Ripley's Saint

by Isabel Wroth

  Athena had texted to say that Ever was on her way to the hospital and Ripley had dropped everything to rush to the maternity ward.

  Compared to Lyon’s birth, Harper had come into the world with startling ease. Ever hadn’t even gotten the epidural before Harper was on her way out. Ripley had arrived after the entire event and laughed while she cried as Athena recounted the whole thing. How Ever had lashed out from the hospital bed to punch Roar right in the balls for his constant litany of, ‘Just breathe, baby.’

  Ripley had left her gift, a giant basket of things for mom and baby to get them through their overnight stay in the hospital, promising to come back in the morning with cookies. She hadn’t said she was going on a date, on the off chance Raid or Roar overheard her and tattled to Saint. Though why she should worry about that after all this time, in which clearly Saint had finally gotten her message, Ripley couldn’t say.

  After a week of constant phone calls and setting up the studio just right for the session Sam had paid for, they had gone on a date. A great date. Probably the best one she’d ever had in her life. Then they had gone on a few more, and on date four, Sam had driven her home, walked her to the door and kissed her goodnight. It had been sweet, but no sparks had flown. Nothing bubbled up to even suggest there could be more, and Ripley wasn’t about to make there be something.

  So, last night Ripley had told Sam the truth. After a handful of amazing dates and his awesome kisses, the sexual tension just wasn’t there. It had been hellish to force herself to be so blunt and honest like that, but Sam had given her that soft, kind smile and squeezed her hand.

  “I know. It’s alright. I could tell after that first time we kissed. I like you, Ripley. A lot, but you’re right, the spark just isn’t there. I don’t mind taking you out as a friend and having a good time, though. No pressure. I still need you for some research.” He had joked.

  Sam had been so nice about the whole thing that Ripley felt even guiltier for using him as a distraction. But he’d been relentless in pursuing a friendship with her, insisting on tonight’s event at a strip club. Ladies night, which apparently meant that the only strippers onstage would be guys. Something Ripley could honestly say not only shocked her to death, but did actually sound kind of fun.

  Sam claimed he needed to understand a potential victim in his book. When she had asked him what the hell kind of inspiration he needed from a male stripper, wondering for half a second if maybe Sam was gay and that’s why there hadn’t been any sparks, he had grinned wide enough to show off his dimples and simply said-

  “No spoilers.”

  So here she was, exhausted, thinking about calling Sam to cancel because she had Saint on the brain.

  Having been surrounded by his brothers at the hospital, looking for Saint when she had promised herself she wouldn’t, Ripley was starting to feel like one of those women who kept going back to a dysfunctional or abusive relationship. Going back, letting Saint make excuses that drew her right back in, because she couldn’t just walk away and mean it.

  Ripley leaned on the kitchen counter, staring at the empty text window with Saint’s name attached. Staring at the blinking cursor debating whether or not to send him a message. A really juvenile, nasty message on the off chance tonight would be the night he showed up.

  A text informing him she would be out late and not to bother coming by since she wouldn’t be there to let him in. Ripley thought about all the different ways she could word it. But really it would be just more out of passive aggressive spite. Beneath her despite how satisfying it would be.

  She was going out with Sam to take some photos of said client at a male strip club. Sam might be doing ‘research,’ but it was the perfect excuse for Ripley to blow off some steam and try something she’d never done before.

  It was frankly going to be one of the most exciting photo shoots Ripley had done lately. The alternative was sitting at home, boo hooing into her ice cream and watching something cheesy on Netflix.

  She was just being a depressed idiot, waiting on a man to make good on his promises. Not that Saint wasn’t a good guy, he was. He just…had let her down one too many times. Her mood flowed from depressed to irritated. Irritation towards herself for being that girl. The one who sat around on her hands, moping. Waiting for someone else to make her happy.

  That was not the person she was. Not the person she ever wanted to be.

  “Screw it.”

  Ripley shoved the phone in her purse and made herself a promise that she wouldn’t look at it a single time tonight. She was going to go out, take photos, drink a little, and have fun.

