Saint And Sinners: The King Angel Child of New York

by Tiana Laveen

  She moved away from him and tumbled off to the side of the bed.

  “I’m…not really sure. Let’s try intercourse, okay? I think that might help.”

  At that point, Saint wasn’t feeling very optimistic. Matter of fact, he feared he may lose his erection. The woman looked as if she were on the brink of fucking tears.

  “Xenia,” he huffed as he sat up and drew his knees to his chest. He looked down at the bed, refusing to look into her eyes again for if he did, his ego would break into a million pieces. “Maybe we should try again in a few days.” He shrugged. “We don’t have to force this.”

  “No, no,” she insisted, scooting across the bed and lying down. “I want to try. Please!”

  He slowly lifted his head and looked at her. The damn woman appeared miserable and desperate. He wanted to please her, make her happy, so against his better judgment, he complied. In a matter of seconds, he was hovering above her body. She’d slid her gown to around her waist, causing his cock to swell further at the sight of her beautiful, svelte breasts. He was reignited, ready to give it another go.

  “Do you mind?” he asked as he gently made to cup one, craving to stroke and caress it.

  She shook her head and offered a sad smile. Without further hesitation, he ran his thumb over her nipples, and was pleasantly surprised to see and feel them stiffen against his digit.

  Hmmm, this may be more promising than I originally thought.

  He continued on, seeing her body ultimately responding to his maneuvers. He lowered his mouth ever so slowly to her nipple, and then peered into her eyes. The woman intensely focused on him, waiting, wanting. He flicked his tongue along one, drawing a long sigh from her. Then he cupped the other, sinking his fingertips into the abundant softness, after which he delicately brought the erect nipple between his lips to nurse from her, to enjoy the feel of the big, chocolate nub bumping against the roof of his mouth and tongue.

  “Mmmmmm….” He moaned throatily as he finished lavishing one, and switched back to the other. If no one else appreciated him, Thelma and Louise sure did. And then, like a blanket of creamy, melted liquor, warmth flowed over him as she ran her fingers through his tussled mane, urging him on. She arched her back upwards, pressing into him, the soft thatch of her pubic hair rubbing against his navel. He matched her rhythm, grinding against her, feeling both of their excitement grow.

  Oh God, yes!

  The promise of a successful sexual encounter after such a troubling hiatus was real, on the tip of coming into full swing.

  “Put it in!” she urged as she wrapped her arms around his neck, drawing him closer.

  Without further ado, he reached between their writhing bodies as he stared passionately into her dark, brown, beautiful eyes. He brushed the dome of his cock against her lower lips, teasing her, opening her up further for their pending mutual pleasure. And then, he pushed inside, holding her securely against him as he sheathed half of himself within her exceptionally close-fitting walls.

  “Ahhhh!” she screamed out, her eyes, fixed on the ceiling, growing huge. The woman gritted her teeth as tears formed in the glossy ducts of her eyes. Big, fat drops glided down her cheeks, leaving a shiny trail in their wake.

  “Xenia!”

  “Don’t stop, do it again!” she demanded, her voice echoing in the room as she tried to grab control of the situation, make him believe she was fine and dandy.

  He closed his eyes and swallowed, pulled back, and thrust again within her, this time, going a bit further inside of her tight, constricting confines.

  I’m going to be raw after this…

  He wanted to just die. She was nowhere near ready; it felt more like her pussy had gone on strike.

  “Xenia, I think…I think we better—”

  “No!” she continued to cry, and wrapped her arms even tighter around him, possessively holding him prisoner. “Please try, Saint! Please!”

  He swallowed harshly, almost choking on his own spit. This needed to end, it was simply too much…but then he looked down at her, and those big, sad eyes of hers talked him into it once more.

  “Well, let me get some lubricant, okay?” He ran his fingers down the side of her face, wiping a tear away.

