Page 11 of Soulless Saint

The fresh air probably did me some good, but the reddened skin of my right arm and the side of my neck begged to fucking differ. I felt like a damn pot roast left too long on broil. My ass deserved it, but that didn’t dilute the sting.

My eyes unfocused, and I opened my mouth to gulp down some cool water before deciding cold showers were absolute bullshit. I cranked the lever and sighed as warmer water gushed down from the rain head.

There was a very good chance I was still drunk, but I could taste sobriety on the horizon.

…and the inevitable hangover that would no-doubt tag along with it like the ugly red-headed stepchild it was.

Already the drumbeat echo of my heart was starting to pound in my skull, mounting the pressure behind my eyes.

I leaned into the tile, reaching down to stroke the length of my cock, knowing that a good orgasm would stave off the inevitable at least long enough for me to get some coffee in my system.

Of course, I’d have rather been allowed to finish with the perky-titted brunette at the Crown.

What was her name? Persephone? No, maybe Percy?

I wondered if she gave me her number. If I’d been sober enough to ask for it.

I pressed my forehead to the tile as I worked my hand up and down my shaft, rubbing over the head. I reached for the shower oil and dumped a load of it onto my swiftly hardening cock, shuddering at the slippery feel of my hand, remembering in fuzzy imagery the way perky-tits’ tongue had slid expertly on that little spot just… there…

Picking up speed, my muscles tightened, remembering the sound she made when my tip pushed past the dam at the back of her mouth, filling her throat.

I wondered what her pussy would’ve felt like. If she was just as skilled with that as she was with her dirty mouth.

My core tightened, and I grunted, chasing the sensation only to lose it.

“Dammit.”

I racked my brain for a clearer image, but when the memory of the girl with the perky tits lifted her head, her lips popping free of my cock, she wasn’t little miss perky tits anymore. She had haunted eyes with flecks of gold in their mahogany depths. A long mane of shining dark hair and lips made for sinning.

She was the girl in the picture my cousins sent us last week.

I came hard, grunting into the stream of water as I poured out into the shower drain.

Holy fuck.

Outside the shower, a loud thud pounded against the door.

Hardin’s not so subtle warning to hurry the hell up.

“Hold your fucking panties,” I hollered over the spray of water, sighing into the steam as I rushed to finish showering.

“What the shit did you do with my clothes?” I shouted, stepping out a few minutes later to find the floor covered only in the Turkish bath mat Ma had replaced the old one with last week.

It wasn’t like I was going to put the cigar-scented shit back on, but still, what the fuck? I was showering. The least he could do was stay the fuck out of the bathroom for five goddamned minutes while I nursed my wounds after leaving me out to dry in the sun.

“Hardin!” I pushed when he didn’t reply, feeling that headache now.

I wrapped myself in one of the oversized towels that matched the bathmat and left the bathroom still dripping wet, uncaring that I was soaking the tile and hardwood.

A wad of black fabric smacked into my face the instant I exited the bathroom and I snarled, catching it in a fist before it could fall to the floor.

“You left that at Minty’s.”

So now we were speaking. Great.

I chucked the sweater into the hamper next to the bathroom door, finding all my other clothes there, the pockets turned out. “Relax,” I hissed. “I didn’t buy anything.”

I would’ve if Minty had let me, but that was besides the fucking point. His shit was trash anyway and I could’ve found what I was after in a hundred other places if I’d wanted to. No one would deny a King of Kilborn, let alone a Saint. I went to Minty because I knew he’d say no.

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