Saint's Salvation_The Seven Deadly Sins

by Tiana Laveen

He flipped her fast on her back, stretched her legs wide and dropped between her warm thighs like a pile of bricks. Furious fingers rummaged through his black waves. As his locks were a bit grown out, she managed to wind a few strands around her finger and give a gentle yank. All it did was turn him on…

  Lapping at her clit, he coaxed it out from hiding until he had it between his teeth. Gentle … so gentle, he rolled it along his tongue, sucking then stopping, sucking then stopping once more. Her eyes fluttered as she glanced at the ceiling then down at him. Their eyes locked. She kept watch on him polishing the pussy until it shone like brand new gold. She didn’t say it, but her body was petitioning him, pleading for mercy. She opened her mouth to speak, then caught herself, stopping just short.

  “Oh, look at that … you were going to ask me why did I stop, weren’t you?” He smiled devilishly. “Beg for this tongue, baby … beg me to make you cum hard, eat your juice box right and swallow all that sticky, sweet ambrosia. Mmm, baby, you wanna watch your king eat the fuck outta that pussy cat, right? Make it purr and rain down in Daddy’s mouth?”

  “I … won’t. I won’t do it.”

  “Only a weak woman is afraid to ask her man for what she needs…” She grimaced at his reverse psychology. “Now say it.”

  “No. You can’t make me. I refuse.” He dropped between her legs again, turning his body to the side and flicking his tongue in her sweet, fleshy folds. He fell in love with her feminine curves all over again, and her nature got him drunk with each carnal taste. The woman squirmed and yelled her appreciation, drawing so close to her orgasm, she was mere hop, skip, and jump away. And then, he pulled away.

  “Oh my God, I hate you, Saint! Shit! Come on!” she cried out, the sound a mixture of tormented sadness and unadulterated disgust.

  “Beg me for your pleasure.” Ciara sung “Speechless” in the background, coaxing them on. “Remember the first time I made love to you?” He winked at the Queen, loving how he finally had her defiant ass under control. “I kept eating your pussy, made you pass out. You were so mean to me, I made you beg for this fuckin’ dick… Do it again. Beg me to fuck you.” He sneered as he ran his fingertips up and down her inner thighs.

  “Your pride is a fool and formally dismissed! I can’t believe this.” She slapped her forehead in disbelief.

  “Tell me you love me.” He grinned at her as he ran a hand along her knee.

  “I love you…”

  “Now beg me to take you to the Promised Land.”

  The woman’s hands fisted as she gripped the sheets and grinded her teeth in angst. He enjoyed watching her squirm as she contemplated her choices, then came to a decision.

  “I want you to finish, get me off.”

  “Beg me for it…”

  “I just did!”

  “No, you asked me… You know what to do. Stop fuckin’ around with me, Xenia.”

  He sat back on his knees then shimmied out of his underwear, revealing a rock-hard erection that could drill through concrete. Her eyes landed on his bobbing dick and she didn’t turn away.

  “Yeah … you like that, don’t you, baby?” He grabbed the hungry snake between his legs and stroked it slow and hard in front of her, thrusting his hips back and forth, giving her a preview of what was on the menu. “This is all for you, baby … my mouth all over your sexy ass body. My hands all over your breasts, pussy, and ass; my fingers twisting your beautiful hair and pulling you close, jerking you into my fast thrusts, giving you every inch of my desire.

  “This dick was designed with you mind, to drive in and out of your wet pussy, to dip into your tight little ass and making you scream for more. You love it when I drill your pretty mouth and serve it to you however you want it, pride be damned… You own this dick of mine, baby. It’s all yours with a big ass red bow, but first, I need to hear those magic words. You know I can drag this out, baby. Pleasure and pain are so close, sacrifice and gifting … you’ve seen me in action too many times to count.” She rolled her eyes and pursed her lips. “Energy or not, my pride will force me to get what I want from you. It overrides almost everything, but I know how to control it now, instead of letting it control me. So, what is it to be? What are the magic words?” He placed his hand to his ear like Hulk Hogan coming out to the wrestling ring circa 1987.

  “I am begging you to eat my pussy, baby. Saint, put your mouth on me … please.”

