Ms. Manwhore
Page 2
His breath is hot on my face as he looks at me closely, in the dark. “I loved hearing that ‘yes’ come out of your mouth.”
I smile up at him. “Mmm. Yes ,” I repeat, all sultry and wanton.
He smiles a little, and he looks so boyish and carefree. But then he grows serious again. Hungry again.
He sits up in one fluid move, pulls me on top, and fastens his mouth to my lips, never taking them off me as he drags them down my neck to suck on one of my breast tips.
The suction causes my nerves to start tingling and the blood to start boiling inside me. We sit in bed like this, my legs wrapped around his hips, his thighs beneath me, his mouth and hands devouring me. This man devouring me.
I rock my hips, slowly pleading for him to fill me. He comes back to my mouth and kisses me passionately, deliciously, deep enough to make my toes curl. My nipple beads under the brush of his thumb.
Before I realize what I’m doing, my nails are digging into his hair and I hear the low, soft pleas I make, begging, Saint, please, I’m aching for you . . .
The words end up a sigh that he covers with his mouth again. Our bodies shift closer, my smaller one molding to his hard, unyielding planes.
“Rachel, you’re drenched for me.”
A breathy gasp escapes me when he teases my entry with his erection. He rolls me onto my back and folds my legs, curling them around his shoulders, opening me. Every inch that he advances is bliss compounding on more bliss. The sharp, clean smell of his soap envelops me, weakens me. My senses overload on Malcolm Saint.
His mouth opens on mine with the same thorough deliberation he opens me with his hardness. His weight presses me down on the bed as he drives all the way inside. I groan. Saint rocks his hips to set a rhythm, his hottest parts taking over my softest ones. I pull his face closer to me and drop kisses on his thick neck, up to his jaw, as he gnashes his teeth while he enters me, over and over, harder and deeper.
My folded legs tighten against his shoulders. “Oh. More,” I beg, surprised by my own breathlessness.
He gives me more, giving and taking with each thrust.
He waits for me to get to the pinnacle. Quickly, I reach it. I hear myself purl out his name. I whisper I love you as he intensifies his thrusts and jets off powerfully inside me.
When I fall limp, he uncurls my legs from his shoulders, lies on his back, and runs a hand down my back as I spoon at his side. I sigh in relaxation. Is love like this? Where you keep falling and falling, every day that you look into his eyes?
I hear him inhale. He’s relaxed and satisfied as he tucks my face into his neck and rests his chin atop my head and strokes a hand down my hair.
What will it be like to marry him?
As if he’s thinking the same thing, he looks at the ring on my hand and kisses my knuckles, wiping my sweaty hair from my face.
“Should we spend the night at my place?” I ask. “That way I can tell my friends, call my mom, and you can leave to your early breakfast.”
“Sounds like a plan,” he says, his voice still gruff with lingering lust.
He goes to the bathroom to clean up and when he comes back out, we get dressed.
An hour later, we’re at my place, having the best sex—again.
“God, have we been making noise? Gina . . .” I breathe into his neck, tightening my arms around him, then I giggle in embarrassment.
He squeezes me, husking out, “I think we’re good.”
“ You’ re good,” I counter.
He gives me a heavy-lidded look before he kisses me for a long, long while, slow and lazy, his fingers spread out around the back of my head, and then he rolls me around to my stomach. He caresses my ass as he pulls me up to my knees and drives into me from behind. I make fists, moaning low. The bed squeaks as I clench the sheets, the engagement ring on my finger flashing as it catches light from the streets.
THE MORNING AFTER
“OOOOOPEN SESAME!” I hear my roommates yell through my door.
“I’m not Sesame and I’m sleeping,” I murmur into my pillow.
“Speaking of sleep, you owe me sleep time. I heard you all fucking night, you fucking horn dogs—open the door!” Gina demands.
I hear the door crack open.
“Are you alone?” she asks. “I’m with Wynn.”
“Malcolm just left,” I admit sleepily, and the door swings wide open.
“OHMIGOD!” they squeal, and there’s bouncing on my bed around my feet before they each drop down next to me. “FUCKING TELL US THAT HE PROPOSED!” Wynn cries.
I roll to my back¸ and my face hurts from smiling so much. I wonder why they’re asking me this. Do they know me this well? I look down at my hand and . . . there’s the diamond ring flashing. I couldn’t take it off, not even to sleep. But I quickly cover it right now with my free hand.