  Ripley did not look at her phone once. She took a lot of photos. Had more than a little to drink, and had wound up having wayyyyyy to much fun. She fell into bed without having taken her make up off, so drunk she barely got her bra off or her pants.

  ****

  Chocolate, by Kylie Minogue was playing somewhere nearby. The smell of tobacco, leather and wind filled her nose, while gentle hands massaged gold dust into her skin. What an amazing dream. And what a weird perspective! Ripley could see herself lying on her bed, splayed out on her belly, able to watch herself in some kind of out of body experience.

  It was like her sleeping brain had transported her and her bed to the middle of a Roman bathhouse. There were women dancing in the corridors on stripper poles. Shirtless men in white harem pants walking around with trays of drinks. Sounds of laughter over the erotic music.

  Weirdest dream ever, floating above her own bed that looked out of place in the sensual dreamscape.

  Above herself, Ripley watched a golden god roll her body gently over. At his gentle murmur, she watched and felt herself lift her hips so he could ease her panties off. Wow. This was getting hot.

  In her semi-out of body experience, Ripley could feel the touch of her dream lover’s lips on her skin. It was the most erotic dream she had ever experienced, and the experience was ongoing. Whatever she’d been drinking at the strip club, if this was the result? She wanted it on tap.

  Her dream lover rubbed and stroked his hands all over her hips. Her thighs and belly. Took her hands from where she had fisted them in the sheets and pushed them up to curl around her headboard.

  “Don’t let go,” the golden god whispered in her ear.

  She heard herself moan, watched her own body undulate on the bed. Watched and felt the god kiss his way down her body. How his big hands scooped under her spread thighs to pull her down, leaving no slack in her arms.

  Ripley was a lucid dreamer. Usually she dreamed in color and sound, could feel sensations in her dreams…but wow. This was a first. Her out of body self shuddered in time with her physical self. Her dream lover’s hands pulled her thighs wider. His breath was hot on her flesh, the stroke of his tongue hotter, pulling a little keening whimper from her, body and spirit.

  She had waxed herself earlier in the day, so even in her dream there was nothing to diminish the sensation of the dream god’s sensual licks and nibbles to her pussy. She watched herself bend on the mattress. How her head tossed and her back bowed to thrust her breasts up in the air.

  Her dream lover gripped her hips tighter, the gold dust on his skin emphasizing the play of muscle beneath his flesh. How it rippled and flexed while he feasted on her.

  In her out of body self, she still felt everything. Every lick. Every suck. Every careful nibble to her clit. Getting hotter and hotter as she watched herself being devoured by the superbly talented god. She watched his body flex, watched her own body roll and arch in reaction. Felt the burst of carnal sensation a split second later.

  Ripley blinked and her perspective changed. She was back in her body, looking down into Saint’s burning blue eyes while he rubbed his tongue flat against her clit.

  Another blink and she was back above the bed, out of her body, watching herself with her dream lover. Kylie Minogue’s voice got louder as she sang about chocolate and sex. God yes, best dream ever!

  “Open your eyes, Ripley
.”

  Her golden god punctuated the command with a nip to the inside of her thigh. The sharp sting snapping her out of her amazing dream and into reality. A reality where it wasn’t a god in a bathhouse making her eyeballs roll around in her skull. It was Saint.

  Saint, crawling up her body to plant his hand by her ear.

  She opened her mouth to demand to know what the hell he was doing, but the words came out as a strangled scream. Any confusion she might have had about whether or not she was still dreaming, fled at the insistent shove of his cock into her very corporeal body. Somewhere in the back of her head she knew she should have told him to stop. Told him no. Kicked him out of her bed and done…something else. But the words she wanted to say turned into a groan of pleasure.

  Despite the punishing strength of his entry, he held steady, eased back slowly. Almost gently, like he was worried he had been too rough. The slow drag let her feel every thick inch of him, her traitorous body weeping with need for more, and oh man did he give her more. He withdrew carefully, but shoved back inside her hard enough to make her teeth clack together. He kept that pace, letting her breathe with each withdrawal, making her moan and scream with each ruthless return.

