Page 46 of The Saint

He somehow fucked me harder, got a surge of energy out of nowhere. “You want to be my wife?”

“Yes…I want to be your wife.”

“Fuck.” He moaned as he filled me, getting off on something that would freak out most men if they heard it during sex—or at any time. He gave his final pumps, shoving his whole dick inside meeven when it was too much. But he barely took a couple breaths before he started up again, fucking me just as hard in the broom closet, jeans around his knees with his dick covered in my cream. “Your turn, sweetheart.”

We left the broom closet and did the walk of shame back into the bar. Bastien didn’t bother to go back for his drink at the table and instead walked right up to the bar and ordered us something new.

The material of my little thong wasn’t much, so I was afraid two loads of his seed would become too heavy and streak down my inner thighs at some point. I had to make sure I didn’t sneeze.

He handed me a drink, and when he got his, he pretty much downed it in a single gulp.

“Are you drunk?”

“I don’t get drunk,” he said. “But this is pretty close.”

I took a drink of the vodka cranberry, the alcohol like gasoline because it was so strong. “Why me?”

“Why you, what?”

“You could be doing that in the closet with any girl here. Every night of the week, if you want. But you picked me, and I still don’t understand why.”

He set his drink on the counter and gave me a hard look. It started off lighthearted and easy, but his gaze slowly became penetrating and serious.

“You’ve given up a bachelor life. That’s not easy to do.”

“It was so easy with you. It’s so fucking easy, sweetheart.” He continued to stare me down. “If you could see yourself from someone else’s eyes, then maybe you would understand.”

“I’m not saying I’m ugly or something. You’re just…a whole different level.”

He didn’t smile at the compliment. “Really? Because I think the same thing about you.”

I woke up the next morning with a small headache. When I looked at the clock, I saw it was almost noon. We’d gotten home around four in the morning, and like the sex-in-the-closet hadn’t happened, he’d fucked me from behind, my face in the sheets and my ass in the air.

He’d collapsed in bed and didn’t wake up until after noon.

I knew he was hungover because he didn’t hit the gym. Just took a quick shower before he joined me in the main room, his eyes tired and bloodshot. I watched him take two pills and swallow them down with water, something I rarely saw him drink.

He was definitely hungover.

“How are you?” I asked as I sat across from him.

He never answered the question, just looked at me with those dead eyes.

“Do you remember much of last night?”

“We went out with some of the guys to the bar. Had a few drinks, fucked in the closet, and then headed home.”

I knew well enough to know he was putting on a front. I thought he recalled the major points of the nights but probably couldn’t remember the smaller details, like when he’d gotten off on the idea of me being his wife.

I decided to keep that to myself. It wasn’t a real proposal. Just a fantasy.

A fantasy that had turned me on too.

He ran his fingers through his hair in the sexiest way then looked out the window, still not fully awake.

“Will you work tonight?”

“No.”

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