you.” I stroke myself and groan, tracing my left hand over her belly and down to her neatly trimmed pussy. When my fingers find her clit and the folds of her sex, she’s wet as fuck, and my rhythm increases. I had really intended to fuck this woman—and that’s it, because that’s what Saint Corbett does. But instead, I slip one finger inside of her and stroke myself, groaning, cock throbbing, impossibly fucking hard for her.
“Saint,” she whispers.
“You see this, woman? I’m so fucking hard for you. I could impale you on this cock, come inside of you, and then take you again two times before morning.” I slip another finger inside of her and she gasps, raising her hands to her breasts and rolling her nipples through her fingers.
Now, I usually just fuck and run, like I said. But I like eating pussy—well excuse me, if you really want to know, I love eating pussy. The musky, sweet smell and the heat of it against my lips as I pull a perfect little clit into my mouth, and good God, that sharp taste, better than the finest whiskey. But it generally gives women the wrong impression, and it gets them wanting to stay the night.
However, at that moment, stroking my hard as steel cock and slipping a third finger inside of a very tight pussy, and looking up at the incredible curves of this smart, vivacious, funny woman—and thinking of her full and pregnant and round with life—I decide I very much want to give her the wrong impression.
And I’m staying the night anyway.
So I get on my knees in front of her, fingers still inside of her, moving my other hand from my cock to one generous cheek of her ass. And I move close to her, taking in her perfect scent and licking my lips. “That’s it, baby,” I say, slipping out of my jeans. “I’m going to make that pussy come.” I look up at her and catch those sunburst eyes looking at me.
“What are we doing, Saint Corbett?”
I move my fingers deeper inside and find that small ridged spot, tapping it with my finger and watching a small flush creep over her cheeks. “I don’t know for sure. But I like it.” I lick my lips. “And I’m going to make… That pussy.” I move my fingers within her, hitting her g-spot with each fluid movement. “Come.” I dive between her legs, mouth and tongue finding her clit, sucking and kissing and making love to it as she dissolves into incoherent moans and babbling that I can’t make out. Because I’m as hard as I’ve ever been, and I’m eating this pussy like a starving man.
I take both of her hips in my hands and hold her up, standing there. She’s shouting, and moaning, fingers tangling in my hair and pulling it hard. The pain only makes me eat her more furiously, swirling my tongue over her clit, and then moving further back so that I slide it inside of her, tasting her, fucking her. She goes quiet and moves her hips against my face, letting out a long, loud moan and shaking as she comes for me.
After that, I pull her to the floor and kiss her, tracing my tongue over her cheek and back down to her breasts. I suck and kiss at her nipples, until she’s begging me to stop, telling me it’s too sensitive, that she needs to take care of me.
Well, she obviously doesn’t know me well enough yet, because there’s no taking care of me in this equation. My attention is all about her, and only about her.
“Saint,” she whispers. I come to consciousness and look up at her golden starburst eyes. “I want you to—” She bites her lip. This is going to be good. I pull her onto my lap where I sit on the floor, so the heat of her sex is right next to my cock. A bead of pre-cum forms at its head, and she takes it in her hand, rubbing the bead over my tip. Arousal courses through me, desire like I haven’t known for years. And expertly, she starts stroking me, maybe trying to deflect what she was going to say.
But I’ve got an idea that she wants me to do something to her, and I need to know what it is.
“What is it baby? Tell me while you’re stroking that cock? It’s big, isn’t it?”
I half expect her to tell me some quip about how it’s not that impressive, but instead, she turns a deep red in her cheeks. “Yeah, it’s big. It’s really, really big.” She flushes deeper, looking down.
“Tell me what it is you want me to do,” I growl.
“I want you to take me bare,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m on the pill—and I’m clean—and I know you are. You made that abundantly clear during dinner when you kept mentioning it—”
I take her waist in my hands and kiss her neck as she strokes me. She’s insane if she thinks any part of her is not sexy, because that’s the goddamned sexiest thing I’ve ever heard in my life. And I’ve heard a lot of things about my cock from women. “And why’s that, my sexy little rule-follower? You want to feel me come inside of you, don’t you?”
Sheepishly, she nods. She opens her mouth, but she can’t say anything else. I like to think—and I hope—she’s been thinking about this for a while. Fantasizing, unable to get it off her mind. Touching herself while she’s thinking about me coming inside of her. A thought rushes through my mind as I lift her and position her sweet pussy above my cock—I wish I could fill her up and get her pregnant again. So I could take care of her, watch her change and grow, and fill up with life and light. In that moment, the draw to her is so insane that I can barely control myself.
