Saint's Salvation_The Seven Deadly Sins

by Tiana Laveen

  “We can pass judgments and say what we want to about gangs, and most of those negative comments are probably true. I should know…” She pointed at herself. “But let me tell you something: many of them had heart; at least, the ones from her day. Most of you in here have heart, too. If people truly knew of your existence, some would classify you as a gang, too! You hunt, you corner, you kill! There are commonalities, whether you wish to acknowledge them or not, and my husband, for all intents and purposes, is the head mothafucka in charge … the gang leader. He runs this entire set, just like my mother’s people ran the Bloods. They didn’t just have guns. They could beat your ass into the ground with their bare hands! They weren’t afraid of nothin’! All of those people who used to be in my house as a little kid are dead or in prison serving a life sentence now. For the deceased, what happened to their souls, huh? We know they had heart, and even after death, from what I believe, that person’s spirit still lives and they keep their same personality.

  “Maybe we can take it one step further. Maybe we can think outside the box, but inside of the tomb… All this talk about summoning demons… hey, there might be something better. A.C.s are outnumbered, so you need help. You need an army. What if you got the souls who wanted a chance to fight for good versus evil on your side? To make things right? What if they could prove to God that they don’t deserve to be in Hell, despite the fact that they, too, committed the seven sins?”

  She heard several gasps and then, a hush, like she could hear a pin drop.

  “Look, as human beings, we are chosen people! God loves us, and the demons hate it! Regardless of your individual religious beliefs, you know that you exist because of a Creator, and that you were specifically designed in His image. God promised us everlasting life! So, what if you got a little help fightin’ the good fight, huh? What if you didn’t have to just hope and pray you could put demons away and end this nightmare, risk your life and be gone like the wind? What if you could call on the dead to do your bidding?” She narrowed her gaze on Saint. His irises glowed bright red and the smile on his face was too wide to ignore. “I’m not ashamed of my family. I’m not ashamed of my past. My mama and father’s family weren’t scared of the police, and they weren’t scared of other gangs either. But many went to church and prayed, even wearing their colors, with fresh blood on their clothes, and bullet casings on the floor of their cars, because they were still afraid of God.”

  She unscrewed the cap on the large, frosty 40-ounce bottle of beer she held, and poured a little of it onto the floor.

  “This right here is for my mama’s dead homies… Summon demons to break apart their infrastructure? Go ahead, and I bet you these O.G.s will help you deal with any trickery from the Demon Children on ‘Hell Night’. It’s time to call on the ancestors, give them a second chance at salvation. Who else would be more motivated to take some demons out, teach some D.C. a lesson or two, other than those whose souls are directly on the line? The ones who know all about war over turf! This is territory warfare, and they are seasoned Vets. What do they have to lose? They’re already dead! The living can’t fight the dead, and the dead don’t fear death. Blood in, blood out. Piru, baby!”

  Xenia found herself atop the steps of Saint’s man cave, peering down into an abyss of darkness…

  The place vibrated with music, and the scent of freshly lit cherry cigars tickled her nose. She simply stood there, stroking the fine hairs along her arms. After she’d had her say in their living room, she’d retreated to her bedroom and, with shaky hands, finished braiding her hair. The energy around her at that moment almost did her in. It was bad enough being around her own family; once in the know of Angel Children, you were never the same, but in the presence of all those people, she felt as if she’d fallen into an ocean and been swallowed by a whale. Some were frightened, many angry, others confused. Her head hurt, and she could feel some of them trying to probe her mind, attempting to find out any hidden information that their leader was keeping all to himself. This was Saint’s extended family; the entire state of New York was his territory and any Angel Child dwelling in it fell under his command. She understood their varying emotions nevertheless. Once she said her piece and left, she caught her breath and settled down.

