Vicious (Sinners of Saint 1)

“Do you know how you feel?” I growled into her neck. I was going to come any second now. I knew it, and some orgasms, you knew it was same old, same old. But this one? It felt like a first. A once-in-a-few-years epic peak.

“Good?” she asked.

“That too.” I smirked into her hot, sweaty flesh, licking it to taste her again. I was riding her so hard I knew she burned everywhere, but it was for me, so I didn’t care.

I used one of my hands to support her while playing with her tits, and the other to grab her knee and spread her leg to the side for better access, then pounded harder. She yelled louder. Everything between us throbbed.

“You feel like redemption. And do you know what that’s like?”

I flipped her over, but I was still at it, and she was shaking with what might’ve been her third orgasm.

“No. Tell me.”

I came inside her hard, feeling my release inside her warm, tight pussy.

“It’s perfection, like you.”

I fucked Emilia so hard my back looked like I’d fought a fucking grizzly bear by the time we were done.

When we collapsed back on bed, she rolled over on top of me and whimpered, “I love you.”

“I know,” I said. Because I did. Because who else would ever put up with my bullshit if they didn’t love me?

“It scares me,” she added.

“Don’t let it. I promise I’ll protect you from anything. Even from myself.”

An hour later, I was already dragging her out to the balcony—hey, it was a hot day outside, almost summer—sitting her naked ass on the dining set and pushing her legs wide with my shoulders. I ran my tongue along her slit teasingly, hardening in my briefs again. I slid my hand between her legs and pinched her clit. It was good to feel her flesh against mine again. And at least now I knew that the vacation I had booked in the Hamptons would be a fuck-fest

“People can see us,” she told me, and not for the first time. She was right, of course. We were on the twentieth floor, but so was pretty much the rest of Manhattan.

“Fuck ’em,” I said, eating her out, filling her with my tongue and fingers at the same time.

She cried my name, and I loved it on her lips so much, I nearly burst. Her mouth hung open for the rest of the time as I plunged into her with my tongue. After she came once more, I stood up and lowered her body so she was flat against the table and fucked her raw, the dining set dancing under her ass, until we both found our releases.

When we ate our cold dinner at the dining table inside, I decided I was going to use my new trait of being honest and just give it to her straight.

“I sold ten percent of my shares in Fiscal Heights Holdings to Dean in exchange for six months in New York.”

Silverware clattered on the table and silence filled the air.

I continued. “That was back in January. I have three more weeks before I need to pack a bag and move back to Los Angeles. I’m not going to ask you for shit, because I know you have your life here and that you love your job, but…I’m just letting you know.”

Her eyes shot up, and she choked on her dim sum. They glittered with different emotions, which I was still too much of a dick to recognize. But I was fairly sure she wasn’t pissed off at me this time.

“Three weeks?” she repeated.

I nodded, solemn. “I can try and sell ten percent more of my shares, but there’s no way Trent and Jaime will let that happen. It’ll put their asses at risk, too.”

She drank more wine, probably to buy herself some time. After polishing the whole glass, she winced. “Thanks for telling me.”

I didn’t know what I was expecting. Actually, I did. I expected her to say that her job could go fuck itself, she was moving with me.

But then, why would she give up on her career just so I could chase mine?

“Sure. Are you gonna eat that last dim sum?” I pointed my chopsticks to her plate. She shook her head, suddenly looking sad. I picked it up and stuck it in my mouth, chewing so I wouldn’t have to talk anymore. “Good stuff.”

“AND AGAIN, I’M SO SORRY,” I parroted my own words for the twelve hundredth time, twisting my fingers together as I stood like a punished kid in Brent’s office. It was all white, other than the paintings hung on each wall of the room. They were beautiful.

One of a strawberry field.

One of naked men wearing fancy dress shoes.

One of a gun crying.

And one of a cherry blossom tree.

He stared at my painting and sighed, pushing his reading glasses up his nose.