Page 3 of Saint Baptiste 2

As if he could hear my thoughts, I watched as those horrifying flames were extinguished. He released my jaw and his eyes traveled down the rest of me.

“Padone’m,” He mumbled with his eyes locked on mine as he brushed the pad of his thumb over my slightly parted lips.

That was new. Whatever he said... I’d never heard him say it before. It wasn’t as easy to translate as tét zozo, kaka, or cheri. Whatever it was, he meant it. There was too much passion in his eyes for him not to.

I should have pushed him away. That would have been the logical thing to do. He just got his dick sucked by someone else in front of me. I should have been pissed. Should have slapped him, honestly. But I didn’t. Instead, when he pulled away to stand, I grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him in for a kiss. When our lips connected, I moaned. And just like that, everything I wanted to feel with them, I felt with him.

I could feel. There were fireworks. There were tingles. There was passion. Excitement existed. I came alive. Shit, we came alive.

Each time his thick, wet tongue slid along mine, it left behind traces of those 1942 shots I watched him toss back an hour ago. 1942 shots he drank like water. The same way I’d drank that auburn-colored tequila ‘what’s-his-name’ fed me a minute ago. I wondered if Saint drank to feel too. Wondered if he felt what I felt. Wondered if I made him feel. Wondered if she made him feel... with those big, saline filled lips wrapped around a dick that belonged to me. Wondered if he felt nothing at all, the same way I felt nothing with three sets of hands on me. Wondered if my hands were the only hands that made him feel, like I could only feel with his on me.

My ego told me yes.

Shit, my ego told me a lot of things. Logical thinking didn’t exist when I was with him.

I was delulu, remember? Especially when we were like this. In sync. Rhythmically kissing, our tongues doing that passionate, sultry dance. His hands gliding across my sweat dampened skin, those strong fingers running up the back of my head. With so much fucking passion that I was honestly tempted to snatch my wig off to feel the pads of them against my scalp. God. He ignited me. Set my soul ablaze.

That’s what Saint muthafuckin’ Baptiste did to me.

No one else could do that. That was why my body didn’t work unless his hands were on me. Big ass hands that knew just where and how to touch me. I loved and hated it at once. The way the floodgates just... opened for him. My pussy was a fucking faucet for him.

No. Not a faucet. There wasn’t a faucet with enough pressure that could compare. Other niggas got the faucet. Saint muthafuckin Baptiste got Niagara Falls. Nah. Not Niagara.

Victoria Falls. Niagara didn’t have a damn thing on Victoria.

He went to pull away. And like before, I gripped the collar of his Tom Ford shirt and pulled him toward me. He resisted and slid his hand from the back of my head to the front of my neck where he softly gripped me and pulled me toward him until our lips met. He always wanted to be in control. Hated when I tried to lead. Even in something as simple as a fucking kiss. He pulled his lips away from mine in the subtlest of ways. And when I advanced forward again, hungry for more of that tequila tainted tongue, he slightly tightened his grip on my neck. Just a tinge. Not too much, but enough for me to get the message. Enough to get me to open my eyes.

It wasn’t until one of the security guards cleared his throat that I remembered we weren’t alone.

“On behalf of Pandora’s, we extend our most sincere apologies for any inconvenience or disappointment this may have caused you. Please grab your things and allow us to escort the three of you to the eleventh floor to enjoy complimentary services of your choice.”

Pandora’s’ damage control was impeccable. Something like this, happening at an establishment as refine as Pandora’s could be detrimental to their reputation. However, I was sure whatever the hell was on the eleventh floor would make up for Saint stealing me away from them.

They walked out and then we were alone. Truly. As alone as we felt with five sets of eyes on us a minute ago. Somehow the tension thickened. Should have lightened. Would’ve expected it to with the extra men out of the room. But... it hadn’t. And Saint’s hand hadn’t left my throat.

“You see now?” He asked as he brushed his thumb along my jawline. His tone was low and rough. Almost flat and emotionless. If I didn’t know him, by the tenor of his voice, I would have assumed he was calm. But I knew he was the furthest thing from it. Saint’s poker face was astonishing but one thing he couldn’t hide from me were those flames. Those flames gave him away every fucking time.

“See what?” I whispered, leaning into his touch as his pensive stare landed on my lips.

“What I’ve been trying to show you,” he replied, as his eyes slowly crept up to meet mine.

Jhene Aiko’s ‘Pussy Fairy’ sultrily wafting over the hidden surround sound speakers faded out, leaving an eerie silence in the room. His question lingered in the thick air as he continued to do that thing. Stare into me. Deep, with flames continuing to grow behind his eyes. It was intimidating. Panic raised from the pit of my stomach and my heart began to pound. Shit. Maybe I should have gotten my ass up and left the room with those big ass security guards.

I tore my eyes away from his and put them on that locked door. I wondered if I’d make it if I tried to run for it. Or if all of the liquor I had tonight would catch up to me. But then, he loosened his grip, and sensually ran his thumb over the side of my neck. I looked away from the door and again, my eyes met his. Those flames were subtle. Fickle. Flickering with uncertainty. The softening of his eyes told me I was safe. In that moment, with his eyes locked on mine and his thumb stroking my racing pulse, I knew I was the safest I’d ever been.

God.

He knew me. Knew just what I needed when I needed it.

Confirmation. Reassurance. Security. Comfort. I didn’t have to say anything. Didn’t have to give him any cues. Just... laid there existing. And he knew. It was as if he stole pieces of me every time he bore into me with those fucking eyes of his. Stole pieces of me and tucked them into a box for safekeeping to untuck for times like this. Moments of fragility. Vulnerable moments. Tiny slithers of time where I was like puddy and could easily melt in his hands. Tonight, on a night that I should have been sturdy and strong, like walls of steel, I wasn’t. I was weak. Couldn’t stand at all, actually. But that was okay, I didn’t need to stand. Didn’t need to make a run for it. Because behind those flickering flames inside of those penetrating brown eyes he used to steal pieces of me with... I stole fragments of him too.

“Yeah, I see,” I whispered, with a lazy smirk.

I was sure we were referencing two different things, but I saw what I needed to see. Clear as fucking day. Behind those feeble, wavering flames I saw a man who didn’t know what the fuck to do.

With himself. With me.

Didn’t know if he wanted to caress me, kiss me, kill me, leave me, or fuck me.

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