by K NILSSON
I suspected I’d pushed too much with my nosiness. Saint was interesting, and I wanted to know more about him. He was a gentleman. Our chemistry was palpable. I could almost touch it, caress it, roll it around my mouth, and suck and pull at his sac… oh no.
Why know more about a guy I just wanted to fuck? Would I like him enough to see him again? Would he like me?
My Viking was standing at the rail, overlooking the canyon and out toward the ocean. His shoulders were big and tapered down to a V torso. I wanted to lick him everywhere. Should I make my move? Have I ever second-guessed myself before? Fuck no.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Saint
There was no way I could walk away from this woman yet. I smelled her desire. I didn’t want to hurt her; I wanted to conquer her so that quagmire would be avoided. If I were a romantic guy, I’d say this was a perfect scenario for a seduction. She’s here, willing, and not the slut that she believed herself to be.
This whole night, Carrie's nipples taunted me. The tiny leather jacket fits her like a second skin. Max and I had a bet going that one side of the collar would slip far enough down her shoulder that one of her breasts would be exposed. I bet they would be exposed sooner, rather than later. The buttery soft leather was so thin; I saw the outline of her nipples. The convenient zippers that were all over the place would make freeing Carrie's tits a piece of cake, and it was.
I wanted to torture that sweet Drazen pussy. I smelled her. I reached inside her loose, low-slung shorts, and felt a thin strip of pubic hair, wispy, bared lips, and a pussy so wet, her shorts stuck to her crotch. I looked in her eyes and watched as she sucked my fingers that were in her pussy a minute ago. Even though we were in the moonlight, her skin was pale enough to show a flushed face, and the vein in her neck that was beating fast. I nuzzled her ear.
“I want you bare-assed on the coffee table,” I said with a growl.
Carrie looked like a dessert platter. My tongue did the tasting. I took it for a tour that started at her navel and licked my way down to the fine, red, feather-like fluff that decorated her folds. She was tense and hesitant and shrank back for a brief second as if my actions had thrown her off. Then it dawned on me. This girl had one script, and deviating from it put her in unfamiliar territory. It made sense that she resisted my tongue on her body. Maybe no one ever had their tongue in her pussy. The thought was a turn-on. All of the women I’d seduced in the past let me control the sexual encounter and demanded that my pleasure came before theirs, but Carrie had the script backward. She resisted a pleasure that I rarely offered another woman. Why?
She tried to close her legs, but that wasn’t happening. I slapped the fat mound and pulled the strip of feathery red pubic hair that teased me.
“I’m going to lick your pussy.” I sunk to my knees and ran my tongue up her slit, from asshole to clit in one long, slow, wet move. She thrashed and moaned.
“Again.”
I obliged the beautiful woman, thanking the gods that this end of her body was just as beautiful as the other.
“Please… more. More. More.”
The licking went on a few more times, and I slowed down to suck her slick pearl. She was a joy to watch and delicious to taste.
“You taste like caviar,” I mumbled through her lips.
“I’m going to come.”
She sounded panicked; something else I’m going to ask her about. I wanted this girl to come all over my mouth and fingers. Using the six-pack grip, one of my favorite moves, the one where I use my finger in her pussy and thumb in her ass, I pumped them in and out of her body. The more she arched her back, the faster I went, until she came screaming. As she rode the orgasm, another suck and a lick to her clit and she came some more. Carrie was as slick as a juicy oyster, and I wanted to fuck her. It would be the best ride in forever.
My cock was painfully hard, but I adjusted my trousers for comfort and basked in afterglow of her orgasms. This was a new experience for me. Denying my own pleasure to enjoy another’s.
She had her hand in my hair, tugged at it gently.
I don't kiss on the lips. Ever,” she said, a little contrite.
“Never or ever?”
“Both.”
“Why?”
She shrugged.
“We will revisit this,” I promised.
Why the fuck did I care if she wouldn’t kiss me? But I did care. Now more than ever, I wanted what she didn’t expect. But I wouldn’t steal a kiss. She needed to do it on her own. I needed her to want to kiss me.
My hands were itching to feel that pale white skin sprinkled with downy hair, so light I couldn’t even see it. I ran my nails across her stiff nipples.
“Ouch?” she said.
Carrie was playful; I liked it. Let’s raise the bar a little. I took the nubs firmly, pinched, and pulled them away from her chest. She smiled. Then I bit them. Hard.
She growled.
“Now we’re talking,” I said, pleased with the result.
I licked her torso, followed the line between her breasts to her belly button, and swirled around it until her skin was all goose bumps.
“No one’s ever kissed me there.”
Well, shit. I knew it.
“Let’s back up a minute,” I said. “Just because you’ve never had it done to you isn’t going to keep me from enjoying your deliciousness.”
She was beet red.
“I guess you have the usual objections, starting with concerns about the smell?”
She nodded.
“And the body fluid?”
She nodded again.
“That’s my concern. I love eating pussy. It’s one of my favorite things in the world, okay?”
She nodded.
“I’m going to make you come hard some more. The only thing on your mind will be when you’re going to see me again.”