  She nodded as her bottom lip trembled, evidently holding onto a shred of hope that he’d lost several minutes ago. In the entire history of their marriage, they never needed lubricant for intercourse. They only utilized it when engaging in anal sex. The situation made him feel like a fucking failure. He begrudgingly opened his nightstand drawer, revealing a treasure trove of sexual delights. Fishing around, he finally found the KY Jelly. With deft fingers, he coated his cock liberally as she watched on. His dick was threatening to abandon ship. It, too, felt some kind of way about the whole damn thing. Xenia’s pussy always wanted him, and now, it had clamped down so tight, it seemed almost impenetrable. He had to push harder than ever to gain admittance, and once he’d arrived to the party, it became clear as a glass of spring water that he was an uninvited guest. Nevertheless, the host had begged him to stay after his arrival, promising he’d be treated to a real good time. So he complied, this time wearing a wetsuit since swimming was required.

  “Ahhhh….” She shuddered and cringed when he reentered her, this time with more ease. He began to take slow thrusts, watching her expressions, and the sight absolutely killed him. This was not the look of love. He’d had enough.

  “Xenia, we have to stop, baby, okay?”

  “No, no, no, please, Saint! Please!” she begged, hurting his back as she twisted the flesh into tight knots as if he had radio dials over there. She held tight, trying to keep him within her, blocking his escape. “I’ve got to give this to you, honey… I know you need it! Please, Saint!”

  “Baby! No!” He twisted and turned, trying to shake himself free. “I can’t make love to you with you cryin’, in emotional pain! You don’t really want this! What kind of man do you take me for? Shit! You’re basically asking me to attack you—is that what you think I want?! I’m losing my hard-on as we speak, Xenia, damn! This doesn’t turn me on, seeing you don’t want me like that… I’m done, we have to call it a day.” He slowly pulled out of her, only to hear her cry out and wail even louder. She covered her face with trembling hands, as if thoroughly ashamed. “Look,” he huffed. “I’m sorry, Xenia… I didn’t mean to go off, it’s just…” He took a deep breath. “I can’t treat you like that. I’ll jack off if I need to, like I have been, okay? It’s fine, baby.”

  She turned away on her side, sobbing uncontrollably. He reached for her and rubbed her calf, but the woman was completely inconsolable.

  “Damn it!”

  He punched the side of the mattress, then gripped it with both fists. A few moments later, he turned back to her, attempting to embrace her, make it all better. But she shrank away from his grasp, disappearing within herself…and though silent, her tears continued.

  Okay, this shit isn’t working. I need to breathe for a minute… I need to be able to think, some fresh air!

  “Xenia, honey?”

  She didn’t respond.

  “Look, I’m heading out for a second…just going a few blocks away to that, uh,” He snapped his fingers trying to wade through his fucked up mind and find the words he was looking for. “That art exhibit, you know, the twenty-four hour one. I need to clear my mind, okay? I’ll be back soon, though. Besides, you probably need some space right now.”

  She still didn’t respond.

  “But I’ll stay if you want me to.” He looked over his shoulder at her. “Just say the word.”

  Silence prevailed as his Queen’s body remained turned away from him, and her sobbing continued discreetly. With a sigh, he rose from the bed and entered their closet. The next five minutes were some of the worse he ever endured. He stood there, in a daze, wanting to scream his fucking head off, tell the entire world just how he was feeling. His eyes burned dark red as he moved about, trying to gain control of himself. Racing to one side of t
he enclosure, he grabbed a pair of Roc Soft Raw jeans and pulled them up his legs, almost yanking the things apart and not caring to put on any underwear. He just wanted to get the hell outta there, even for only ten minutes. She gave no indication she wanted him near; matter of fact, he felt as if she wanted him gone, fast and in a mothafuckin’ hurry. His eyes blurred with angry tears. He quickly swiped them away, then grabbed a dark charcoal V-neck sweater and pulled it over his chest. Finally, he snatched a plain pair of white classic Nikes off his wall of sneakers…the ones he worked out in as of late.

  When he exited the closet, she was gone. He heard noises coming from the bathroom, sighed, and looked at the disheveled bed. The couple that once playfully argued with one another about the wet spot left on the fitted sheet after sordid encounters had nothing but memories now to latch on to. He wished on a hundred stars he could see a wet spot right then and there, or two or three…evidence that he’d done his damn job. Xenia’s pussy had fired him. He wasn’t laid off, he wasn’t given a warning, he was given a fucking pink slip and told to kick rocks. His cock, mouth and fingers were officially unemployed.

  He left out the bedroom, and paused at their garage.

  No, I’m going to walk…in the fucking freezing wind. I’m going to just walk.

