Saint And Sinners (81 page)

He then reached for the lotion bottle and pumped several creamy dollops into his hands
before placing his palms together to warm them. Tilting his head back, he grabbed
his shaft, glidied his hand up and down the damn thing with a need to relieve the
pressure, frustration and build up. He wanted to make love, she didn’t want to, so…he
resorted to what needed to be done so he could get some fucking sleep.

“Mmmm,” he moaned as he held the base of his cock and ran his hand faster and faster
over his thick rod. “Mmmm…” The sloshing noise of his lotioned hand wrapped around
his cock grew more pronounced as he pumped his hips. He pushed more velvety lotion
into his hand, quickly applying it, going right back to where he’d left off. In the
mirror, his golden eyes slowly grew darker as he neared his climax. His eyes hooded,
turned to slits as he groaned and shook.

“Ughhh…” He worked it faster now, aiming it down towards the sink for it to catch
the inevitable. “Ugh! Uh!” he grunted as the copious semen expelled quickly from the
slit in the head, his hips thrusting wildly as he jeered forward. And then, it was
over. In the course of their marriage, he’d never jacked off because his wife hadn’t
given him any damn pussy. He’d only masturbated when she wasn’t around and he needed
a release, or when he was out of town, and couldn’t reach her. Even the few times
that the woman had been too tired in the past, she never made him feel less than,
and he was able to go to sleep as if nothing bad or wrong had happened. But tonight,
he could not. This time, anger and sadness had taken the lead… He needed his frustrations
to go somewhere, anywhere, but stay inside of him.

He cleaned up his sink, going over it meticulously, then washed his hands and dick
and re-entered the bedroom. It was now almost completely dark. She’d turned off the
light, but besides that, she lay just as he’d left her.

“…Yeah, she’s just tired,” he mumbled to himself as he crawled into the bed next to
her, feeling sorry for himself.

He looked down at her sleeping form, afraid to touch her, tortured with the sight
of her. His hand shook as it danced right above her shoulder, wishing to land it so
badly, and pull her towards him. He wanted to hug her, to feel her warm breath as
she slept against his chest. He wanted all of this, Lord knew he did, but he resisted.
Instead, he, too, turned on his side, his back to her as he drifted off to sleep…

*

Xenia placed her
foot on the cream leather stool to tie up the straps of her mauve heel. As she did
so, she observed Florence leaving the house to take Hassani and Dakarai to school.
Isis was simply along for the ride, allowing Xenia the time and opportunity to have
a much-needed moment with her husband. She felt just awful about what had happened.
The man had said little of nothing, which caused her insides to knot with worry. She
didn’t know what got into her the evening before, but even as she looked at him, she
almost didn’t recognize the man before her. He slowly walked passed her and headed
into the kitchen, his light cologne lingering in the air, intermingling with his icy
wake. She heard him opening cabinets and the refrigerator, then, all went quiet.

“Saint,” she called out as she followed him in there to discover him sitting at the
breakfast nook table, eating a bowl of granola cereal with coconut milk—his face practically
immersed in the white ceramic bowl. “I want to…” she started, her hands fidgeting,
her emotions a mess. “I want to apologize for last night. Well, this morning.” She
closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. When she looked back at him, he acted like
she’d barely said anything of import. He simply nodded and brought another scoop of
his breakfast into his mouth, administering delicate chews as he stared off into space.

“I don’t know what was going on. I was tired…not feeling well I suppose,” she offered,
trying to engage him in dialogue.

“That’s cool…” he said around a mouthful of cereal and swallowed, still looking straight
ahead as if she weren’t even there.

“Come on, Saint! Don’t sulk. Baby, I said I was sorry.” She drew closer to him, forced
her arm around his back and slowly stroked it.

“Xenia.” He looked down at her and her blood almost froze mid-flow because with that
one look, he made her feel smaller than a split atom. The man was done. Gone. Finished.
“I said it was cool. I have to stop in the office and head to the airport.”

She didn’t believe him. She knew that man’s eyes. When he looked at her, she could
see the hurt inside of them, and the anger, too… On top of it all, the damn conference
had completely slipped her mind.

Oh shit! That’s right! He has that convention in Chicago tonight.

“Saint, you can’t leave like this! I can tell you are still mad. I promise to make
it up to you.” She gripped his chin, making him face her, look her in the eye and
see that she was sincere.

“Xenia, it isn’t the fact that you were tired and didn’t want to make love. I need
to make that clear. It’s what I saw in your face this morning that really did me in.”

“Saw in my face?”

“Yes, your eyes to be exact. I looked at you while you did your hair and put your
make-up on. Something is wrong and I’m just waiting for you to tell me… We’ve been
at this too damn long to be playin’ games with one another!”

“Whu…what?” She took a step back, placing her hand over her chest. “Saint, I don’t
have
any
idea of what you’re talking about! I’m serious. What are you implying?”

“I’m not implying anything, Xenia, but I know you. I know my wife almost better than
my own damn self.” His brows dipped as he pointed at her. “You look at me as if you
don’t want me… I’ve
seen
that look before.”

“Saint, you have to be kidding me! That’s not true. This is
nothing
like what happened back then. I can’t believe this.” She crossed her arms, convinced
he’d truly either gone crazy or he was taking the rejection way too far.