  Without any further ado, he yanked her up off the bed and turned her upside down, sliding her ass to him, and locking her ankles behind his neck. Then, he got to work dipping his tongue in and out of her cave and licking around it at lightning speed. She shook in his domineering grip, hands enveloped tight around her body while he tried to touch her damn soul.

  Her moans wrapped around the brief silence in the room and caught him in the heart. The last song had stopped, and before the next could begin, all he could hear was her spastic breathing, her panting. Her body writhed against him, the soft mounds of her ass pressing into his chest as she humped his lips. Like the fine liquor that she was, her brook streamed forth and he eagerly lapped at her juices, his mouth coated in her essence at last. Her screams shook his core, rattled his resolve. Placing her down delicately on her back, he lifted her leg and positioned it over his shoulder. He looked into her sleepy eyes. Tracing the side of her face, he leaned in close for a kiss. Their lips touched softly, their heat intertwining as he filled her with his hard, unstoppable need.

  “Oh God … yes, baby!” She groaned, her eyes fluttering.

  His hips bucked, slow and sluggish as he introduced his dick within her. Pressing up on his palms, his cock caressed her tepid valley with long, slow strokes, falling further in love with each careful thrust.

  “You can have me, baby. I’m submitting to you.” His choppy breathing caught him off guard, falling into the prodigious moment, forcing himself to move at a leisurely pace to cherish every single stroke. “Tell me what you want me to do. I’ll do it, baby.” His eyes watered with joy as he fell upon her breasts, hips rotating and locking and his cock grinding between her legs.

  “Keep it … just, like that…” She gasped.

  “Anything you want, baby … anything at all. I’ve got you.” Everything within him bowed down to her, all the humor and jokes and bravado aside. He was nothing without her. Xenia owned him, and he was never so happy to be possessed.

  I’m her host. She’s inside of me, pulling the strings. I’m just a lot of talk when it comes to her, but she can do whatever she wants to me and I’d never leave. That makes me weak, but only for her. I’m not ashamed, either. She knows I’d turn this world, Heaven and Hell upside down and inside out for her. I have to; she’s the key to my salvation…

  On a groan, he paused, almost drawing blood as his teeth sank into his trembling lower lip. His body juddered as his dick throbbed within her, threatening to release his smooth gratitude should he dare speed up. His heart’s musings had turned him on; the soul connection was loud and clear. From his head to his toes, he was electric. Soft arms wrapped around his form, drawing him closer. She lulled him into a kiss, their movements now slow and languid. Fully engulfed in her pussy, he didn’t know how much longer he’d last, but he’d try…

  Pride was a devilish drug. He snorted the powdery dust up his nose for the last time, and flushed the remainder in the toilet—instant rehab. The woman twisted and turned her hips, churning and bumping, pulling him inside her warm, soft honey walls. Balling the sheets up in a tight grip right beside her ear, he sped up his pace, matching her motions on hitched breaths.

  “You’re going to make me cum, baby…” He panted. “I’m trying to hold out; you’re making it so damn hard though. I can control myself, but you’re testing me. I just love you so much…” Cradling the back of her head, he looked deeply into her eyes.

  “I love you more… You want my permission?” she cooed, rotating her hips and squeezing her pussy muscles, making him weak at the knees. He sighed loud, feeling the sting of his suff
ering as he groaned into the cradle of her neck. Hips pumping steady, he died a little as she kept him prisoner to their mutual pleasure.

  “Yes … I need your permission.”

  “Saint submitting.” She smirked, though her words were clothed in a gentle tone. “I’ll be damned.” Faith Evans sang so sweetly, “Soon As I Get Home.” “We’ve made love so many times I’ve lost count… You’ve told me you loved me so many times it may be close to a million, and yet, I know you meant it each and every single time. Mark me, baby… Mark me like the night we had our first date and you told me I was yours, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.” Wrapping his arms around her back, he sucked on her lower lip. The bed rocked beneath them and sweat rolled down the sides of his face.