  He hightailed it out the front door, his coal black coat wrapped around his figure, dark scarf and leather gloves all in place, ready to burst into the brisk midnight air. Funny, he didn’t feel the damn cold at all. His temple had gone aflame with fury, confusion and depression, intermingling in his cells, making him a mess, and no amount of cleanser could wipe his state of mind clean. As he walked, he heard a crackling noise, but didn’t immediately take note of its source as he continued to pound the pavement, beating it to death with his steps. Once he reached a ‘Don’t Walk’ orange blinking light, he paused and looked behind him, as if expecting to see her, and hopefully with a smile on her face. Instead, there was something else, something that had originated from his ferocity. Unbeknown to him, he’d left fractures all along the pavement. Each step he took had made its mark—each incensed, defiled, debilitated, frustrated and hurting step. Now, his resentment was leaving a blueprint in concrete. He took a deep breath and tried to reel himself in. No point in holding on to the agonizing anger. He needed to simmer down, so he could focus. Yeah, the art museum would be the perfect distraction.

  I just need to get myself calmed down is all… I just need to pull myself together.

  He began to walk again, drifting in strange, fuzzy thoughts. He’d underestimated the distance of the museum from their home, but still didn’t care after realizing his faux pas. He had to walk two more blocks than anticipated, but he didn’t feel the shit. He was too amped up with frustration to take note that he was getting a workout in the dropping temperatures. Soon, he arrived at the Geertz Museum on West 83rd Street. He and Xenia had noticed a few weeks ago that they had a sign advertising an exhibition of work by local artists—twenty-four seven for the entire month. As soon as he opened the door, he was instantly greeted by an instrumental version of The Isley Brothers’ ‘Footsteps in the Dark.’ He was pleasantly surprised to see several artsy looking people moseying about, their eyes hooded in thick black eyeliner. Men, too, holding tiny doll-sized bottles of spring water as they pointed to paintings and sculptures. Some were huddled close, talking softly amongst themselves; only the occasional outburst of laughter came as a reminder that this was a time to be enjoyed.

  “Hello!” A bubbly, thin white woman with long, flowing brunette hair approached him. Wearing a V-neck black wrap dress and knee-high boots, she extended her long, slender hand.

  Saint shook it and forced a smile. He didn’t want to appear inhospitable.

  “Hello,” was all he could muster. He wasn’t in a chatting mood.

  “Are you here to see anything in particular?” she inquired, a crooked smile breaking free across her face.

  “No.” He smiled and removed his coat, flinging it over his arm. “Just thought I’d step inside and take a look.”

  “Wonderful. Well, if there is anything you like, let me know, and we can take care of the paperwork.”

  “I will, thanks.” He took a couple of steps to begin his self-guided tour.

  “Oh!” She pointed to the corner of the gallery. “There is a cooler of water over there as well as a fresh pot of hot coffee. Please help yourself.”

  “Thank you so much.” He nodded, feeling a bit apprehensive. Matter of fact, he was completely out of sorts. He didn’t know whether he was coming or going, his head was nothing but a fog-filled cloud, and his brain could not even meet him half way. He moved slowly about the place, rather impressed with many of the pieces he saw. Finally, he began to settle in, feeling a bit more at peace as the wonderful works of others relaxed him a bit.

  Oh man, that’s beautiful…

  He took note of a large black and white painting of a willowy tree. Embedded in the intricately detailed bark were a man and a woman, wrapped around each other at the root. He derived great pleasure from the fact that the woman had a curly, thick mane, and the man’s hair was poker straight and pulled back, disappearing into the dips, grooves and wrinkles of the massive tree bark. He couldn’t take his eyes off the damn thing. He walked a few feet away from it, but found himself skirting back to his original starting point, so moved by the piece, so troubled by its raw beauty… As he made his way back away from it, he knew he had to have the damn thing.

  “Uh, excuse me,” he said in almost a whisper to the hostess as he loomed behind her. She turned on a dime, stopping her conversation with two other individuals. “There is a painting over there called, ‘Rooted In Love.’ How much is that?”

