The Angel (The Original Sinners) Page 13

  “I’m the sub,” Michael said when Nora moved up to his back. “Shouldn’t I be giving you the massage?”

  “You are the most stressed-out, tightly wound sub on the face of the earth,” Nora said, digging her strong fingers into the knot that was his back. “I can’t beat you up until you relax a little or you’ll pull every muscle in your body in our first session. Relax. That’s an order.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Michael said, tensing when she slid her hands into his boxers.

  “Michael,” Nora said with obvious exasperation, “you just clenched your ass tighter than the second pair of Spanx on a drag queen. Did I forget to mention relax was an order?”

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Michael said, laughing.

  “What has gotten you so tense, Angel?” Nora pulled her hands away and stretched out on her side next to him.

  Michael turned his head to face her.

  “You’re my priest’s girlfriend. I’m in a stranger’s house. Both of my parents would freak out if they knew I was here.”

  Nora reached out and caressed the arch of his cheek.

  “Tell me the truth. Why are you really so stressed out?”

  Swallowing hard, he rolled up and pulled his T-shirt back on.

  He turned his face from her and stared out the window.

  “There’s a huge swimming pool right out that window,” Michael said.

  Nora smiled. “I know. You want to drain it and skate it, don’t you?”

  “How did you know?” he asked, grinning sheepishly.

  “I’m old. I’ve seen Gleaming the Cube about a million times. Christian Slater as a blond punk skateboarder? The movie’s probably the reason I’m so attracted to blond men.”

  “Never seen it.”

  “We’ll rent it. Now answer the question. Why are you so stressed?”

  Sighing, Michael pulled his legs to his chest and rested his chin on his knees.

  “I don’t belong here, Nora. With you, with Griffin, in this house…this is crazy.”

  Nora said nothing at first. She stood up and switched on the small bedside lamp. When he was a kid he had an ugly plastic Power Rangers lamp. Young Griffin had a Tiffany lamp.

  “Get into bed,” Nora ordered.

  “It’s only 10:30 p.m.,” Michael protested.

  “I’m getting in with you.”

  Michael couldn’t scramble under the covers fast enough. In the low light he watched Nora strip out of her shoes, skirt and blouse. Wearing only her black bra and barely there panties, she slid into bed next to him.

  “Clothes off,” she said and Michael awkwardly stripped out of his shirt and boxers. “Good boy. Spoon with me—your back to my chest.”

  Nervously Michael pressed into Nora, nearly groaning aloud as his skin met hers. He did groan aloud when she reached down and wrapped her hand around him.

  “You’re not just taller,” she said into his ear. “You’ve gained a couple inches in another area too, I see.”

  Michael blushed and said nothing.

  “Now I’m going to do two things,” Nora said. “I’m going to give you an orgasm and tell you a bedtime story. Which do you want first?”

  “Ah…orgasm?” Michael answered tentatively. If he didn’t come first, he probably wouldn’t be able to concentrate on a word Nora said.

  “Understandable.” Nora tightened her grip on him, bit his shoulder and gently stroked upward. His body tensed hard at Nora’s touch and he released with a silent shiver. “Feel better?”

  Michael nodded. “And wetter.”

  “Leave it,” Nora said. “This is Griffin’s old bed. Trust me. Yours is not the first cum to hit these sheets. Bedtime story now. Ready? Say ‘Yes, ma’am.’”

  His own personal bedtime story by Nora Sutherlin?

  “Yes, ma’am,” Michael said with the closest thing he had in his verbal repertoire to gusto.

  “Once upon a time,” Nora said, as she fluttered a series of kisses over his shoulders that sent every nerve in his body reeling, “a very poor girl from a fucked-up family became a famous writer with a wicked pen and an even more wicked tongue who made seven figures a year. And she went everywhere she wanted to and did everything she wanted to. And nobody ever tried to stop her. And she had her own pet Angel who needed to learn how to talk. So guess what she did?”

  “What?” Michael asked. He laughed in surprise as Nora slammed him down onto his back and slid on top of him.

  She brought her mouth onto his and forced his lips apart.

  “She gave him her tongue.”

  9

  A gentle hand on her shoulder roused Nora from sleep. She turned over and saw Griffin standing next to Michael’s bed holding out her cell phone.

  The Pope, he mouthed.

  Nora nodded and took the phone. She turned and saw Michael curled up in the fetal position with his long lush eyelashes resting on his cheeks. For nearly an hour after sticking her tongue down his throat to make him laugh, they’d lain in his bed and talked. Well, she’d done most of the talking. But he’d listened and asked a few nervous questions about what would happen with them this summer, what she expected from him, what he needed. Finally he’d relaxed enough to fall asleep.

  Carefully Nora slid out from under the covers. Griffin stood staring, obviously transfixed by the curve of Michael’s pale bare shoulder peeking out from under the sheets and glowing in the moonlight. Nora grabbed Griffin by the shirt and dragged him into the hall. She closed the door behind her and gave Griffin a stern stare.

  “Yes, sir?” she said when Michael lay safely out of earshot.

