Manwhore +1

Almost instantaneously she writes back, WHEN? Are you bringing him over for dinner?

Don’t worry about that, I can order something for us and bring it over.

My phone rings. I pick up to hear her immediately chiding me. “Rachel, absolutely not. You’re not gonna bring anything. It’s gonna be homemade and delicious! He’s your first boyfriend!”

“Well, he’s not . . . kinda, I hope so.” I exhale and shake my head. “Don’t call him my boyfriend yet, I don’t want to jinx it. We’re still working things out. Make your yummy peppermint chocolate pie for me.”

“What does he like? Fancy things?”

I laugh just as the men outside release a round of simultaneous laughter. “No, Mom, he enjoys normal things. He likes . . . me.” And I’m so vanilla to a physical man like Sin. “Don’t worry, whatever you make is fine.”

“When are you coming?”

“You tell us when,” I counter.

“Fine, give me a week or two to prepare.”

“Okay. Love you, Momma.”

“Rachel.” She stops me from hanging up. After a deep, excited breath, “I look forward to meeting this man I’ve heard about.”

God, the things my mother must have heard. Probably that he’s a manwhore.

“He’s not a saint, Momma,” I quietly tell her. “But I like him very much.”

After a couple minutes of hearing the men banter, I start to get sleepy, but the anticipation of knowing Saint is coming to bed soon keeps me from fully relaxing. I study his big bed underneath me. I consider pulling back the comforter and stripping to my undies. Would that be too slutty? Yeah. Yeah it would be.

And maybe he’d like it?

I start to take off my shoes and quietly strip to my bra and panties when I realize the guys are protesting.

“Ah man, we’re having a good time.”

“Fuck, Saint. Seriously?”

Ohmigod, he’s kicking them out.

I’m so excited and suddenly panicked, I’m scrambling to get naked as I hear the guys shuffle out.

I’m standing in the middle of his room wondering if I’m going to be a slut, shouldn’t I go all the way and just get naked? All naked?

I hear silence next and the sound of familiar footsteps make their way to me. Feeling a kick of adrenaline, I yank my bra off over my head and nearly stumble as I pull off my panties and toss them aside and scramble into bed.

I pull the sheets up to my chest when I hear him answer some sort of message, speaking in another language. I comb a hand through my hair then spread it out behind me on the pillow, hearing his voice growl some business instruction.

He seems mad about something.

I try tying the sheet around my body and letting it drop a little so he can get a peek of a shoulder. Then I decide to let him look at both shoulders. Then I lie back and fan out my hair a little again, kind of annoyed at my body for being so . . . well, so ready so soon. But my skin feels the delicious touch of his super-soft high-count sheets, and I can’t suppress the chaos in my body as I wait for him.

I hear silence again. Footsteps. And the door opens. A sliver of light from outside appears and his silhouette at the door. The air starts crackling. I can hear my heart. Thump. Thump. Strong. Resonating though my ears as I look at his shape—his awe-inspiring shape in the door. His hair a little standing up as if he pulled it in frustration, maybe. Our eyes lock. My Saint hormones go crazy.

I sit up and pull the sheets to my chest, pushing my hair out of my face. “Hey,” I say.

He reaches behind him to shut the door. “Fuck me, I like you so much in my bed I need to figure out how to permanently keep you in it.”

“Just put yourself in it. I’ll stay.”

He cracks out a slow smile, looking genuinely pleased as he looks at me. “I’m here.”

Um, yes he is. The energy in the room shifts with him here with all the power he projects, attracting anything weaker than him.

“Like I wouldn’t notice.”

He walks into the room and picks up my panties and bra, and I flush like crazy. “Nice,” he murmurs, his eyes sparking appreciatively. He keeps his eyes on me as he reaches behind him, fists his polo in one hand, and pulls it over his head.

He’s mouthwatering.

So beautiful I can’t wait.

I go up to my knees and knee-walk to the end of the bed, the sheet to my chest with one hand as I reach out and stroke my fingers up his chest. I don’t know how many times it’ll take to see him naked and not feel absolutely buttery, but his every hard plane is perfection and my every soft part tingles. Before I know it I’m setting my lips over one small brown nipple, lightly sucking. God, his taste is addictive.

He fists my hair, pulls me back, and takes my lips, deep and hungry. I’m tingling with happiness as our mouths search, find, and fuse together. I keep trailing my fingers up his chest and when he eases back to look at me, his breathing is ragged, his fist still in my hair.

“Where to even start with you,” he says as if to himself.

He tightens his hold on my hair and pulls me up for another mind-numbing kiss.

“That’s a good start,” I admit into his mouth. “I wanted to stay and thank you properly for my shirt and for today.”

“I wasn’t letting you get away.” His voice is husky and sure. He tugs the sheet down to look at me. My throat closes as he drags a hand over my upper body, to cup the globe of one breast in one strong hand. “That’s not exactly true. You could’ve left,” he tells me, tugging my ear playfully with his free hand, “but I’d have chased you.”

“Maybe I’d have let you catch me.”

He smiles as he gently fondles my breast, as if I’m deluded, thinking I could escape him. Resist him. He knows what he does to me. He found me naked like one of his groupies in his bed. “What do you say we turn a light on in here?”

“Why?” I pant as he eases off me.

He sends me a thousand-volt greedy look. “I want to look at you.”

“But . . . there’s light coming from outside,” I protest.

He walks around. “I want to see you.”

I clutch the sheet back up as he stands to flick on the lamp by the bed.

It bathes him in light as he comes back to me. He grips the sheet in one hand and starts tugging and I feel my resolve melt and melt as his gaze starts sliding down my neck, soft as a caress. I force my fingers to release it.

“Saint . . .” I protest.