Ms. Manwhore

“You,” I plead. “Not your fingers or your tongue.”

But my Saint is a Sinner, as we’ve already established.

He recklessly dives his head and explores me with his tongue a little, four deep, delicious strokes, then with his fingers, then he eases his hips between my parted legs. I throw my head back, a guttural sound in my throat. Our bodies light up, glowing like firestones.

When he slides the head inside, I rock wantonly and coax him to give me more.

He grabs my hip in one hand to hold me still.

“Oh god. You’re perfect,” I gasp.

He’s thick and huge and pulsing, stretching me. When I’m full enough to burst, squirming and digging my nails into his back and kissing his shoulders, he sets the rhythm. Slow first. The glide of his cock in and out of me wreaks havoc with my body. I start shivering, rubbing his muscles, sucking his jaw, making throaty, unintelligible sounds.

I absorb the feel of him with my hands and body. His powerful legs, his abs and ass as he thrusts, his arms and chest and shoulders as he takes me. And me, soft and warm. Wet and hot. I’m eroticized by the way Saint is spreading me open and making me his wife.

“Malcolm, I’m so hot.”

He groans and growls out, “Wet and hot and just how I like you.”

Soon we’re all instinct. Nails. Teeth. Sucking, kissing, biting, nibbling. He starts driving powerfully into me, fucking me into the bed while I suck fiendishly at his thick, juicy lower lip. He moves his lips, his tongue coming to spar with mine. A fever overtakes us, our bodies pressing and grinding. As we taste and tongue each other, the muscles of his back strain and ripple under my fingers.

He slows the pace, and my toes curl from the pleasure. My body arches and strains as he takes his cock fully out and rubs the head along my folds, over my clit. My eyes roll into the back of my head. When he slides back inside me, I purl in gratitude. “Malcolm.” My eyes flutter open to see the tendons bulging on his neck, the harsh clamp of his jaw.

One animalistic groan from him, one from me—we come at the same time.

He’s warm inside me, gripping me loosely against his body. He moves, whispering to me that he loves me. That he loves me so much.

Limp when we’re done, I start to flush under his gaze. He’s still inside me, and I cup his jaw and whisper in wonder, “Mr. Saint.”

He drinks me up, green eyes looking at me reverently.

“Mrs. Saint.” He rubs the corner of my lips with his thumb and when I press closer to the touch, his eyes grow even more tender. “God, I love you. I love you so much.”

He brushes my hair back and looks into my face.

He strokes my mouth and frowns thoughtfully, an unmistakably playful light in his eyes. “Is it your mouth? You’ve got a spectacular set of lips, Mrs. Saint.”

He’s still frowning even as I smile up at him in delight.

“Your breasts are the perfect size, not too big, not too small, perky and so responsive. These eyes?”

His thumbs brush over my eyelids.

“Silver when you’re angry, dark gray when you’re melting in lust.”

He strokes a hand down my leg next.

“Your long legs, that’s got to be it. Or maybe . . .” His frown deepens as he touches my mouth’s corners. “Your smiles and how genuine they are, the eagerness in your eyes as you watch life unfold around you.”

I’m blushing and laughing, and he rolls to his back and pulls me close, not frowning and not teasing now. But smiling. Smiling so beautifully at me.

“But see, it’s the full package, and the fact that you make me whole. That void we’ve talked about before, it’s gone when I’ve got you with me.”

“Void.” It’s my turn to pretend to be puzzled. “What void? You fill my life to a bursting point.”

Drawing me to him, he sets his head back on the pillow and lets out a long, easy laugh, and I crawl closer and lace my fingers at the back of his neck. “Hold me tight, Malcolm.”

He presses a kiss to my forehead and tightens his hold on me and teasingly confesses, peering into my face, “All the time, I want to squeeze you to pieces, but then I wouldn’t have you anymore. I can’t have that.” His face goes sober, deathly so, and even his voice grows dark. “I can’t have that at all.”

I forgot to tell my mother we’d arrived safely. She’d been nervous when we left, not knowing where we were going, and I promised to let her know the flight went all right.

I lift up my phone. No signal.

“Come here.”

He inserts a chip into his computer.

“I brought technology with me. You get four minutes.”

“Oh, come on. Five.”

“Three now.”

I laugh and open my account and shoot an email to my mother. This brief little glimpse of a computer makes me wonder about that world. If any wedding pictures are out there, of something that’s just his and mine. I can imagine Tahoe telling the world. My friends telling their other friends. The media.

“Do you need to check anything?” I ask, glancing over my shoulder.

“Thirty seconds. Counting down.”

He is making me pay, big-time and with interest.

I slap the laptop shut.

“Fine. I will settle my debt with you, husband.”

I watch him watch me with a smirk as I crawl across the bed and slip into his now-too-familiar arms, the laptop and everything forgotten as I happily make it up to him, and I guess we are just too busy enjoying our Happily Ever After to give a shit.

It’s the middle of the night, and our bodies aren’t yet used to the time change. I’ve been tossing and turning for a few hours, while Malcolm stirs when I move and simply puts his hand on my waist—to still me or calm me or maybe to push my restless little body off the bed. He’s pulled me closer though, and tighter.