Page 35 of Bad Saint

I place my open palm to the window, begging someone sees me, begging to be rescued, but it never happens. All I can do is watch them laugh happily, sampling the local foods, oblivious to my situation because down here, I’m hidden, forgotten to the world.

An hour passes, and the street vendor begins to pack up his loot. He’s done for the day. The tourists are long gone, but sadly, I’m not. Here I kneel, peering out into a world I was once a part of. When the air turns still and the 80s pop vanishes, I sink down and crumple into a heap.

That was a wasted opportunity, and I don’t know how many more I’ll get. Saint said we would be here for a few days. That we’re going to dock to change boats. But I can only imagine that will be done under the veil of night because here, I stand out like dog’s balls.

I’m trying not to be disheartened, but that is impossible. And when the hatch clicks and opens, and I hear heavy footsteps, I realize I’m about to face the epitome of impossible.

I turn on my side, refusing to look at him. That doesn’t deter him, however.

“I got you something to eat.” I hear a thud onto the table.

His heavy sigh is my victory, but I remain unmoving. A static crackles, hinting shit is about to get real.

Before I know what’s happening, the seat suddenly depresses, the air is ripped from my lungs, and I’m flipped onto my stomach as Saint throws me over his lap. I’m lying stretched out with him under me. He’s so damn smooth, I don’t even know how he maneuvers me this way like I weigh nothing at all.

I don’t bother fighting him, but instead, I turn my cheek, looking away.

“You know,” he starts, two simple words filled with such wicked promised, “I can make you talk.”

A shudder passes through me because I have no doubt he can. I’m clueless to what he’s about to do because the last time we were this way, he spanked me. The memory smashes into me, and I bite my tongue to prevent any verbal response.

When the material of my dress slowly glides up my legs, I measure my breaths, but my heart begins to race. He stops just at the small of my back. I exhale, but it’s in vain because what he does next has my cheeks bursting into flames.

He leisurely lowers my innocent white underwear to expose my ass. I close my eyes, humiliated, which is exactly the response he wants.

He hums low while I remain unresponsive. However, when I hear what sounds like a jar being opened and feel a cool cream being applied to my ass cheeks, I jolt, dismayed. I’m about to tell him what a sick, perverted creep he is until the soothing scents of myrrh, lavender, and tea tree catch the air. Then a cooling sensation against my tender flesh follows.

Helpless to resist and also a tad confused, I instantly relax and allow Saint to surprisingly tend to my wounds. It feels absolutely wonderful as the burn to my skin fades. He gently massages my ass, applying just the right pressure to make what he’s doing feel so good.

He lifts the hem of my dress and exposes my back, where he applies more ointment. By the time he gets to my shoulder blades, I’m almost drooling. His strong fingers dig into my tender muscles, kneading out the stiffness. Over the past seven days, my poor shoulders have suffered such abuse.

My breasts are still covered, but being this way is so intimate. I’ve never had a man touch me like this. Not even Drew. But with Saint, it almost is effortless.

Once he finishes massaging my back, he detours to my ass once again, gripping my cheeks in both hands and squeezing softly to ensure every inch is slathered in cream. A contented sigh betrays my pleasure, but I’m too relaxed to care or question why he’s being so nice.

His heavy breaths are hypnotic and lull me into a sleepy bubble. I must look ridiculous with my ass poised high, covered in whatever balm he’s applying. It doesn’t even seem like having me half-naked on his lap has affected him, which is a good thing, I remind myself. This is all methodical for him, seeing as he can’t deliver damaged goods.

He scoops more cream into his hands and pays attention to my legs. He works my inner thighs, never drifting too close to my sex, which I’m thankful for. Once I’m slathered in the ointment, he puts the lid back onto the container and gently pulls my underwear back up.

When he lowers my dress, a small, insolent part of me is disappointed. But I’m quick to dispel such thoughts. I’m so relaxed, I feel like an overcooked piece of spaghetti.

“You see, it doesn’t have to be all unpleasant between us. I can be kind too.” His honeyed voice is smooth, and I hate myself because I want to hear it again.

My wish is granted, but what he says next confirms his kindness comes with strings. “Will you behave?”

His thoughtfulness is because he wants something from me. It wasn’t done out of the kindness of his heart, which is my error, forgetting he doesn’t have one. But this act proves otherwise. Doesn’t it?

“A?????”He waits for me to reply, but he’ll be waiting for a long time to come.

A string of profanity severs the serenity as he slides out from under me. I lounge on my stomach with no intention of moving or replying.

“I promise…you will talk.”

He leaves me with that oath as he marches up the stairs and slams the hatch shut. A smile spreads from cheek to cheek because for once, Saint knows how it feels to be used.

Once Saint left, I fell into a deep slumber, exhaustion creeping up on me. For once, my body didn’t ache, thanks to Saint, which is ironic, considering he’s the reason I was sore in the first place.

I was too drained to even try to comprehend why he helped me. His hot and cold behavior leaves me confused because I don’t know which version of Saint I’ll get whenever he walks down those stairs.

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