What a thought… A thought I’ve never had before.
“I’m going to take you now, Helena.” I pull her down closer to my waiting length, and place her entrance against my head. I slide in just a little ways and hold her there, hips akimbo above my body. Helena starts to pant, hands raised to her breasts again. “You’re so tight, baby.
I could come inside you right now, but I’m going to make you come at least twice before I give you my cum.”
Moaning, she pushes herself lower, hand traveling down over that belly she felt so insecure about earlier, and finding her clit. I let go of her waist and bring her lower, burying my face between those fine, brown tits.
Sex is something I do—and I do it well, and often. But when Helena, curls wild around her face, breasts soft and warm and thoroughly appetizing, brings herself down on my cock, it seems to me that I’ve just been going through the motions. Maybe it’s because it’s been years since I had a woman without a condom—and maybe never that a woman has been so bold and yet so vulnerable at the same time. This is different, I think as she slides to my base, whimpering.
“It’s almost too big, Saint.” Her body moves against mine, not riding me
Now, that I have heard before. Coming from her cherry lips it’s about a thousand times sweeter, and I grin, trying to focus on her smile instead of the fact that I’m encased by the sweetest, hottest woman I’ve ever known. Because if I focus too much on it, I think I might come inside of her, filling her up to the hilt well before she’s ready. So instead, I lift her up and then bring her down again on my cock. As I lower her, I watch her face contort with discomfort—and then with pure pleasure.
This woman is going to ruin me.
And I don’t care.
“You want to come on my cock, don’t you?”
Helena nods, whimpering.
Her hot, tight wetness on my cock is almost more than I can bear. But I let her find her own speed, her own rhythm. She starts fucking me in earnest, riding me so that I no longer have to guide her with my hands.
“And you like having me like this, totally bare?”
“Yeah,” she whispers, biting her lip again as she grinds against me. “I do.”
I let her move against me, how she wants, her pussy enveloping me with each thrust. And then, when I feel her pulse start to quicken, when I hear her breath come in shorter and shorter gasps, I lower her to the floor, feeling her back arch against my hand. Spreading her legs wide, I angle my body so that I can hit her clit with each thrust. Her breath rasps, and she throws her head back, moaning, her sheath pulsing against my cock. I ride her through that orgasm, and then through another, her crescendoing voice like music.
After she’s satisfied, eyes closed, I take her body and use it as mine, fucking her with quick, hard strokes until my own body tightens, the coil inside growing tighter and tighter until I release, filling her with my cum.
“You’re mine,” I say, raising my hand to her cheek and touching the soft skin there. I thrust one last time inside of her, and she gasps. When I pull her over on top of me, there’s a smile on her face thatI won’t soon forget. She’s fucking glowing, and my God, that woman is beautiful when she glows.
I can’t help but think about where we started.
And then something crosses my mind that doesn’t ever cross my mind—where is it that we go from here.
I could lose her.
I could lose Trixie too.
And the world feels like it’s spinning out of control.
They’re simple thoughts, those things. But really, they’re not simple at all.
And then I see it, as clear as day—what all of her posturing has been about. She’s lost this before, been cast out in the cold. And Trixie’s at the heart of it.
What have I gotten myself into?
And what do I do to keep it safe?
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The next morning, every piece of me is tempted to follow Saint to his home, just like he’s always said I can do. He left saying he had meetings early and that he’d be gone much of the next few days, but it was all for us.
He even told me to come to him that night if I wanted—to talk about our future. Whatever that means.
All for us.
All for us. What’s that even supposed to mean?
I know I need to go get Trixie, but there’s a text on my phone from Celia, offering to keep her for another full day and night so I can spend more time with Saint. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that Trixie and Celia have been colluding.
I roll over in bed, thinking about the things Saint and I did last night, the things I’ll never forget. This has all been etched into my memory forever. I don’t know where we go from here and whether or not this is the beginning of something, but I can’t help feeling like it actually is. I want to believe in something bigger than myself and all the fears I’ve held onto for so long. After all, doesn’t everyone want a chance at real, true love?
