Ruckus (Sinners of Saint 2)

“Holy fuck and Rosie are synonyms. Save words. Only use one.” I served him the same sass he gave me just a couple months ago, and he laughed, a tortured kind of laugh from a brooding millionaire who had his dick inside the mouth of a sick, poor girl on their way to the airport.

He didn’t hold my hair and guide me like he usually did. Instead, Dean watched in a mixture of awe and fascination as I worked my magic on him, sucking him off with tender lips, giving him the love and devotion he deserved for being the best boyfriend a girl could have. Because he was. Everything I didn’t even know I could have.

I’m worthy.

I’m a catch.

And I’m about to show the world what a handsome, successful, funny, and smart man I’ve bagged.

After ten minutes of nonstop TLC to Dean’s cock, I heard him moan. “Shit, baby, I’m about to come.”

I massaged his thighs, giving him silent permission to do so in my mouth, and he sucked in a breath before wrapping his fingers around his shaft and milking his cum into my mouth. After he was done, I righted my spine and plopped on his lap. He kissed me on the lips, then nuzzled into my chest.

“That blowjob needs to go into the history books, Baby LeBlanc.”

“God, I’m glad you’re not the man in charge of our national education system.”

By the time we landed in San Diego and got to Todos Santos, it was the middle of the night between Friday and Saturday.

We went straight to bed and crashed in my room, burrowing into each other’s warmth. I slept with a smile on my face, knowing that I was about to see my sister. Emilia was showing—she sent me weekly pictures—and I couldn’t wait to stroke that Buddha belly and coo at it like the crazy aunt that I was.

True, Mama and Daddy were going to be a struggle, but all in all, my joy for my sister overrode the occasional bumping heads with my parents.

In the morning, I wandered out to the hallway, still in my PJs. Last night the housekeeper, Anna, opened the door for us, so I wasn’t even sure if my family was expecting me. I found out the answer to that question when I walked into the kitchen and saw Mama and Daddy reading newspapers at the table, drinking their coffee.

Mama lifted her head from her magazine. Daddy didn’t. Neither one of them looked surprised to see me.

Mama wanted to rush and squeeze me to her chest, her body leaping forward, but Daddy put his hand on the table in a silent gesture that advised against it. He reminded her that I had to be punished for my disobedience.

“Sit, Rose,” she said instead, her voice sad. Every cell in my brain begged me to protest, but this was not how I wanted our visit to go down. I grabbed a chair at the far end of the table and laced my fingers together. My parents and I had been distant but civil over the past three months. We texted a lot. Mostly health-related stuff and quick updates about my life. They sometimes called to remind me to wish a relative a happy birthday or to pick up Millie’s mail from our old apartment or ask when I was going to come back, but that was the extent of it.

“I think we should talk—” I started, but Mama cut me off.

“Kathy from my knitting club saw you on that Facebook website the other day. Called and talked my ear off, she did. Said she had some interesting news to share. Why, Rose LeBlanc, out of all the men in Manhattan—out of all the men in the world—you have your eye set on the one your sister had dated!”

“Good morning.” Said sister breezed into the kitchen, flipping her lavender hair off of her shoulder. “I smelled food so I came to eat it all.” Millie chuckled, but everyone else in the kitchen looked ready to roll on the floor in a punch-fight.

“Not in the mood for humor? Well, I guess I’ll join the funeral.” Millie plucked a carton of coconut water from the fridge and took big gulps, rubbing her belly.

It’d been ten minutes since I woke up, and already I had my dose of drama for the whole weekend. Millie wore a long dress the color of honey with no shape and fringes at the bottom, and her long hair danced around her shoulders. She looked like a fairy. A very pregnant one at that. Her belly was the size of a watermelon. How many babies did she have in there? She kept me posted, so I knew it was just the one. At five months she looked like the bun in her oven was baking pretty nicely.