  “How are you, little one?” came Søren’s voice over the line.

  “Lonely for a certain six-foot-four blond Scandinavian guy I know.”

  Griffin started to go back into Michael’s room and Nora barred the closed door with her body.

  “Anyone I know?” Søren asked.

  “Alexander Skarsgård.” Griffin feinted to the right before attempting to duck under her arm. She raised her leg and braced it on the door frame to block him.

  “I’m afraid I’m not familiar with the gentleman.”

  “He’s a Swedish vampire. Anyway, how are you, sir?”

  She heard Søren’s quiet laugh on the other end of the line.

  “Intrigued.”

  Nora’s blood momentarily turned to ice at the utterance of that word. Intrigued. Søren intrigued? This could not even begin to be a good thing.

  “Intrigued by what? Or by whom, should I ask?”

  “By a certain reporter who appeared at Mass this evening. Suzanne Kanter.”

  Nora groaned and not just with worry but reluctant pleasure. Griffin had taken a different tack and now kissed the sensitive tendon where her neck met shoulder. As he kissed her, he unbuttoned his shirt to reveal the expanse of his muscled chest and stomach.

  “Oh, God, she’s pretty, isn’t she?” she asked, not feeling the slightest shard of jealousy, but only fear. An intrigued Søren was a distracted Søren. She needed him cold, calculating and detached so he could deal with the mess swirling around him in Wakefield. Not intrigued.

  “Yes, she’s lovely. Dark red hair, dark eyes, quite tall,” he said and she heard the slightest amorous tinge in his voice. Griffin unhooked her bra and started sliding it down her arms. “She would look exquisite on my St. Andrew’s Cross.”

  Suddenly visions of newspaper headlines danced through her head.

&
nbsp; Respected Catholic Priest Exposed as S&M Lord

  Catholic Priest’s Erotic Dungeon Found

  Accused S&M Priest Defrocked and Excommunicated

  Bestselling Erotica Writer Linked to Excommunicated Priest

  Bestselling Erotica Writer Found Guilty of Statutory Rape

  “We’re all going to jail,” she sighed.

  “Eleanor, calm down,” Søren said, his voice now stern and commanding, just the way she liked it. “All will be well. I will handle Ms. Kanter. She came out of suspicion, not simple curiosity, and that is what intrigues me more than anything. For all of her smiles and polite posturing, she appeared to be absolutely terrified of me.”

  “Terrified?” Nora repeated as Griffin nibbled at her hips while attempting to remove her underwear. Søren, unlike her, never exaggerated. She knew most people found Søren intimidating at first, what with his height, extraordinary handsomeness, his priest’s collar and his remote demeanor. And he could certainly scare the shit out of people when in the right mood. Zach Easton could testify to that. But terrified seemed uncalled-for unless this reporter had some sort of priest-phobia. She knew a few traumatized Catholic school graduates who nearly wet themselves around nuns and sisters.

  “She must be Catholic,” Nora concluded.

  “Lapsed,” Søren said. “Also, she’s a fan of yours. Or claims to be. Somehow she learned you attend Sacred Heart.”

  “If she’s a fan then I have to like her,” Nora said, hating this reporter who’d come sniffing around Søren. Bad sign that the reporter already linked her with Søren. Things were getting sticky already.

  Nora glanced down and discovered Griffin had succeeded in getting her completely naked and himself half-naked in the hallway. He brought his hand between her legs and lightly toyed with the tiny silver hoop that pierced her clitoral hood. She attempted to slap his hand away but he carried on, impervious to her defenses.

  “What are you going to do?” she asked as Griffin slipped a finger into her while his other hand expertly teased her nipple. Michael being denied to him, Griffin had clearly decided to take his frustrated lust out on her. Against her will, her body started to respond to his gentle assault. At least a couple hours of kinky fucking would distract her from Søren worries.

  “Anything I have to,” he said simply, the threat of Søren’s deep darkness in his words. “Take care of Michael. Keep Griffin away from him. You will be home with me where you belong soon enough.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said, her stomach tightening both with both nervousness and arousal. “I love you.” Tears pricked at her eyes as she said the words. Not good. Just a few days apart and she already missed him enough to get weepy.

  “I love you too, little one. Nothing and no one will keep us apart. Know that and believe it.”

  “Trying,” she said and took a ragged breath.

  Griffin took her bra and panties and his shirt and started heading down the hall toward the east wing. He turned back around and beckoned her with the condom package between his index and middle fingers. Which reminded her…

  “Søren?” Nora asked sweetly. “Beloved priest of my heart? Can I ask a little favor?”

  * * *

  Dinner with Patrick always started out with dinner but never ended with dinner. Suzanne lay underneath him as he pulled her panties down her legs. Bad idea, sleeping with an ex-boyfriend, even if he was helping her with her investigation. But she couldn’t deny she wanted this, wanted his warm mouth on her breasts and his fingers on her clitoris and…

  “I want your cock in me, Patrick,” she gasped as he covered her naked body with his.

  Patrick laughed softly and Suzanne’s body temperature kicked up a couple more degrees as his strong bare chest vibrated against her taut nipples.

