Saint's Sacrament - Sins of the Father (29 page)

The woman at the counter spoke softly
; her plain, drawn-in face and nonexistent chin made her appear downy and shy. Her eyes were dull, but softened by thick golden brown lashes, and her lips were drawn downward, causing her to look depressed when she more than likely wasn’t. Xenia didn’t know really why she was staring at this woman in such a way— maybe because the woman looked how she felt.

“Here you are, Mrs. Ak…Ak…’

“Aknaten.” Xenia laughed lightly.

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It’s not a last name you hear every day. Thanks, and have a good weekend.” Xenia spun around on her heels.

“Yes, thank you and you do the same
,” she heard the woman call out as she exited the children’s area and made her way back to the first floor. As she stepped off the elevator, she got the oddest sensation, as if a cool breeze had rolled past, and it carried the scent of her husband’s cologne. She grinned and looked around, wondering what man had paid such an obnoxious price to sport the scent. Whoever he was, she was sure his girlfriend or wife was a happy camper.

“Xenia
.” The deep, titillating voice tickled her ear, along with one long stem red rose presented to her from an arm that reached leisurely over her shoulder. She giggled and turned into him, pressed her head to his chest as her body tightened with excitement.

“Saint!” She hugged him
tight, not caring about why he was there, where he’d come from, or who watched them. She didn’t stop to think about anything, only relished the fact that his arm was now around her waist and he intoxicated her with his aftershave and soothing touch.

He pulled back a little and s
he looked up into his bright eyes, his long, dark eyelashes making her swoon. His upper lip curved to the right in a lopsided grin, but he remained silent, just looked at her intensely.

“Baby, what are you doing here?”

“Why else?” he asked casually as he took her arm and led her across the room. “I’m here to read to you, baby…”

~***~

The small table in the back of the room had four wooden chairs crowded around it. The surface of the wood was so glossy, Saint could see Xenia’s reflection in it as she sat on his lap like a little child and clutched the back of his neck. She leaned into him, like it was a bedtime story and he was going to tell her tales of ghastly dragons slain by heroic knights and fierce bounty-hunter type heroines. Instead, he gripped a worn book, a dog-eared and abused paperback copy of ‘Norwegian Wood’ by Haruki Murakami.

“…Washed clean of summer’s dust…” Saint read aloud, softly, as he ran his fingers lightly up and down her shoulder. She
snuggled to him, ran the edge of her thumb over his mint green cotton shirt.

“Your voice is so soothing
,” she said quietly as she drew her legs up and tucked them underneath herself on his lap. He’d noticed a few people moseying by, staring at them, but it didn’t stop or hinder him. He continued to read until soon, he found himself plucking at her curls and tracing her face as she listened. He felt her heartbeat race, like a rabbit’s after a chase. It had been a long day…matter of fact, each damned day was blending into the next and it became just one long disaster after another with pieces of hope and glimmers of tranquility. Where had they gone wrong? All couples had hard times and dry spells, but he and Xenia were supposed to be different. Three children, careers in the limelight, family members and friends in need—it was a continuous cycle and the moments they did have together were short-lived. The sex was getting less frequent and hurried. The mornings consisted of them passing by each other in the bathroom, toothbrushes jammed in their respective mouths. He knew Xenia finally had to accept that she couldn’t be
everything
to everybody, but he hadn’t quite learned the same lesson.

The seconds had multiplied until an entire family of sixty minutes had come and gone
— time sure flew past. He swallowed deeply and as he clutched the book a bit tighter, his fingers in contrast with the dark back cover while he turned it to and fro, wondering if he’d already owned a copy at home. He swallowed once again, realizing that what he felt wasn’t an innocent mistake. Xenia’s hand had traveled over the crotch of his pants. Her fingers lightly maneuvered over his mound, again and again. He cleared his throat loudly, placed the book down on the table, and coughed into his fist. He could feel her desire as she stared at him, but refused to make eye contact because if he did, he wouldn’t be able to control himself. He stared out a window, hoping to see something exciting enough to keep his erection contained. Nothing. Now her fingers travelled into his shirt, caressed his chest and played with his necklace.

“Okay, okay now
.” He gently gripped her wrist and pulled the hand away. “What are you trying to do, hmmm?” He finally looked at her, and he knew he’d sealed his fate when his dick hardened, ready for battle. She leaned into him. The heat from her open mouth sent shivers down his spine as her soft, slick lips took hold of the side of his neck and gently sucked. He stomped his foot inadvertently, garnering the attention of a few others who appeared to be nose deep in schoolwork. He waved and smiled nervously at them then looked back out the window, searching in vain for a focal point. She continued to suck, harder and harder and her hand roved over his dick, causing him to readjust in his seat. He gasped and looked around, his palms sweaty. He couldn’t do this anymore.