  His groans lifted over the music, and his entire body filled with delightful carnal sensations. With her consent, he was ready to make his claim… Shaking hard, he released his seed within her. Xenia held him tight, wrapped her legs securely around his waist, and drew him in an embrace. He buried his forehead between her breasts, his body convulsing uncontrollably as he spilled the last of himself inside her. The music played on, and the room grew eerily quiet though something big in his spirit had transpired. That moment to him was like the rising sun tiptoeing through the clouds. No one heard a thing, but it made all the difference in the world.

  Fingers roamed his neck and shoulders, slow circles tracing his skin. The scent of her fragrance blended with the candles, their sweat and sex making a custom perfume. He lay there in peace, contemplating it all. It wasn’t his first time submitting to his beloved, but it was the first time he actually needed it.

  Permission.

  Consent.

  Access Granted…

  Acknowledgement that his world was no longer his own. He rested inside of her, refusing to move. He needed another minute, perhaps five, ten, fifteen, or more… He wasn’t sure how long, but he was certain he needed her to just lie there and receive him, his face against her chest, hearing her heartbeat. As he held her tight, he realized that his heartbeat matched her tempo to a ‘T’. They were on one accord.

  Two hearts beating at the exact same time…

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  The scarlet dress with the long slit was just what the doctor ordered, but she wasn’t talking about Saint. Pam checked herself in the mirror, taking inventory of her carefully pin curled hair, the spritz setting the locks in just the right way. She’d given her chocolate brown tresses a bit of a honey highlight, something to give her hair a bit of pizazz. Gaspar arrived at Saint’s home a few minutes early for their afternoon date. He’d said he had a full schedule but was eager to see her, if even for an hour or two. As soon as he pulled up, she snuffed out her cigarette on the front steps, grabbed her faux crocodile printed purse and slung it over her shoulder. Before she could reach for the car door and swing it open, he was out of the automobile, shooing her away and demanding to do the honors.

  She couldn’t help but grin from ear to ear. The man did practically everything but buckle her ass in. Gaspar turned on the radio. The notes of Michael Jackson’s “Billie Jean” filled the space.

  “All right, now!” Pam rocked to the beat and snapped her fingers, sporting freshly painted nails. “Are you an MJ fan like me?”

  “Oh yes! I loved Michael Jackson. He was a great performer.”

  “He was such a handsome man, too.” Pam shook her head. “Shame he went and snatched his nose off like the Egyptian sphinx, painted himself casket ready.” She folded her hands over her purse, missing the old Michael Jackson from the 1970s and ’80s. “Have you seen his brotha, Jermaine?” She grimaced, her brow high.

  “Uh, no… I don’t really follow anything like that on television, you know, reality TV and such.”

  “Let me tell you.” She leaned in close and slapped the man’s shoulder. “This bastard look like someone took a Hefty plastic garbage bag and melted that shit right over his skull! Hair look like freshly laid tar on a hot summer day in Texas! I don’t know who his stylist is, but they need their ass kicked from left to right and everywhere in between.”

  The man chuckled at her words. “Maybe it’s the new style?” He shrugged.

  “Jermaine ’bout 75 years old. The only new styles he needs to be worried about are the ones offered at funeral services. And you should see his damn hairline, look like my grandson’s Minecraft! All cubed out and awkward!”

  Gaspar’s eyes watered, and then he burst out laughing.

  “Pam, you are something special.” He shook his head. “I must tell you that I haven’t laughed so much in my entire life. You’re good for me, like medicine.”

  She smiled proudly and tapped his hand.

  “That’s good. My daughter says what makes me so funny most times is that I’m not tryna be.” She chuckled. “And that’s true. This is just me.”

  “Speaking of Xenia, she told me a while ago, before you did, that you do hair. I can see you pay attention to that sort of thing.”

  “Now see.” She pointed a limp finger in his direction. “That’s right. This is my expertise, Gaspar. Don’t make no sense for someone to have that much money but walkin’ around here lookin’ like they had a fight with a Sharpie marker and lost that shit. Whew! Just craziness. He must not have a friend in the world. I tell you what, if I had that type of money I’d look fly every damn day, you can believe me!”

  “Fly?”

  “It means I’d look good.”

  “Oh, well, if that is the case, you look fly all the time anyway.” He shot her an appreciative glance, and tapped her hand. Her cheeks warmed at his compliment.