  Her heart was screaming for mercy, her mind in total agreement, but her body overrode them both. He knew how to make her mindless with pleasure. How to pierce her to the soul when he stared into her eyes and didn’t look away. How to make that connection that sent her soaring higher towards release. The connection that had her broken heart all in, believing for this time that they shared skin, everything was okay between them.

  Stupid body!

  Saint moved too slowly for her to get there. That easy retreat and hard return hit every spot guaranteed to make her explode, but the lack of speed just made the pleasure rise. Like he had turned the tap on and the hot, bubbly bliss was slowly filling her up. But not fast enough to overflow and make her burst.

  Her nipples hurt from the rhythmic abrasion of her tank top. She could actually feel the blood pulsing in her clit, needing more stimulation, more friction. She tried to get it for herself by wrapping her legs around his hips, but he just grinned and changed the angle. Obviously aware of what he was, or rather wasn’t doing to her.

  “Saint, please.” she begged, “Faster.”

  He just bit into his lip and gave her a sensual smirk. Continuing the rough, slow assault on her pussy. Her hands tightened around the metal rail of her headboard, trying to use what strength she had to push or pull herself into the position she needed, but it was no use.

  Stretched out like she was, his big hand holding her hips just enough off the mattress, she had zero leverage. All she could do was lie there and take it. And take it. And take it a little more.

  “Relax. I’ll get you there, princess. You know I will.”

  His voice was black magic, taking her higher while he rocked her body with his slow, churning thrusts. He bent to kiss her. To share the taste of herself with tender, passionate brushes of his lips. She let go of the headboard, hugging his shoulders even as she turned her face away. She couldn’t handle the feeling of his kiss, it was too much. It felt like a lover’s promise and she couldn’t take any more promises from Saint. Couldn’t take such tenderness from him when in the morning he would be gone again.

  The hand that held her ass off the bed pushed up under her body to half hug her to him. Cupping her shoulder to hold her steady as the long draws of his cock turned into deep, hard shoves. He didn’t pick up the pace, even as he covered her with his heavier body. Pinning her down so she had nothing to do but feel and hang on. The pleasure burned hotter, sweat gathered on her body, made the air around them steamy, but still there was no release, no end in sight.

  He touched a kiss to her shoulder, his voice a deep, dark rasp.

  “You know why I love these lacy little tank tops you wear to bed?” His breath tickled her throat while he spoke. The skin over her pulse so sensitive that it felt like little prickles of electricity sparked between his skin and hers. He kept up the slow and steady pace, driving her crazy with need. “You thrash around in your sleep. Don’t wear a bra so your tits slide out, framed by all that lace. A sexy little surprise waiting just for me when I pull the blankets back.”

  “God Saint, please!” she was begging now, sobbing with need, and she didn’t even care.

  “You want to come?” he whispered in her ear.

  She screamed loud enough to wake the neighbors. “Yes!”

  “Then give me your mouth,” his demand made her pussy clench. Made him hiss and bite down on her shoulder briefly. Hard enough that tomorrow she would have a mark.

  “Saint, please-”

  “Kiss me, Ripley, and I’ll give you what you need.”

  She got whiplash from how quickly she turned her head. His kiss wasn’t soft or tender now. It was a sensual feast of lips, tongue and teeth. He sucked the air out of her lungs and held her there on the cusp of the most stunning Saint induced orgasm yet. He ground his hips against hers, not a single inch of space separating their bodies and set her free with a jarring thrust.

  She came hard. So hard she threw her head back to suck in a desperate breath. A breath she used to scream his name while he brutally rode her through the convulsive release. If she had been able to hear him over the roaring of her own blood, she would have heard him groan her name. She would have seen his face twist in agony if her eyes hadn’t been welling with tears. Big, fat tears that spilled over her lashes and down her cheeks. Her body unable to contain this much pleasure and not release it physically and emotionally.