“Stop. Get off of me
,” he said gruffly.

Xenia pulled back from him, her
expression one of disappointment and anger. It wasn’t his intention to be cruel, but his body was on fire and she’d worked him into a heated storm. She stood, clearly about to tell him a thing or two but before she could, he grasped her wrist and dragged her away, almost causing her to trip over her own feet. They raced through aisles and aisles of books. The rows looked like colorful blurs as he turned here, there, and everywhere, looking for a secluded spot. He found one by the old encyclopedias dressed in dark gray with faded gold writing. Before she could utter a word, he tossed her against a shelf of hardbound books, causing some to fall as he hoisted her high. Pressing his chest into her, he chewed on his bottom lip and reached for his zipper.

“Pull your pants down!” he whispered
, unable to keep his frustration and need out of his tone. He felt her feverishly squirming against him. He pulled slightly away from her until she’d done as he asked. Her pants pooled at her ankles along with her tiny pink panties.  He looked to his left, then to his right, slid her a bit higher and parked her against those damn heavy, huge books. The volumes loomed, looking down at them, as if passing judgment. He hooked a hand on a shelf beside her head and stared into her eyes so intense, he could see his own reflection in their lustrous sheen.

“Ahhh!” She bit into his shoulder as he lunged hard and fast inside of her
—anything to stifle her own moan. He checked the coast once again, sure her voice had alerted a passerby or two. He could hear his own breathing as he waited. Nothing.

“Mmmm!” she muttered, spitting curses as he pushed up into her once more, then again and again. He cradled the back of her head, his pants and boxers in a heap around his shoes.
“Oh…God…” she gasped as her nails dragged up and down his back.

“Uhhhhh,” he grunted into her shoulder blade, his teeth daring to sink into her sweet flesh. He moved harder and faster with each thrust, giving it to her, making more books tumble
to the floor as he lost control of himself. “Uhhh!” She ran her fingers roughly through his hair. “Uhhh! Mmmm!” He bit her hard as he felt her pussy squeeze his tdick in its moist folds. She sighed in pleasure as he gripped her tighter and pounded into her wet, hot inferno. She shook in his grip then, stifling her orgasmic cries into the crook of his neck.

“Uhhh! Uh!Uh!Uh!Uh!” He banged into her, certain her poor back would be bruised so he hastened his pace to get the whole delicious ordeal done and over with, though he was loving every moment of it. “Uh!”

“You cummin’ baby?!” she whispered, pressing her palms to either side of his face, trying to get him to lift his head and look into her eyes. He didn’t want to…he was afraid he’d scream out, let the entire place know they were having an inappropriate interlude. He nodded but kept his gaze away, then slammed his palm into the books as he felt himself about to fall apart.

“Shiiit!”
she gasped. His hands now around her hips, gripping her forcefully, he lunged hard and fast, over and over inside of her. The fast slapping sound seemed to echo, sure to give them away…

“Uhhhh!”
He finally looked up at her and gripped her chin, forcing her mouth open so she could swallow his moan as he shot deep within her, in the warm, comforting confines of her feminine sheath. “Uhhhhh…” And he shuddered against her, barely able to hold her up anymore as his entire temple vibrated with the force of the orgasm. He stumbled back from her, allowing her to quickly dress. He’d never seen her move so fast and if he didn’t feel half inebriated, he would have found it hilarious.

Not waiting for him to get himself together, she dropped to her knees and pulled his clothing up
with the acute stealth of a panther. He handled the rest, sloppily zipping his pants and latching his belt. His hard on was still quite prominent. He looked down at the damned thing, causing Xenia to follow suit. She looked around desperately and grabbed one of the fallen books.

“Here. Put this over it.” She slammed it into his stomach. He gripped it and did as he was told, followed behind her with his hea
d slightly bowed while she led him out into the open. He covered his eyes with his arm, as if the breaking dawn had stolen his vampirism license away. It was the bright fluorescent lighting…and the wide-eyed stares from a nearby couple sitting huddled together amongst a stack of magazines. They weren’t there originally; they must’ve come during the middle of the ‘show’.

They’d heard the whole damn thing.
He could see it in their eyes. There was no need to pretend.