  “Oh yes! Isn’t it gorgeous? The artist’s name is Zaire Roberts.” She marched ahead of Saint, making her way towards it as if time was of the essence. He followed behind her, leaving several feet between them. She took a look at a number hand-written in the corner, then pulled out her smartphone and scrolled through what appeared to be listings of some sort. “Okay, here it is. This one is five hundred twenty-three dollars; that includes tax.”

  “I’ll take it.”

  “Awesome!”

  “I want to continue to look around, but before I leave, I’ll give you my information. I’m not prepared to take it this evening… I walked. Can it be mailed to my home?”

  “Certainly. Sounds like a plan! Enjoy the rest of the exhibition.” The woman sauntered off, leaving him to his own devices. He continued to peruse the place, calming down a bit more as each minute passed, feeling a sense of serenity, despite his obstacles and issues. Some pieces had a whimsical vibe, such as the painting of a mouse turning into a piece of cheese. Others were frightening, such as a woman vomiting out a child into a large body of water. As he continued to move about, he heard the clicking of shoes…high heels. He turned, and took notice of a tall African American woman whose cherry blossom scented perfume preceded her. Saint stopped dead in his tracks.

  The woman was approximately 5’10, slender but curvy in all the right places. Her tightly coiled hair appeared soft, perfectly framing her heart-shaped face. He liked her tresses; he liked all that she presented. Her eyes dark amber and almond shaped, her bowed lips sporting a natural pout. Under the spotlights, her smooth, brown skin shined so brilliantly, her skin practically flawless, as if she drank fifty glasses of water per day. When she cracked a friendly smile, she exposed some of the whitest, straightest teeth he’d ever seen… She could have easily belonged on a toothpaste commercial.

  Damn. She’s stunning.

  “You like anything?” Her voice sounded like smooth butter running across a hot skittle…and it sizzled his soul, warming it, making him all toasty inside. The woman ran her fingers along her shoulder, bunching the bright red material of her thin sweater. The garment hugged a set of tits that caused him to do a double take. Big and bouncy, almost too large for her frame but natural and no doubt soft…

  “Yes.” H
e pointed down the way, finding his tongue again. “I like that painting down there. The tree couple. Just bought it, actually.” A part of him at that point wished this woman would simply turn and go away. Yet another part of him wanted to beg her to do no such thing.

  “Yes.” She grinned as she looked down the corridor. “I saw the freshly written SOLD sticker on it as I passed it… I’m the artist.” She pointed proudly to herself.

  “Really?!” His eyes grew wide as he extended his hand, wanting to touch the woman who’d birthed such a lovely creation. “I had no idea. It’s nice to meet you.”

  “Well, most people consider Zaire a boy’s name.” She shrugged. “So no one really expects to see me.” She laughed lightly, the kind of laugh that was comforting, soothing like heated milk late in the night before bed. “Thank you for your purchase.”

  “No, thank you for your art. Boy, you are really talented.” Saint had a pang of guilt when his cock twitched. Matter of fact, he hated himself a bit at that moment… no, he hated himself a lot. He turned abruptly away from her and stared, mindless, at the painting in front of him. It gave an interpretation of the city. All the buildings on it melted into liquid, like ice cream. It was melancholy and depressing, albeit well done. The woman cleared her throat, causing him to look back her way.

  “Excuse me for being so forward, but…nah…” She turned away, blushing a bit.

  “What? What is it?” He smiled ever so slightly.

  “Are you here with someone?” She looked around the place. “It’s not a big building, but I best be sure than sorry. I’m asking because I find you very attractive…and well, a man that appreciates art and comes to galleries at one in the morning is an amazing find.” She giggled lightly. “Maybe we could have coffee sometime…or at least I hope we can,” she flirted as she crossed her ankles and ran her fingertips along the bottom of her delicate chin.

  “No, I’m not here with anyone…” Her face lit up, and in a split second of a second, he relished in her delight—“…but, I am married.” He didn’t hesitate to set her straight, yet a part of him detested that the information had to be revealed. And then, he hated himself a bit more for even going down that road, for thinking such a thing, but he didn’t want to run the beautiful creature off. He wanted her to stand there and keep talking to him, keep making him feel coveted…important…desired…loved. In that moment, he wanted to know what it felt like to kiss her, too, and for her to want it, to reciprocate it with everything she had within her. He craved a grown ’nd sexy female touch…one that said, ‘Everything I have is all yours…”