She stilled. Her eyes were wide as saucers. I put my face in her cunt and inhaled; she smelled like soap, baby powder, and Carrie. She whimpered.
“You taste like caviar,” I mumbled to her pussy.
Carrie squirmed. She didn’t curse me, beg, or plead. She didn’t order me to make her come. She trusted me enough to take care of her. When I licked her velvet folds and sucked her clit, she exploded with a burst of salty goodness. I continued sucking her swollen labia as she rode out her orgasm.
I enjoyed eating the princess, having power over her pleasure and being the source of it. She also had power over me. My cock was ready to burst. I wanted to will it away, but I couldn’t. Pre-come had left a damp spot on my pants.
Goddamn. Carrie looked like an angel, her thick auburn hair billowing around her shoulders like a big halo. She’d turned into a classy version of a vixen and slut in one beautiful package. She’d come twice and I was ready to go for three, but she begged me to stop.
“Please, Saint. I’m sore.”
“Enjoy it while you can,” I teased.
By now, my mouth was numb and my tongue tired, but I could shower her pussy with sweet sucks 24/7 just to see her come. She was at her most beautiful then—her back arched gracefully, her legs trembling, her body all flushed and flexed. And the moment she climaxed, it was as if her body froze for just a moment.
Should I leave a note? There was an envelope on her counter, so I turned it over and wrote on the back.
I enjoyed dinner and dessert, Carrie.
- Saint
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Carrie
I stared at his note, sad I fell asleep without reciprocating. In fact, I needed to give him oral for my evening to be complete.
This man, my Viking, made me orgasm in a way that was thrilling; he’d been focused only on me, and the act was almost entirely selfless. I’d never felt this way before, and it made me happy.
Is this what happy felt like? Was I mistaking this euphoria it because I was sated? I felt as if the sky had opened to reveal that sunshine did exist.
I didn’t get that feeling of hitting rock bottom or humiliat
ion, both familiar feelings from my muddled past. I did feel guilty though because I’d let someone rescue me from myself. I didn't deserve to be saved. I was a proper girl who liked to do dirty things. I wanted more. Saint hadn’t stayed. His note left me with no doubt that we wouldn’t be hooking up again.
He had been right though. After last night, I wanted him and wondered when I’d see him again. I heard the angels sing, metaphorically, and for the first time, I thought I could have feelings for someone.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Saint
Carrie Drazen had gotten under my skin in a way that wasn’t okay for me. She was innocent in a way that didn’t fit with her sex-addicted reputation. She was young, had a beautiful face, and attracted men like flies to honey. The woman played the vulnerable little girl to the max; she should get an Oscar for that performance.
Carrie had a sensitive soul and empathy for those less fortunate. Her goal to help abused children wasn’t typical of a young woman with a wealthier-than-God family. I greatly admired that about her.
But I couldn't fall for her. My manwhore ways would destroy her. Not to mention, I wasn’t Drazen-worthy.
It wasn’t just her looks that pulled me in, but her guilelessness, compliance, and selfless nature. Now I dreamed about her. She’d smelled amazing, from her honey-and-almond scented hair to the slight vanilla musk scent below. She was light as a feather too. Next time I’d try some of those moves I held back from most of my one-night stands. I should take myself out to the wood shed for even thinking about a next time with Carrie Drazen.
What. The. Fuck. I had to give up this job. It wasn’t for me.
The backlog of cases I’d put on hold for the Drazens was out of hand. I had two that needed to be completed within the next week or I’d be refunding deposits. There were Randall Meier’s file and notes on his wife, Jill. According to Randall, Jill is fucking her massage therapist without permission. All I needed were photos. Max could take care of that.
Then, there was Roland Rutherford, who was actually in love with his still-faithful wife, Susie. But Roland’s father, Earl, didn’t want her in the family—he disapproved of her gene pool—and hired me to set her up. This job is going in the round file. What was I thinking even entertaining this assignment? What kind of pig would even do this? It’s time I evaluated what this career means to me. The problem was, I didn’t want to think about it because it would lead me to conclusions I didn’t want to face.
I was starting to not like my career choice.
I picked up my phone and called my Drazen contact.
“Hi, Will.”
“Saint.”
“My workload is piling up. I don’t have the time to devote to the Drazen girl anymore.”
I let that sink in for a minute. Will didn’t say anything at first.
“How about Max? Is he available?”
“I need Max.”
“It isn’t like you to leave me high and dry, with no notice. You’re a professional. What’s the real problem?”
I rubbed my forehead. “There’s no problem. Carrie Drazen is a distraction. I’m just too busy to babysit a poor little rich girl.”
“But—”
I didn’t let him finish.
“No buts. I’m letting Carrie go.”
“We are not done,” he promised. “I don’t know what’s up with you, but we will talk.”
“Fine. Make an appointment with my secretary.”
“You don’t have a secretary.”
“I know.”
I hung up.
There was nothing more to say. I’d washed my hands of Carrie Drazen.
Chapter Thirty
Carrie
Today was Maya's turn to speak again. The number of participants in the group was slowly dwindling; some were on vacation, a few of the ladies hadn't been there for some time. But Maya and I hadn't missed one yet.