Saint smirked and tossed the
heavy book carelessly on their table. It sounded like a brick skidding across the hard plastic. His prominent erection had relaxed enough to be less conspicuous. Xenia took the bag filled with children’s hardcovers and movies she’d collected and hoisted it over her bitten and bruised shoulder. The excitement of the encounter had blown their breath away, but there was still a problem—she needed him more, needed more of his time. He promised himself, as he looked down at his pants to ensure they were actually zipped, that as soon as the next conference was over, he’d dedicate more of his schedule to her. He leaned over and rested his lips against her jawbone, then slowly pulled away when a gorgeous smile creased her face. She pulled her purse over her shoulder and he took her hand as they walked toward the front doors.

“Hey baby
.” He looked back at the table. “Don’t forget your flower.”

“Oh!”
She turned and retrieved it, and was back at his side. “I love you,” she whispered as she gripped his hand tightly.

“I love you too, baby, and I promise, we’ll spend more time together soon
.”

“Did you still want to stop and get that chicken gyro?”
she asked as they exited the library hand in hand, the sun now long gone and their cars parked close to one another.

“Yeah, let’s get a to
-go order and chill tonight. You go on home, and I’ll go pick them up, one each.”

“Okay.” She yawned.
Exhaustion was etched all over her face. He was sure she wouldn’t last another hour, but he would at least try to keep this magic alive.

“No kids, just you and me. It’s a start, right?” He kissed her again before closing her car door behind her. She rolled her window down and peered up at him
, her expression contemplative, her lips slightly parted.

“Sounds good…”
she said. He knew she wanted to say more, but didn’t. She didn’t trust his words right then and there. He always promised her more, and all she got was less and vice versa. They’d become lovers with the best of intentions. He bit down his regret, waved weakly to her and made his way to his car, feeling the effects of a supreme sexual release. The erotic encounter was just what he needed, but he also wanted her to be not just content, but happy—and while he made love to her, he could tell she was not and it was all because she missed him. She wanted her husband, and she wanted him
now…

~***~

Xenia’s heart pounded out of her chest. She looked to and fro; the crew moved fast into their respective places and the studio audience murmured amongst themselves, vying for a chance to spot a celebrity or two. She’d run through the script a hundred times, but this felt brand new as her nerves got the best of her. Some of it was simply off the cuff, she’d have to wing it, simply go with the flow. It was to come across like a conversation, just she and a stranger, now new friends, over a cup of morning brew or in this case, steaming green tea. Palms moist, breathing labored, she braced herself under the bright, hot lights that beamed down on her. She gripped her amethyst necklace and caught her reflection in a nearby monitor.

Okay, just breathe…

She briefly closed her eyes and in that second, a large powder puff swiped across her face. By the time her eyelashes fluttered open, the make-up artist had disappeared and her co-host, a new hire by the name of Jackson Cleves, made his way next to her. Adjusting his olive and cream plaid collar, the suave looking man with perfectly coifed light blond hair, piercing blue eyes and a strong jaw looked like a permanent fixture in a top-notch fashion magazine ad. She’d gone through a few lines with him earlier and felt comfortable enough, but they hadn’t had time to develop chemistry, the kind that takes time, long conversations and disclosure. She knew Sinclair had done the shit on purpose, yanking Marvin away at the last moment like a wig off a mannequin head. He wanted her to bomb and she was determined to not let the son of a bitch have his way.

“Good morning!” Jackson announced, his million dollar dazzling smile wide, a sure crowd pleaser. “Thank you for joining
me, Jackson Cleves, and the lovely and talented Xenia Aknaten. We’ve got some exciting stories, news, and information this morning, don’t we, Xenia?” He turned to her, his smile stiff and plastered, yet warm at the same time, if that were possible.

“Yes…uh, yes, we sure do and,” she adjusted awkwardly in her seat, folding her hands over the stack of papers before her
, “this week we have Nicole Kidman, Hunter Hayes and Jennifer Garner just to name a few. We will also be discussing the benefits of Vitamin E, how to save one thousand dollars a year and—”

“Wow! One thousand dollars… I could use another thousand bucks!” Jackson gleamed into the camera.

“For sure, couldn’t we all!” Xenia smiled, getting into her groove. “And Jackson, get a load of this,” she stuck her hand out casually, “we will have Nancy Cruz, renowned kitchen designer, here on Thursday, to show us how to get our kitchens to look like those of the big celebrities, on a budget.”