  “I’ll happily put my cock in you. Where did that come from?” he asked as he slipped on a condom. Reaching between her thighs, he caressed her wet folds with fingers that knew exactly where she liked being touched.

  “Your fault,” she said as he traced leisurely circles into her with one and then two fingers. “You’re the one who told me Nora Sutherlin went to Sacred Heart. I’ve been reading her books…for research.”

  “One-handed research?” Patrick kissed his way across her shoulders and neck and up to her mouth.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know,” she teased.

  “Wouldn’t I love to watch,” he said, pushing gently into her. She spread her legs and took him deeper.

  She groaned in the back of her throat as Patrick started his slow forceful thrusts. Rocking her hips into Patrick’s, she tried to keep from dwelling on all the reasons she shouldn’t be—again—having sex with her ex. They weren’t getting back together. With her work, her traveling, she couldn’t have a real relationship. He wanted so much from her—commitment, promises, love—that she didn’t have to give. But at dinner they’d talked about Nora Sutherlin, how she had appeared almost out of nowhere six years ago and become the most celebrated dominatrix in the Underground. Patrick didn’t know too many specifics. Specifics were hard to come by where Nora Sutherlin was concerned. Still, that didn’t stop Suzanne and Patrick from wildly speculating about her personal life—who she slept with, who her clients were, what kinky people did behind closed doors. By the time they stumbled into Suzanne’s apartment after dinner, they were both flushed and breathy and ready to fall into bed together.

  Closing her eyes, Suzanne felt the tension in her thighs that signaled she was close to coming. Patrick’s hands groped at her back as his mouth sought hers again and again. She pressed into the bed as she felt the familiar tightening. For one brief moment a vision of someone other than Patrick flashed across her mind’s eye—a vision of a man, taller than Patrick, more viscerally handsome, older, far more intimidating and significantly blonder. Suddenly she orgasmed, the vaginal spasms fluttering through her stomach. For another few seconds Patrick kept thrusting. He pushed one final time, gathered her to him and came hard. At the back of her mind she heard him whisper something into her ear. But shocked by the vision she’d just had, she didn’t understand the words.

  “You’re not going to say anything?” Patrick said, kissing her cheek, her neck.

  “Sorry,” she said, panicking a moment. Had she said something when she came, said another name? “I just—”

  “I said I love you, Suzanne.” Slowly Patrick pulled out of her and lay on his side. “No comment?”

  “Oh, God,” she said, gathering the sheets to her chest. “I’m sorry. Good orgasm—I think it killed some brain cells.”

  Patrick rolled onto his back. “I killed some brain cells. Nice. Well, not quite what I was hoping for but better than ‘I hate you. Get out.’”

  Suzanne heard the hurt in his voice, the hurt she knew he desperately wanted to hide from her. Reluctantly she turned to face him.

  “Patrick, we’ve had this conversation. Nothing’s changed since the last time we had it.”

  “Right,” he said, dragging his lean, toned body out of her bed. Why did he always have to make sex about something more than sex?

  He grabbed his jeans off the floor and pulled them on. “Work is your life. In Iran one month. In Cambodia the next. Can’t settle down. Unfair to me. Just won’t work. I’ve heard it all. What I haven’t heard is you looking me in the eyes and saying, ‘Patrick, I don’t love you.’”

  He threw on his shirt and brusquely buttoned it.

  “Waiting,” he said
. “Can you say it?”

  Suzanne rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I always make my declarations of love during post-sex fights. Maybe we should talk about this another time. When I have clothes on.”

  “Yeah, that’ll make a difference. I’ll just go now so I can let you get back to work. Call me when you need more help digging up dirt on this priest of yours. Or when you want my cock in you again, as you so delicately put it.”

  He slammed his feet into his shoes, grabbed his jacket and stormed out of the bedroom. Groaning, Suzanne yanked the sheet free from the bed and wrapped it around her.

  “Patrick, please don’t leave. We were having such a good evening. Why do you always have to ruin it by starting a fight?” Patrick paused at her front door and turned around.

  “You’re beautiful,” he said. “And you’re brilliant. And you drive me insane. And I’ve been in love with you for a year. I didn’t sleep with a single person after you dumped me and ran off to Afghanistan—”

  “I didn’t run off,” she countered angrily. “I’m a war correspondent. It was my job.”

  “And I didn’t start a fight. I told you I loved you. Only you would hear ‘I love you’ and think I’m starting a fight. I’m leaving now before I say something really horrible, like ‘I love you’ again.”

  Suzanne exhaled and ran her fingers through her hair.

  “Patrick…” she began and could think of nothing else to say.

  He stared at her a long time and shook his head.

  “She left,” Patrick said as he turned the doorknob.

  “What?”

  “Nora Sutherlin. Her real name’s Eleanor Schreiber, you know.”

  “Yeah, I know. Nora Sutherlin’s just a pen name.”

  “Anyway, Sacred Heart keeps meticulous membership rolls. She left the church seven years ago, came back last year. Doubt it means anything. Meant to tell you that at dinner.”