With that thought, I pick up my phone and type a message to Saint. Even if we don’t move in together right away, even if we don’t get married or anything like that, I can talk to him about the offer he made. He had been so vulnerable in that moment. I roll over, imagining his hands on my body, and then I send the message.
I think I’ll take you up on your offer, big man.
My pulse races. I blush and bring my cool hand up to my cheek to calm the flame rising. My body is still sore from just one night with him, my nerves supercharged and overwhelmed with the things he made me feel. It’s strange that I feel this way about him so soon—I never felt this away about Kellan in all the years we were together. Somehow with Saint, everything is so different. After last night, all of the red flags vanished. All of the hesitation I had before was gone with the things he said, and surprisingly, it feels the same way as I lie here this morning.
There’s no reason not to respond to what he said.
When we woke up, he looked to me and said, “You come to me anytime. I want you to be ready. But I also want you to know that I’m already there. I’m ready for you—and for Trixie—in my life, full time.” My stomach had leaped like it did when a handsome boy looked at me in high school—except it was times ten, that anxiety and excitement on a totally adult scale.
“You’re sure?” I had asked him while our bodies were still tangled together, the sun an hour away from rising.
“I’m absolutely sure, Hel.” He had pursed his lips then, like he wanted to say something more, and I had wondered what might be on the tip of his tongue.
I want to go to him.
I want to know. And it seems it’s impossible to be away from him right now.
I wonder what he was about to say. I slide out of bed and purse my own lips, lost in wondering as I pull on my clothes. I know I’m about to drive to Los Angeles and tell this man I want to be with him for the rest of my life, let him know that I’m real about this too. It should feel monumental, but I check myself as I look in the mirror and fluff out my curls. It just feels real and natural that I should do exactly what he said. As I rack my brain, thinking through each bit of it, it feels like this is right.
The best thing about him, perhaps, is how quickly he fell for Trixie, how quickly he wanted to become a real father.
Late last night, I was so full of hesitation. Yet now, when he’s gone, I feel none of it.
I’m ready.
Without another thought, without waiting for his text in return because I know it will come, I throw on a dress and sprint out to my car, calling Celia on the way and telling her to keep Trixie as she’d planned. Before I can tell myself what a questionable decision I’m making, I’m in the car, driving south on the 101, bound for Los Angeles.
***
When I pull into Saint’s parking garage, I’m relieved to find that he’s texted me back.
I’m ready for you anytime, Hel.
He even called me by my nickname. My heart flutters again, and something deep inside of me clenches tight. Is it love that I’m feeling? Could it be so soon? My parents said they said the words two weeks after they met. And Saint and I… well, it doesn’t feel like long, but we’ve been dancing around each other for a long time now. And his words and promises seem to contain so much more than simple friendship and attraction.
The doorman nods to me as I walk acro
ss the cool marble floor that leads to Saint’s elevator. Before when I’ve come here, I couldn’t help but think about the many, many women who have crossed this same path. Now I’m wondering if I’ll be the last woman with this journey.
The thought makes me shiver as the steel elevator doors open to greet me. I rise the five floors to Saint’s penthouse above and wonder if I’m appropriately dressed—diaphanous black summer dress, tan sandals, and a manicure that probably needs a refresher. Gingerly I touch my lips to see if I even remembered to put on lip gloss. Like my fingers, my lips are dry, cool, and bare.
I’ve only brought myself. By the time the doors open in front of me to reveal Saint’s office, I’m wondering if I should have paid more attention to what I was wearing.
Anyway, it’s too late now.
Saint looks up from his sprawling cherry-wood desk with a wide grin—the one that first lured me in. The windows that look out onto the sprawl of Los Angeles frame his figure in the midday light. The inside of my entire body jumps at the sight.
What am I here for, again?
“I didn’t think I’d be seeing you again so soon. And to be honest, I didn’t think you’d be moving to Los Angeles anytime soon, either.” Slowly, he stands up and walks over to me, and before I can think, he draws me into his arms and crushes my lips with a kiss, sending light and heat through my body just like he did the night before.
I can barely breathe. My limbs might collapse out from under me. And every bit of me feels like it’s on fire.
Is this why I’m here? To move in with a man who’s offered me no real commitments?
When his lips part from mine, words fail me. There’s nothing inside my brain right now—and come to think of it, was there anything there since the moment he laid hands on me? “I don’t know if…” I start, then purse my lips closed. “I don’t know really why… I mean, yes. I want to take you up on your offer to spend more time together…” My voice trails off.