“Nancy is really talented
. I can’t wait to get her tips…”

And so the show continued. Xenia
got more and more comfortable, received nods of approval from the camera crew and wild applause from the audience at just the right moments. In the distance, Shianne winked at her and gave her a thumbs up…

~***~

Saint settled comfortably in his chair, ignoring his ringing cell phone and the emails that continued to pour into his inbox. Today he was going to savor the moment. Sitting with his fingers steepled, he focused, pouring all of his attention into the here and now in his theater-dark office. The thick black and cream curtains were drawn tight and the large television, taking up most of the wall in front of him, was turned on.

She’s doing
great. Kind of a rough start, but she got herself together. You’re doing well, baby…

He grinned wide, so proud of her. After a few minutes, a commercial came on. He put the television on mute and turned to his computer
to briefly peruse the emails. His meeting notice to Jagger had just been accepted a mere minute ago. Saint had sent the damn thing days ago. The man had been dodging Saint for a week, as if he knew exactly what he wanted to talk to him about. Every time he attempted to corner the guy, he weaseled out of it, stating he had a full schedule and things to do. Saint was surprised he didn’t turn into a shadow, as he professed he could, and simply disappear. Jagger had him against a wall. This wasn’t a topic one could discuss in mixed company; Jagger knew he had the advantage, so he continued to dole out excuses. Jagger would talk about open wounds, casualties of war, the stench of death and the gruesome fights between Angel Children that had lost their path from all around the world—but the discussion of love and affairs of the heart sent him scurrying away like an elephant from a tiny mouse. Regardless, the man wasn’t getting out of this. Saint was done trying to call and text him, only to be ignored. This meeting was official, and Saint sent out only one sentence in regard to it:

MEET ME AT THIS TIME, IN MY OFFICE, OR ELSE…

That message let Jagger know, in no uncertain terms, that he wasn’t fucking around. The day of reckoning had arrived. Soon the commercials were over, and the theme music beckoned his attention. He set his sights back on his wife. He couldn’t help a smile as he watched her now move around the kitchen set decorated with vibrant crimson and steel appliances with her cohost close behind. A chef from China showed them how to make authentic Hong Kong French toast. The sight of the deep fried mass coated in butter made his stomach cave with pangs of queasiness, though he did admit it looked pretty tempting on the high definition screen. Soon, the nausea increased, and then a bit more.

“Ahhhh
.” He groaned and turned away from the television, bent over, clutching the arms of his chair. Much to his dismay, that was only a teaser. Seconds later, he gasped in pain. He scooted back in his seat, his mouth agape as he gripped the black fabric of his silky shirt around his gut in his fist and the cramps went from manageable to major.

“What the hell! Fuck
, this hurts!” he blurted, straining, feeling hot one moment and cold the next.

Panic bore down on him
as he further lost control of himself. He felt like he’d been sucker punched by an unknown entity, as if her and Jagger were once again sparring, only this time, he had no idea the motherfucker was in the room. The throbbing abdominal pain intensified. Energy filled the air, one of warning, one all too familiar. As he floated into an abyss that threatened his consciousness, the room became blurry, then crystal clear. His wife’s sexy laughter echoed in his ears. Trying to keep his equilibrium to no avail, he extended a hand over his desk and held on, but only succeeded in knocking some things onto the floor—his phone, paperwork, the computer mouse and other items collected in a heap at his feet.

The minutes felt like hours. After a
while, the show ended and he looked wearily up at the screen to watch Xenia wave goodbye and blow a kiss into the camera. His eyes fluttered as he flirted with the pain, trying to sweet-talk it into leaving him so he could crawl like a baby toward his office door. It took a while for him to lift himself up. Then he finally found his voice and screamed out with all his might, the pain increasing as his lungs grasped for air, begging the invisible swirls of oxygen to show him mercy and allow him to swallow them whole. Soon, someone was at his door and the sounds of muffled voices came through. The room spun. He heard men speaking, and his name being called. Although he opened his mouth to speak, nothing came out. After a while, the door burst open. Lawrence led a small crowd of Rainbeau men into the room and rushed to his side. One lone voice said his name over and over, and it echoed in his ears a million times.

“Saint! Saint! Saaaaaaaiiiint!”

~
***~

Three hours later…

“I don’t remember it very clearly.” Saint sat up slowly in his master suite,
butter pecan colored sheets wrapped around him. Xenia stood by the doorway, still dressed in her work outfit, the one he’d helped her pick out. He loved how she appeared, but hated her expression of worry. Her big dark eyes, sad and moist, glossed over as she studied him. She toiled with her sparkling necklace, twisting it nervously in her grasp. He could smell her perfume all over him, she must’ve held him in her arms, but he didn’t recall it…

I’ve ruined her debut…

“I’m sorry, baby,” he said weakly, running the cool cloth offered to him across his brow.