  She went to sleep with her cheeks still wet from those tears of release. Wondering how long it would be before he left this time.

  *****

  The sunlight pouring in through her bedroom window was like the flashlight of God, aimed directly at her eyeballs as punishment for her adventure at the strip club last night. She groaned as she rolled over, tasting the film a’la hangover on her tongue. Gross.

  Ripley blindly reached around on her nightstand for the pair of sunglasses she knew were there. Almost crying in relief at the instant dimming of the lights. She needed blackout curtains. Though it wasn’t her habit to get so drunk she was hungover, and the feeling of her head being ripped apart was a reminder why not. A groan ripped from her churning guts when she tried to get out of bed. She tripped a little on her purse, swiping it up to grab for her phone inside. She saw a text waiting for her from Sam,

  SAM- Had so much fun last night! When can we get together to go over the pictures?

  Ripley groaned and sat back down on the bed, squinting through one eye to reply.

  RIPLEY- Definitely not today. What the hell was I drinking last night? I feel like I’m gonna die!

  SAM- Rocky Mountain Bear Fuckers.

  RIPLEY- What?

  SAM- That’s what you started out drinking. I ordered them because I didn’t know what it was and I wanted to try it. The Velvet Glove only serves drinks with dirty names. So we had a few Rocky Mountain Bear Fuckers. Then you got creative. You’re silly when you’re tipsy, btw. You ordered A Little Dick’ll Do.

  RIPLEY- I did what…?

  SAM- It was HILARIOUS! The waiter would come by and ask if he could get you anything. Deadpan, you looked at him and said, “Why yes. A Little Dick’ll Do.” Every time. ROFLMAO! His face was priceless!! Then like the third time around, he deadpan asked you back, “If you’d like to try it, I have a bigger dick that’ll do.” And he sets down this drink in front of you…I almost died laughing. I’m using that in my next book!

  Mortified, Ripley got up and tried to remember having done that. It would have been funny if it had been someone else. But she’d been with a client! She tried to type out an apology and nearly killed herself, tripping over the pair of jeans on the floor.

  “Stupid drunk me, leaving my clothes all over everywhere.” she muttered, continuing into the bathroom to pee. How had she managed to get her panties all the way across the room?
And why did she smell bacon?

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  She nearly fell backward from the shock of finding Saint, standing shirtless in front of the stove, making what smelled like pancakes. Ripley just stood there like a boob, mouth probably hanging open. He sure did look at her funny when he noticed her staring at him.

  He smiled, the corners of his bright eyes crinkling just a little. They both stood there staring until the smell of burning pancake broke the spell. Or at least pulled her out of it. Saint was still eyeballing her like he hadn’t ever seen her before and was mildly amused.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” she rasped, the pain in her head making her question whether or not she was seeing things.

  Saint’s brow slid up slowly, his amusement turning into an expression that was somewhat mocking. “You must have had one hell of a night if you don’t remember.”

  “I did have a hell of a night. And I remember, I just thought I was dreaming. Are you purposefully burning that?” she managed.

  Saint jolted and swore up a blue streak, scowling into the pan like it was the pancake’s fault for not telling him it was time to flip. He tossed it in the sink, making her wince when he ran cold water over her favorite pan. After ruining it, Saint jerked his chin up at her and waved at the counter.

  “Sit, I’ve got a few warming up in the oven.”

  He moved around her kitchen like he knew where everything was and felt totally comfortable rummaging around in her fridge. He did a gravity-defying act of balancing with a carton of milk, eggs, cheese, and a package of bacon that had Ripley holding her breath for fear of having one hell of a mess to clean up.

  Somehow he got it all on the counter without mishap, tossing a dishtowel over his shoulder while he turned to pour a stream of steamy hot water from her kettle, into a pink mug with a teabag already plopped inside. Ripley had to sit, because life was getting surreal. The domesticity of the moment leading her to believe that perhaps she was still asleep and dreaming.