“Rachel, we don’t have all day.” Wynn nudges me excitedly, and she seriously looks so stoked, she could be on Ecstasy right now.
“I was going to invite you guys to lunch to tell you about it.”
“Dude, you still owe us lunch, but tell us now. The whole world knows and we’re your best friends!” Gina counters.
“What? What do you mean the whole world knows?” I leap off the bed and whip out my laptop, then rush back under my warm covers.
“Go ahead and surf the Net.” Gina gestures. “Dude, your mother probably already knows.”
I open my laptop and start scouring the Net.
Within minutes, I glean the most prominent information.
a. His groupies are not happy.
b. The one who divulged to the world was goddamned Tahoe.
Well, ladies, it’s official @malcolmsaint is off the market. From now on @RachelDibs gets both the Saint and the #sinner
And the replies to that came fast and furious, with commentary that basically read, in different forms:
FUCK THAT BITCH I GIVE IT A MONTH
WHATTTT!
Seriously there’s no way Saint can get sated with just one! EVER!
I shut my laptop. “Nope,” I say. “I’m too happy to let this spoil it.”
“You can tell Saint to ask the dickhead Roth to remove it,” Gina says.
“Saint’s busy. It’ll happen anyway, the speculation. Might as well happen now.” I fall back on my pillow and my eyes drift shut as the sudden memory of last night hits me.
I’m marrying the man I am in love with, the one who takes me to Pluto and Saturn, makes me lose my senses, and makes me want to be the best I can be. Oh god.
I slide my hands under the sheets and grip my stomach. We’re not using condoms anymore. I’m on the pill but I swear I can still feel him inside me.
“Well, are you going to tell us?” they yell, snapping at me to sit up in bed.
How can I deny them when they’ve got those puppy-dog, take-me-home, tell-us-everything eyes?
How can I deny myself the pleasure of telling them ?
“Coffee first,” I say, and after I get up, brush my teeth, and slip on my fuzzy socks, I find them sitting, with a steaming cup of coffee placed right where I usually sit.
“Wow, thank you.” They’re sitting across from me, waiting, smiling the widest smiles I’ve ever seen.
I take a sip of coffee just to seem cool—like this isn’t the best thing that has ever happened to me aside from Sin—and then I nearly trip over the words of what to tell them first.
I smile up at him. “Mmm. Yes ,” I repeat, all sultry and wanton.
He smiles a little, and he looks so boyish and carefree. But then he grows serious again. Hungry again.
He sits up in one fluid move, pulls me on top, and fastens his mouth to my lips, never taking them off me as he drags them down my neck to suck on one of my breast tips.
The suction causes my nerves to start tingling and the blood to start boiling inside me. We sit in bed like this, my legs wrapped around his hips, his thighs beneath me, his mouth and hands devouring me. This man devouring me.
I rock my hips, slowly pleading for him to fill me. He comes back to my mouth and kisses me passionately, deliciously, deep enough to make my toes curl. My nipple beads under the brush of his thumb.
Before I realize what I’m doing, my nails are digging into his hair and I hear the low, soft pleas I make, begging, Saint, please, I’m aching for you . . .
The words end up a sigh that he covers with his mouth again. Our bodies shift closer, my smaller one molding to his hard, unyielding planes.
“Rachel, you’re drenched for me.”
A breathy gasp escapes me when he teases my entry with his erection. He rolls me onto my back and folds my legs, curling them around his shoulders, opening me. Every inch that he advances is bliss compounding on more bliss. The sharp, clean smell of his soap envelops me, weakens me. My senses overload on Malcolm Saint.
His mouth opens on mine with the same thorough deliberation he opens me with his hardness. His weight presses me down on the bed as he drives all the way inside. I groan. Saint rocks his hips to set a rhythm, his hottest parts taking over my softest ones. I pull his face closer to me and drop kisses on his thick neck, up to his jaw, as he gnashes his teeth while he enters me, over and over, harder and deeper.
My folded legs tighten against his shoulders. “Oh. More,” I beg, surprised by my own breathlessness.
He gives me more, giving and taking with each thrust.
He waits for me to get to the pinnacle. Quickly, I reach it. I hear myself purl out his name. I whisper I love you as he intensifies his thrusts and jets off powerfully inside me.
When I fall limp, he uncurls my legs from his shoulders, lies on his back, and runs a hand down my back as I spoon at his side. I sigh in relaxation. Is love like this? Where you keep falling and falling, every day that you look into his eyes?