As if reading my mind, Dr. Jane said, “Summer is always a little slow. Some people take summer classes or just need a break. It happens, but the fact that they aren't here doesn't mean that the work you are doing here isn't worth it. Only you can decide that.”
Maya spoke. “I went back to the chastiser. That crazy shit I've been doing with her has helped. I haven't had any sleepless nights in a long while. I couldn't sleep because I was afraid to dream. I believe that if I could tolerate the chastiser, I could tolerate a few bad dreams.
Dr. Jane was hiding a smile. Good for her. I didn't suppress my grin as I looked forward to hearing what Maya got into this time.
“She brought in a man who wore a leather mask; it covered the lower half of his face. He had scary eyes, amphibian eyes, probably due to contacts. They bore through me, though. I had the feeling he wanted me to look directly at him when he chastised me.”
It was easy to visualize the scene, two masked and hooded people, one naked woman who's curved her ass up for chastisement, what's not to like? She was amazingly descriptive, her voice clear as a bell, strong, proud of what she had endured. I could almost smell the ozone from the electric shocks he gave her with the zapper. And I'd like to know what a thick leather collar feels like on my neck. I want to feel what she felt. Maybe I can get stronger too.
Dr. Jane greeted me with a big smile when I walked in with the journal.
“How was your weekend?”
“It was good,” I said. “I met a hot guy, a Viking.”
Dr. Jane blinked.
“He looks a little like a Viking, a polished Viking. I guess calling him a monkey in a suit isn't fair to him at all. He's just too yummy…”
Dr. Jane laughed, held up her hand, and said, “I got the picture.”
“Oh sorry.”
“What was special about him besides his looks?”
“He ate my pussy like a champ.” I beamed.
“What was good about it?” she asked.
“I don't know. I never had anyone eat my pussy. I never had orgasms like that.”
She blinked again.
“Dr. Jane are your eyes all right? You keep blinking.”
She had a lopsided grin on her face and said, “You should be so lucky.”
“Okay, my weekend, in brief, is, I met a guy, and he bought me dinner. We went to my place, and he was the first to give me oral pleasure.”
“Carrie, all these years that we’ve known each other, I just found out that you’ve never had a first kiss and you’d never received oral sex. Right?”
I nodded ruefully.
“Did you get kissed?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t know him well enough to commit to the kiss.”
“Oh.”
She suppressed a smile. I hoped she realized that I’d put more thought into the importance of a kiss than she thought I would.
“Will you be seeing him again?” she asked.
I pouted. “I don’t know. Saint doesn’t have my number, and I don’t have his.”
“His name is Saint?”
“Yes! Sawyer Saint Gabriel.”
She made a note of it.
“Tell me how you met.”
So I did. I told Dr. Jane all about it, including the note he’d left. I showed it to her.
She looked at it briefly and handed it back to me. She eyeballed the journal as if willing it to jump into her lap.
“Are you ready to share your journal entries with me?”
I nodded.
It took us an hour and a half to go through the journal, from reading the words to sharing what I thought about them. Did the dream have any parallel to anything in my life? How often did the nightmares occur, and most importantly, were the dreams connected to anything that had happened leading up to them? That last one was key. I shared my theory with her that what I’d done with Saint wasn’t in any way related to a ritual and that I hadn't been punished for it.
“Carrie, it’s essential for you to continue to be your own private detective. I’m not saying you should go
out and be even more promiscuous, trying out all sorts of things so no sexual encounter is the same, but try to find this Saint. See if anything develops that could help you. It’s important that you be honest with him.”
“I am interested in Saint, and I would like to hook up with him again, but what if he doesn’t want to see me? Or have anything to do with me? What if he’s married or has a girlfriend?”
Her eyebrow arched. “That’d never bothered you before. I think you’re moving forward. That’s excellent! Use your judgment with Saint. Find out a little more about him before making that proposal.”
“Thank you, Dr. Jane. Today has been so helpful.”
“Don’t thank me yet, Carrie. You’re not done yet.”
No, I wasn’t done, but I was on a mission. I was going to bag me a Saint.
Chapter Thirty-One
Carrie
Margie had always had an open-door policy for me, and today I wanted her help. Could she help me find out more about Saint?
Her office was in the Century City Towers. She had the whole floor, and I had a special pass to use the parking garage. I took the express elevator to her floor and spoke with Chase, her receptionist. He knew Margie was always willing to see me, but he still had to check with her before letting me go back to her office.
“She’s having a short meeting and will call you back soon,” he said as he hung up the phone.
I nodded. “Okay.”
But I heard voices from the direction of her office. Margie’s was one of them, and the other two were male. One of the male voices was very familiar.
Chase was busy on the phone, which gave me the opportunity to follow the sounds. There were no cubicles, just lawyers in offices and a typing pool in a room in the back. The typing pool reminded me of sardines crammed into a can, but at least you knew where they all were.
The voices came from the glass conference room. My jaw dropped as I looked through the open blinds. Margie was with Will and Saint.