Governing the She-Devil

5 Boozed Out

Sandro patiently waited for Saint's return, but the clock turned twelve, and there was no glimpse of her presence. He shifted in his seat while fiddling with his ring. He snapped out of his impatience and called his father-in-law.

"Dad, thank you for picking up my call this late. Saint hasn't been home since afternoon. Where could she be?" Words spurted out his mouth like a race car. He was admittedly concerned. He also hated the fact that he couldn't come up with possible places to find his wife.

"Let me think of some places. Saint doesn't really share this kind of information with me anymore. I'll text you what I can think of."

It was an unbearable ten minutes of his life. He scanned the list of places Theodore sent him. After thorough consideration, he grabbed his keys and sped up towards a well-known alleyway on the outskirts. One of the places the police task force cannot control. It was full of bandits and felons.

Sandro decided to stay and wait in his car, but he put on a baseball cap and wore a denim jacket. He couldn't afford to be seen by the locals. They would surely dismember any government worker on sight. He took his phone and tried calling her number, but there was no response.

A chill ran down his spine as he watched a gang beating some man up. He instantly got scared—not for his life, but for his wife. How can Saint stay in a place like this? Was she really here?

"That was the best fight!" A voice from the deep alley shouted. "Yeah!" agreed with the other.

It only took seconds for the voices to bear physique and soon show their faces. Sandro's eyes lingered, specifically on the woman in the middle who was holding a bottle of booze. His eyes shot a fiery gaze towards their direction. Without a second thought, he jumped out of his Jeep and walked towards Saint.

He stopped right before them and grabbed her arm. "Let's go home."

The unknown woman shoved his hand aside and pushed him with her finger. "Hey, asshole, who are you?" Her calculating eyes looked straight at him. "Why are you taking my friend home, huh?" Her eyes squinted even more as if trying to remember his face.

"No, Mazy," Saint said whilst giggling and pushing her friend's hand away from him. "Husband!" Her cheeks were flustered. "You came to get me." Intoxication laced her eyes. She threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his waist like a child cuddling his father.

"Are you sure he's your husband?" The woman who's not 'Mazy' asked. "Wait, you're the mayor? S, how is he your husband?"

"Shhh," hushed Saint with the action of putting her finger on her lips. "The others might hear you." She then raised her face to see him. "Are you my husband?" She sniffed him after asking. "Yes, you are." She giggled.

Sandro looked indifferent as he observed the three intoxicated ladies—Saint being the drunkest. One has bruises all over while the other is still composed. "Come on, Saint. I'll carry you to the car."

Upon hearing this, Saint wrapped her arms around his nape and jumped, locking her legs on his waist. Sandro shook his head and slightly groaned when her strong legs locked around him. How can she be this strong?

"We'll take our leave, ladies," he said with a slight nod before carrying his wife back to the car.

Saint fell asleep once he settled her on the passenger seat. It was a fast drive. All he could think was how she managed to end up like this. He came to understand that he knew very little about her.

He carried her to their room, carefully putting her down on their bed. He took off her leather jacket together with her boots. It was a very tiring day for both of them.

To his surprise, Saint pushed herself back up and started lowering the strap of her tank top, giving him a full view of her decolletage. "Saint." came out a whisper.

"Let's have sex." Her eyes flashed determination.

"You need to get some rest." He contradicted after seconds of processing her invitation. He would never take advantage of his drunk wife.

"No! Take me. Do you hate having s*x with me? It's been days since the last time. Lilith told me that married people do it every day for a few rounds."

Sandro's forehead creased. His eyes were ablaze with the impending temptation. Saint took another strap off, leaving her with a thin lace brassiere. "Saint, please."

In the blink of an eye, her lips found their way to his. None of them moved. Saint was unsure of what to do next. It was her first kiss. They never kissed on their first night!

Sandro grew impatient and made his move. He locked their lips and moved in sync. His tongue travelled, seeking entrance to her mouth. A soft moan escaped her lips. He is now towering over her on the edge of the bed.

His hands started roaming around her soft, silky skin. It was the smoothest skin his hand ever laid on. Saint never tried stopping him. Instead, she unconsciously pushed his white shirt up, urging him to remove it. She succeeded. Her hand glided up and down his chest to his stomach.

"You are going to be the death of me, woman," he groaned as he took ownership of her supple lips again.

He reached for the clasp of her undergarment and expertly removed it. Her brassiere fell together with her body.

Sandro took a step back in confusion. He analyzed her from a distance and realized that she had fallen asleep. This woman is unpredictable!

He heaved a sigh before collecting her scattered clothes. Slowly, he pulled the duvet up to her neck and tucked her.

Without any choice of cooling off, he jumped into the shower and lowered the water temperature. "She better remember all this," he thought to himself.