  Every now and again she’d hear laughter, and a bit of yelling here and there. The meeting had finally ended, and she had not heard a peep from Saint, nor heard his voice. And then, that all changed. She checked her cell phone when it buzzed and saw a text from him:

  Come to the man-cave…

  She hadn’t been down in Saint’s private quarters in a while—couldn’t even recall the last time she’d stepped foot inside the secluded dwelling. She could always smell the cigar smoke wafting up from the place. Strange lights would sometimes travel through the door to the basement but other than that, it was a place he disappeared inside like a vampire within its coffin. That was his private sanctuary, a space where he and his friends would play pool, watch basketball and football games, his favorite Black exploitation movies and whatever newly released thriller he’d gotten his hands on.

  “How long are you going to just stand there? Come on down here to me,” he called up, but she didn’t see him, didn’t even know he was near. Step by step, she made her way down the slightly creaky steps to his territory. Saint had all of the state-of-the-art stereo equipment and speakers, two large flat screen televisions, and a wall-sized fish tank that looked like a piece of art within itself. Off in one corner sat another desk he used on occasion to work. Another part of the space was occupied by a pool table.

  She couldn’t help but smile. They’d christened that table so long ago. The memory was sweet, and stuck with her like honey. She was stolen out of her thoughts by the clink and clank of a glass bottle hitting a tumbler. He filled it with something clear, downed it, then made his way over to his stereo, his back towards her. The soothing music came to an abrupt halt. Through a large mirror, she watched him unbuttoning the top three buttons of his shirt with one hand and making a musical selection with the other.

  “I Wanna Do Something Freaky to You” by Leon Haywood began to play. Xenia laughed lightly, shaking her head. When she glanced back up, Saint was swaying his narrow hips to the beat. She gasped when the room suddenly turned red—the walls, the floor, everything, as if he’d taken the whole damn thing and dipped it in candy apple paint. The scent of incense tickled her nose when he lit two sticks and placed them in the soil of one of his plants. He stood about ten feet away from her, snapping his fingers to the beat while sporting a dangerous smirk on his handsome face.

  “Take your mothafuckin’ clothes off. Now.” He didn’t yell. He didn’t smile. He didn’t say these words in a joking manner, either. His eyes turned sea green, then faded into sky blue. Her pussy hugged itself at his command and the glowing irises bore into her very soul. Reaching for her fluffy black robe, she let it slide to the floor, where it pooled over her bare feet. Then, she slid each strap of her silky white gown off her shoulders. On the way down, the garment clung to her breasts. She tugged it past her bosom and hips until it joined her robe, creating a black and white heap.

  “You know, what’s funny about you, Xenia?” He pointed at her as he kept dancing. “It’s that, after all these years, you’re still full of surprises. I love that.”

  He reached for the remaining buttons of his shirt and undid them, revealing his chest covered in angel wing tattoos, adorned with her name and those of their children.

  “I aim to please.” She winked and crossed her ankles coyly.

  “Yeah? Well, you more than please me.” He reached for his zipper and gave it a hard yank. His tented black boxer shorts drew attention to his arousal. “You complete me.”

  She drew closer to him, feeling a chill in the air, and couldn’t wait to feel his strong, warm arms around her. He kicked his socks and shoes off to the side, then looked down at her with the sexiest expression she’d ever seen. Hungry. Yearning. His sights dropped to her breasts, and
his eyes filled with what could only be unbridled desire.

  She sighed when he cupped the left one with his large hand and massaged it with a gentle yet eager touch.

  “They’re so beautiful … so fuckin’ soft and full,” he whispered. “Natural hooters, just as Mother Nature made them. Nipples that look like Hershey chocolate drops and taste just as sweet, mmmm.”

  “You’ve been obsessed with my breasts since our first date.” She chortled.

  “I just love playin’ with your rack, baby … wanna make a mold of your tits and keep them with me at all times.”

  She sighed when he took her right breast in his mouth, giving due attention to the nipple. Running her fingers through his hair, she leaned on him as he took her to heaven, deeply dedicated to one of her favorite erogenous zones. He switched breasts, sucking, licking, giving tiny, gentle bites until he encircled her waist in a firm grip and crushed her lips in a sensual kiss.

  “I thought at first you were mad at me.” She smiled when he came up for air. “You know, for bum-rushing your meeting.”