I hear him inhale. He’s relaxed and satisfied as he tucks my face into his neck and rests his chin atop my head and strokes a hand down my hair.
What will it be like to marry him?
As if he’s thinking the same thing, he looks at the ring on my hand and kisses my knuckles, wiping my sweaty hair from my face.
“Should we spend the night at my place?” I ask. “That way I can tell my friends, call my mom, and you can leave to your early breakfast.”
“Sounds like a plan,” he says, his voice still gruff with lingering lust.
He goes to the bathroom to clean up and when he comes back out, we get dressed.
An hour later, we’re at my place, having the best sex—again.
“God, have we been making noise? Gina . . .” I breathe into his neck, tightening my arms around him, then I giggle in embarrassment.
He squeezes me, husking out, “I think we’re good.”
“ You’ re good,” I counter.
He gives me a heavy-lidded look before he kisses me for a long, long while, slow and lazy, his fingers spread out around the back of my head, and then he rolls me around to my stomach. He caresses my ass as he pulls me up to my knees and drives into me from behind. I make fists, moaning low. The bed squeaks as I clench the sheets, the engagement ring on my finger flashing as it catches light from the streets.
THE MORNING AFTER
“OOOOOPEN SESAME!” I hear my roommates yell through my door.
“I’m not Sesame and I’m sleeping,” I murmur into my pillow.
“Speaking of sleep, you owe me sleep time. I heard you all fucking night, you fucking horn dogs—open the door!” Gina demands.
I hear the door crack open.
“Are you alone?” she asks. “I’m with Wynn.”
“Malcolm just left,” I admit sleepily, and the door swings wide open.
“OHMIGOD!” they squeal, and there’s bouncing on my bed around my feet before they each drop down next to me. “FUCKING TELL US THAT HE PROPOSED!” Wynn cries.
I roll to my back¸ and my face hurts from smiling so much. I wonder why they’re asking me this. Do they know me this well? I look down at my hand and . . . there’s the diamond ring flashing. I couldn’t take it off, not even to sleep. But I quickly cover it right now with my free hand.
“Rachel, we don’t have all day.” Wynn nudges me excitedly, and she seriously looks so stoked, she could be on Ecstasy right now.
“I was going to invite you guys to lunch to tell you about it.”
“Dude, you still owe us lunch, but tell us now. The whole world knows and we’re your best friends!” Gina counters.
“What? What do you mean the whole world knows?” I leap off the bed and whip out my laptop, then rush back under my warm covers.
“Go ahead and surf the Net.” Gina gestures. “Dude, your mother probably already knows.”
I open my laptop and start scouring the Net.
Within minutes, I glean the most prominent information.
a. His groupies are not happy.
b. The one who divulged to the world was goddamned Tahoe.
Well, ladies, it’s official @malcolmsaint is off the market. From now on @RachelDibs gets both the Saint and the #sinner
And the replies to that came fast and furious, with commentary that basically read, in different forms:
FUCK THAT BITCH I GIVE IT A MONTH
WHATTTT!
Seriously there’s no way Saint can get sated with just one! EVER!
I shut my laptop. “Nope,” I say. “I’m too happy to let this spoil it.”
“You can tell Saint to ask the dickhead Roth to remove it,” Gina says.
“Saint’s busy. It’ll happen anyway, the speculation. Might as well happen now.” I fall back on my pillow and my eyes drift shut as the sudden memory of last night hits me.
I’m marrying the man I am in love with, the one who takes me to Pluto and Saturn, makes me lose my senses, and makes me want to be the best I can be. Oh god.
I slide my hands under the sheets and grip my stomach. We’re not using condoms anymore. I’m on the pill but I swear I can still feel him inside me.
“Well, are you going to tell us?” they yell, snapping at me to sit up in bed.
How can I deny them when they’ve got those puppy-dog, take-me-home, tell-us-everything eyes?
How can I deny myself the pleasure of telling them ?
“Coffee first,” I say, and after I get up, brush my teeth, and slip on my fuzzy socks, I find them sitting, with a steaming cup of coffee placed right where I usually sit.
“Wow, thank you.” They’re sitting across from me, waiting, smiling the widest smiles I’ve ever seen.
I take a sip of coffee just to seem cool—like this isn’t the best thing that has ever happened to me aside from Sin—and then I nearly trip over the words of what to tell them first.