  “So, where are we headed?”

  “It’s a burger and beer saloon, one of my favorite spots since I moved here. It’s a bit out of the way, but so worth it.”

  “Huh, a beer saloon? I ain’t had a good beer in a while, I usually just drink a 40. Wouldn’t mind a juicy burger, either.”

  “It’s called P.J. Clarks, a historic place.”

  They rolled on and she enjoyed the people watching. A group of Asian children in white and navy uniforms were standing on a corner, and a group of Hasidic Jews were huddled together nearby, too.

  “New York is an interestin’, place. So many different people. Now, you know we see plenty of different folks in Cali, but I don’t know…” She shook her head. “It’s like, just different … can’t quite put my finger on it.”

  “L.A. has a snooty feel. Manhattan feels more down to earth, expensive boutiques and all.”

  “Yes! That’s it, snooty. Even the broke folks act stuck up sometimes—ain’t got a pot to piss in, livin’ off a hundred credit cards and pretendin’ like they ballin’.”

  “Basketball?”

  “No.” Pam chuckled. “Ballin’ means like when someone is rollin’ in the dough, got it goin’ on financially.”

  “Oh, I see.” His cheeks turned crimson as he smiled.

  She leaned back in her seat and took a good gander at him as The Spinners sang, “Could It Be I’m Falling In Love.” The man smelled good, like the type of cologne Saint wore … expensive shit. His hair was impeccably combed, the silky strands in place. His dress was also stylish—a dark gray blazer, with matching turtleneck and slacks. His van smelled brand new and quite clean with only a discarded gum wrapper in the cup holder as evidence he wasn’t OCD about the matter.

  Just then Pam heard a noise, which drew her out of her deliberations. Gaspar arrived at a red light and she got a good eyeful of a young, pregnant Hispanic woman arguing with a loud-mouthed man. The guy was pulling on her arm, and she was crying and yelling right back. The man shoved her, and Pam got whiplash from Gaspar jerking the vehicle off to the curb in the middle of traffic.

  The honking began as Pam’s heart beat a mile in a minute. Like a big bulky tornado, the man she liked to pieces raced towards the guy and got in his face.

  “Gaspar!” Pam called out, opening the door. “Come back!” She’d seen such thi
ngs play out too often—people drawing guns, and then she’d lose her new friend, a man she was crushin’ on in ways she couldn’t explain.

  Gaspar ignored her pleas and wrapped his big hefty hand around the bastard’s neck, lifting him off the ground. A crowd formed, but instead of lending a helping hand, most just whipped out their phones.

  “Don’t you ever hit a woman! What the hell is the matter with you? And she’s pregnant! Sorry excuse for a man!” Gaspar tossed the jerk down onto the ground, turned towards the crying lady, and asked if she was okay. All the woman did was nod, but then moments later she raced to her husband’s side to comfort him. Pam shook her head in disgust, but tears formed in her eyes and her heart kept racing. Clutching her chest, she leaned back in the seat and stared up at the ceiling of the car, her mouth wide open, waiting for Gaspar to return.

  She felt his weight lower the vehicle, then he slammed his door and took off. The two did not speak for several seconds.

  “Pam? Pam what’s the matter?”

  Tears streamed down her face, and she was falling apart inside.

  “I just … that whole scene … bad memories!” She turned abruptly from the man, sighing and moaning, shaking her hands like tambourines and desperately trying to pull herself together. Without another word, Gaspar pulled over once more. This corner was a bit quieter, with less traffic. Tall buildings abounded with working people going in and out, taking care of their daily tasks. With glossy eyes, she looked up into the windows of the buildings, wondering about the silhouettes of the people that moved back and forth in their offices. A gentle touch made her glance at the handsome face over her shoulder.

  “Pam, I am sorry if my actions upset you.”

  “No, that’s not it. It’s not so much what you did. It was … that couple. See, Gaspar, you don’t really know me. I uh…” She ran a nervous hand across her knee, glanced down at her low heeled black shoes, then back into his blue eyes. “I’m not refined, as they say. I’m not like your wife. I have a checkered past… It’s not good.”