  “Nope.” He smirked and shook his head. “This is your house, too. I can’t tell you where to be and what to do in it. I love you and trust you enough to have the discernment for when to interrupt me and when not to. You’ve never failed me. Ever.” He grabbed her by the braids and jerked, forcing her head back. She groaned as his teeth sunk into her neck, driving her crazy with desire.

  “I’m too old to have hickeys!” She giggled as his love bites turned to kisses and gentle sucks.

  “You’re never too old for anything that we do together. Damn, you smell good! Mmmm … you taste sweet, too!” She wrapped her arms tight around him as his fingertips traced her stomach between their hungry bodies, grazing the skin so subtly, it almost tickled. In slow motion, he moved back and forth, trailing her skin with the most sensual of touches. “Open your legs wide for me, baby.” She adjusted her stance, allowing his hand to slide between her legs. “Mmmm, that heat, baby … that pussy been marinating for me all day, right?”

  “You know it has, baby.” She traced his back, then let her fingers tip-toe up his neck until she had her hands dancing in his soft hair. “Shit…” She startled when he slid a finger inside her, moving first slow, then faster. The wetness of her love could be heard from his movements as he finger-fucked her good and steady. The intensity in his eyes drove her mad. “Damn!” He slid another within her, thrusting hard and fast.

  “Hear all that? You have a fuckin’ hurricane inside your pussy! Wet as the damn ocean. Relax … your muscles are tight,” he said between clenched teeth, driving her crazy. “Let me open this fuzzy peach up, make it get loose for Daddy. I suggest you take heed of my instructions because I don’t plan on takin’ it easy on you.”

  Faze O, “Riding High” started to play through the speakers.

  “But… I thought… I thought you weren’t mad!” She gritted her teeth as she neared orgasm.

  “I’m not, baby, not in the least. This hard fuckin’ you’ve got cumming is your reward, sweetness.” He dropped to his knees like a sack of dried cement, grabbed her ass, and buried his face against her nature with brute force.

  Her whimpers and cries echoed as he flicked his tongue hard and fast against her clit. Long, nimble fingers dove deep within her heated pulse, twisting, twerking and turning inside of her dripping pussy. Now, it was William de Vaughn’s turn to croon, “Be Thankful for What You Got.” Before she realized what was happening, he softly lowered her down on the white bearskin rug, a souvenir of his bachelor days that she’d begged him to get rid of. The softness of the fur against her skin felt almost as good as his tongue now driving in and out of her juicy walls. He grabbed her breasts, and his hot, fast breathing kept pace with his movements as he ate her like fresh cherry pie…

  She peered down between her thighs, noting the sexy strands of black hair and the touch of silver all mingled together to frame his face. His eyes were closed tight for he was giving it all he had, loving her down. He didn’t even seem to feel her gaze, or perhaps he was so devoted to delivering pleasure to her at that moment, he didn’t want to pause as he devoured her. Her back arched and a groan that began from the pit of her womb crawled up and out of her mouth as her climax climbed to new heights.

  Saint bucked his hips and moved as if he were fucking, bouncing to the beat of his delicious, nasty snacking on her garden. The peach fuzz along his jaws tickled and delighted her. Letting loose, she screamed out his name, clutching the soft fur. Her stomach caved, and her body was seized by euphoria. Digging his nails into her hips, he sped up his pace, licking and sucking her pussy with ruthless abandon. Raspy breaths escaped her and soon, she poured pussy libations into his awaiting mouth. Her trembling became too much…

  “God! Nooo! Damn it!”

  …Lights out… Black out…

  Xenia loves the winters in New York. Strange for an L.A. Girl…

  Saint stood over his sleeping beauty with a cigar in his hand and dripping with sweat. Blowing out thick, white rings of smoke, he smiled at the beautiful mess he’d made of her body. In the background, Gwen McCrae sang her song, “Rockin’ Chair.” Noting the time on the wall, he took another strong toke of his cigar.