“Saint, hush! I don’t care anything about that, I care about
you
. Is anyone going to tell me what is going on here and why he wasn’t taken to the hospital? Lawrence, you called me at work telling me Saint was having stomach trouble. I told you I would meet you at the hospital and you said, ‘No, go to your house, we will see you there.’ I tried to call 911 after I got here.”

“Xenia, please—” Lawrence began but he was cut short.

“He was still in pain and writhing around all over the bed and you grabbed the phone out of my hand, so rude and unlike you by the way,” her voice lowered as her gaze narrowed on the Native Indian’s form. “…and ended the call. Now here he lays,” she pointed to her husband, as she continued to go off, “and I
still
am not told why my husband isn’t getting medical treatment. Someone had better tell me something now, or I am calling the ambulance and you better not try to stop me.”

“
Xenia, I needed to examine him first. And the doctors wouldn’t have found anything. It’s not a medical issue that way, Xenia.” Lawrence looked over his shoulder at her. “He had sympathy pains.”

“Sympathy pains?” Saint shot her a glance, one of warning.

Xenia…No! Not like a pregnancy…don’t say one word about that!

He wished he could touch her heart, to speak to her telepathically, but she was so far away,
standing by their bedroom door with her face twisted in confusion.

“Why are you way over there?” He coughed into his hand.

“You were kicking and thrashing about. I had been holding you, and it was like another wave of pain hit you, and you lost control. Lawrence requested I stand far away while he got you calmed down.”

All three were quiet for a few moments.

“Xenia, when someone close to Saint is in physical pain, he may sometimes feel it,” Lawrence offered. “I suspect that is what has happened here. There is no rhyme or reason to it. Sometimes we can pick up on it, and sometimes we can’t. The fact that he could means he is supposed to do something about it. Now we just have to figure out who it is.”

Xenia drew closer
to him, and he was so glad. Sitting on the bed, she ran her hand up and down his arm. He gripped her fingers and offered a smile, the best he could muster.

“Did I hurt you through all the commotion?”

She smiled faintly and shook her head.

“He’ll be fine after a little rest.
Tomorrow morning, he should be good as new but I’d still take the day off, just in case.”

“I can’t, we’ve got too much going on tomorrow
,” he protested.

“Saint, baby
.” Xenia caressed the side of his face. “It’ll have to wait. I’m staying home and taking care of you.”

“Oh no you aren’t! Tomorro
w is the second day of the show. Who in the hell has the audacity to call in sick on their second day on the job, Xenia? Not
my
wife, and sure as hell not on account of me.”

“But Saint
, you—”

“But Saint, nothin’.” He sat up straighter, mad as hell. “
That’s the type of shit comedians make jokes about, because it is absurd and dishonorable. No, not on my watch.” He moaned in sorrow, as if mourning the death of a beloved pet, when something caught his eye—a lovely sight, to be sure. There, neatly laid out on her nightstand, was Xenia’s lavender negligee paired with an assortment of peppermint massage oils and lotions. She had been planning a pleasurable evening for just the two of them, but now, he was going to be forced to sleep, much against his will. They were going to celebrate, and he was going to show her just how turned on he’d been by seeing her prance around stirring batter in that big orange bowl on the television screen…

Mmmm, yeah baby
. I plan to do the stirrin’ in your bowl tonight…

“
Oh God!” Lawrence turned away from him. “Saint, I heard that.” Lawrence cleared his throat, his complexion bright red and a faint smile of embarrassment on his face.

“Sorry.”
Saint grinned and winced as a dull pain moved about his intestines, then grinned again, unable to shake the sordid thoughts from his mind. “My bad… Look, let me make some calls at least, see what’s going on.” He raised an arm and pointed to his clothing that lay haphazardly across the bottom of the bed. Lawrence grabbed his pants, slid his hand in one of the pockets, removed the iPhone and handed it to him. He tried to sit up taller, but slumped back as another dull wave of nausea ambushed him. Xenia shot both men a look of bewilderment.

“I can tell you that the
kids are fine; they are downstairs with Mama. She came right over,” she said.

“
Raphael sent me a text message that I haven’t replied to yet.” Saint scrolled through his messages.

“I spoke to him.
He was calling about visiting but you hadn’t gotten back in touch with him.” Xenia crossed her arms. “He is fine. He’s at his son’s game.”