Page 111 of No Saint

“Jacket, Amelia.”

“Why?”

“Now.”

She shrugs out of it, leaving her in just those tiny white panties and the gun strapped to her thigh. Her chest heaves with her breaths, skin flushed.

“I would never hurt you,” I remind her, “Underwear too.”

“Gabriel…”

I hold out my hand expectedly.

It was too dark on these roads for anyone to see her. She shimmies the underwear down her thighs and then drops them into my waiting palm. “That’s my good girl,” I praise, bringing the underwear to my nose and inhaling her scent, “You smell divine,mondo mia.”

She sits gloriously naked in the passenger seat of the car.

“I would never hurt you,” I tell her again, “But there are ways to punish without the pain.”

“I’m sorry.”

I pull the car into a darkened layby beneath some trees and lean over, unstrapping the holster from her thigh and tucking both that and the gun into the glove compartment.

“What are we doing?” Fear leaks into her eyes.

“Climb into the back.”

Shaking, she does, sliding between through the space between the seats. I follow her body with my eyes and then climb from the car, the kiss of salty sea air calming the riot slightly. I then climb into the back, locking the doors. She has her back to the door, knees to her chest and arms locked around them.

“What are you going to do?”

“Wicked, wicked things Amelia.” I wrap my hand around her wrist gently, pulling until she let’s go and then I force her legs down. A flush darkens her skin, and her labored breaths fill the silence.

My pretty wife liked it.

“Are you wet right now, Amelia?” I place my hands on her thighs, prying them apart, her beautiful cunt glistening.

“Gabriel,” she moans as I slide a finger through her heat, her arousal coating me.

“God damn, Amelia, so fucking wet.”

Her hips lift from the seat as I let that finger slide all the way to her entrance, teasing but not fully entering. Just enough to leave her wanting.

“Do you know what I do to men that disobey me?” I rasp, feeling her pussy get wetter and wetter, the sound of her flesh moving beneath my touch loud as I slowly slide inside and then out again, pumping gently with one finger.

“No,” she breathes.

“I torture them until they remember who owns them,” I admit, “I inflict pain that brings them to the brink of death every time, but I stop before I allow them the mercy. I keep them conscious, alive. I keep them there, reminding them what it means to disobey me.”

“You said – oh!” She cries, hips bucking as I ram two fingers inside, curling them to toy with that sweet rough spot just inside.

“I know what I said, wife, I’m not going to do that to you.”

I tease that sweet spot, watching as her legs begin to quake, a sweat dampening her skin and the heat in the car fogging the windows.

“Yes, ohgod, right there.”

I smile, pushing her right to that peak, getting her ready and just as she’s about to tumble over, I pull out, stopping the impending climax. She cries out at the loss.

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