  She’ll be comin’ to in about one minute…

  Since the first time he’d made her cum so hard that she passed out, until this very moment, Xenia would fight it, but she was fighting the inevitable. He knew exactly what she liked and how she liked it, and he was a self-proclaimed pussy eating pro extraordinaire. La petite mort was his specialty; he’d even been nicknamed by one of his favorite sex partners back in his single hey-day as the ‘Dark Prince of the Sleeping Beauties.’ He casually glanced down at his Queen before leisurely stepping over her slumbering body and made his way to the ashtray on his desk. After extinguishing the flame, he kept smoking…

  Emitting from his mouth, pitch black curls of smoke winded around puffs of bright red smoke, as though rising from a chimney. He made his way back to her and carefully dropped down to his knees before her to study her from various angles. To fall in love all over again…

  You’re a fucking genius, baby. Not only are you beautiful, sweet, funny, and the mother of my seeds, you came up with some shit that even I would have never considered … and it just might work.

  Just then, her eyes fluttered. He gave her a big, proud smile. She smiled back as she rubbed her eye and lifted herself up onto her elbows.

  “You bastard… I can see that you’re very proud of yourself.”

  “I am.” He chuckled as he kneed her thighs apart and positioned his hard cock at her sweet, slippery doors. They sighed in unison as he entered her, his thrusts shallow, soft and slow. Xenia clutched his wrists and looked lovingly up into his eyes.

  “Faster, baby…” She winced, as if in pain from needing him so badly. He did as she commanded, driving deeper and quicker within her. Wishing for a kiss, he bent down to claim her lips, and felt her heart beating so fast… so hard… Placing tiny kisses along her chin and neck, he brought his mouth to her ear.

  “What’s wrong, my love?” he whispered.

  “Read my mind…” He looked at her face, and she immediately shut her eyes and held onto him tighter, wrapping her legs around his back. As he dragged his mouth up and down the side of her neck, he tapped into her thoughts, and they stole his breath away.

  “Why would you think that?” he questioned.

  “Because it’s true. How many times will you go out and do this, and how many times will you return to me and your children in one piece? Your life is a gamble, and no one wins a hundred percent of the time.”

  When he looked at her once more, tears were streaming down her face, though she now appeared serene, as if she’d made peace with it all. With a shaky thumb, he traced her tears and wiped them away. But who was going to wipe his? He blinked several times, refusing to let them fall. His hips bucked harder and faster, her nails drove deeper into the flesh of his shoulders
, trailing down over his back.

  “I know you have to do it. I stopped asking you to not do it years ago, but it still hurts!” she cried out. “I have to do everything I can to hold it together sometimes, but I love you, baby … and I don’t blame you … and I … I understand. That’s why we’re together … because we were made for one another.”

  Saint crushed her lips in an urgent kiss as his tears raced fast down his face and landed onto hers. The pressure from her nails subsided, replaced with soft, gentle touches filled with the love within her, bursting with reassurance and devotion. He made love to her, the passion rising, but then he stopped moving when her body started to tremble. He kissed her softly and held her close as her body exploded against his. Her pussy wet and throbbing, pulling and hugging his throbbing dick told him all he needed to know. Wrapping a hand around her shoulder and the other around her waist, he lifted her from the rug and got to his feet, his cock still inside, and pounded her with rapid thrusts. Saint gritted his teeth as he came hard, trembling in her grasp. Their voices overlapped in physical jubilation. Bringing them back down to the floor, he lay next to her, breathing harshly, toying with her hair, wishing he could sleep. But his adrenaline rush wouldn’t turn him loose.

  After a few minutes, Xenia broke the silence.

  “What are you thinking about, baby?” He hesitated for a moment, trying to figure out where to begin. He’d been thinking about so many things—some troubling, some wonderful, some unable to be categorized at all…

  “I say a prayer every time I wake up in the morning, then again when I leave the house, and go to sleep at night.” He could feel his bravado breaking down, his world crashing as his body heated with pent up sorrow that flooded out from his core. “I always thank the Creator for another day, then I thank Him for you, our kids, and the life we have. When I leave the house for work, I pray that He gets me back home safely. Once I’m in the house and we’re getting ready for bed, I thank Him for the day and apologize for anything I might’ve done that He didn’t approve of. And then I thank Him for you and our babies all over again… But lately, baby, I’m feelin’ like you … like my time is runnin’ out. They say lightning doesn’t strike twice.”