“No, Xenia, I’m
not
kidding.” He abruptly stood and stormed past her, his footsteps harsh and pounding.
She chased after the man, refusing for things to be this way, refusing to let the
man she loved walk out the door like this.

“Saint! What has gotten into you?!” she screamed as he grabbed his long, black coat,
slid it on and began to button it up, his long fingers weaving in and out of the slots
so fast, they were almost a blur.

“Nothing, Xenia, nothing at all.” He glared at her. “You’re blocking, and you’re obviously
mad at me about something. When you look at me, I see hatred towards me. I don’t want
to accuse you of anything… I don’t want to believe you’d do anything to betray our
trust in one another but just tell me, are you fuckin’ someone else? You givin’ my
pussy away to another mothafucka, right?”

“How
dare
you!” She stormed up to him, fighting the urge to slap his damn face. Couldn’t he
see how her heart was breaking? Couldn’t he see how troubled she was? She was as confused
as he, but she surely didn’t hate the man! “I love you, damn it! How dare you suggest
something like that? And I am
not
blocking you! I am completely open. Read me if you want! I don’t care! How could
you insinuate something like that?!”

He lowered his head, as if ashamed.

“How horrible, how cruel!” She continued.

She shook in her own skin until he grabbed her, bringing her to him with brute force.
He ran his hand over her crown and nape, and rested his chin on the top of her head.

“I’m sorry, baby, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that, Xenia. That was wrong.” He
rocked her back and forth in his strong grip. “It’s just…I don’t know, something about
you, in your eyes, looks different and in my mind.” She heard him swallow. “I played
back all of these different scenarios and possibilities, and…it scared me. You’ve
never spoken to me that way before…and…shit, maybe I’m just seeing things. Maybe we
are both really stressed out is all. I don’t know…but you didn’t deserve that. I shouldn’t
have said that. I was wrong.”

She nodded in agreement as he pushed away from her, then grabbed her and pressed his
lips to hers, caressing her with his warm breath. But…she felt nothing. The man suddenly
felt foreign—his lips didn’t set her on fire. The beautiful scent of his cologne didn’t
make her pussy pulsate. His damn hair, the way it brushed against her cheek, didn’t
make her crave him. His touch on her flesh didn’t send her into an inferno of lust.
She had
never
—for as long as they’d been a couple—felt this way,
not
been turned on by her husband. The fucker was just too damn sexy to resist…

Inside, she died with shame. Nevertheless, she fixed a wide smile on her face and
hugged him back hard, compelling herself, giving an acting performance that she couldn’t
risk screwing up. He lightly kissed her forehead.

Please get off me!

Her skin crawled now as he stood before her. He sickened her, and it took everything
in her to stand there and keep smiling.

“Baby, I really am sorry.” He smiled sincerely. “It’s just a little rough patch and
I’m making a big deal about nothing. You’re entitled to have different moods. I acted
like a child just now, and that wasn’t cool. Again, baby, I apologize.”

“You don’t have to keep saying that, I know you are. And I am sorry about last night
too, Saint, for how I spoke to you… That’s what started all of this. Anyway, when
you get back in town, we’ll get it straightened out…maybe go for a romantic overnight
trip, try to get things back on track.”

He nodded as he stepped away and grabbed his laptop off the couch.

“Great idea. That sounds perfect, baby. I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon, okay?” He
smiled and winked at her as he walked backwards to the front door. “Wish me luck,
baby.”

“You won’t need it!” She laughed as she waved to him on his way out. When he closed
the door, the sound echoed much like a bomb exploding within, erupting, tearing her
apart. She stared at the door for a long while, in the silence, all alone. The house
felt even more enormous, and it swallowed her as she wrestled and struggled inside.
She fought the urge to cry—angry tears they would be, bred from confusion.

“Oh my God, what’s going on?!” she said aloud as she played back in her mind how the
man may as well have been some stranger off the street. He was Saint. Her husband,
the man she adored, the man she was in love with. She couldn’t keep her hands off
of him…and now, she hated the way his lips felt against hers. She wanted to vomit
when his hands touched her flesh. Everything about him that had brought her so much
physical and sexual joy was now a source of revulsion. He nauseated her…

“Maybe…maybe I’m just coming down with something… Yeah, that could be it.” She sniffed,
then marched back up the steps to their bedroom to finish dressing and drive to the
studio. As she looked in the mirror and re-applied her lipstick, her hands trembled,
and she messed the whole thing up.

“Damn it!” She tossed the Mac lipstick on the dresser and looked down at her vanity,
tears welling in her eyes.

God please, help me. What is wrong with me?! What’s going on?!

*

Saint gripped his
cell phone so tightly in his palm, he almost crushed it to bits. He waited a short
while, the ringing getting on his fucking nerves until finally, Lawrence picked up.

“Good morning, Saint. I can feel you, you know…”

“That’s great, Lawrence. Then you should know that my wife isn’t
feelin’
me at all…and I mean that in more ways than one.”

“Oh, no. What’s the problem?”

“Remember when you mentioned marital problems to me a while ago, when I was under
hypnosis in your home?”

“Yes.”

“Well, batta boom, batta bing. It’s heeeeere! Sans the creepy horror movie music.”
Saint laughed mirthlessly as he navigated the thick morning traffic, less than a minute
away from work.