The Angel (The Original Sinners) Page 14

  Suzanne nodded. Patrick waited.

  “Thank you,” she said, drawing the sheet tighter around herself.

  Patrick only looked at her. He opened the door and walked out, leaving her alone in her apartment.

  Frustrated and hurt, Suzanne headed back for the bedroom. On her way she paused by her bookcase and stared at her copy of Nora Sutherlin’s book The Red sitting on her shelf.

  “All your fault, you slut,” Suzanne said, trying to make herself feel better. It didn’t work. She took the book off the shelf and leafed through it, hoping to distract herself from the fact that during sex with Patrick, she’d pictured the face of Father Stearns, the target of her investigation—the enemy. She stiffened her spine and pushed her shame aside. Father Stearns had shocked her by being so breathtakingly handsome. That was the only reason his face came to her while Patrick was inside her. That’s all.

  Suzanne nearly shut the book and put it back on the shelf. The last thing she needed was to think about sex or men anymore today. But as the pages fanned closed her eyes fell onto the book’s dedication.

  As Always, Beloved, Your Eleanor

  She read it again. An odd phrase, oddly worded. It seemed to say more than it actually said. Nora was short for Eleanor. That part she understood.

  But who was her beloved?

  * * *

  Michael woke up alone. The moon rested high in the corner of his window. Still night. He rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. Part of him still couldn’t believe he was here spending the summer in a mansion and learning kink from the Nora Sutherlin. Before he’d fallen asleep, she’d interrogated him about his fantasy life, what he wanted to try, what he wanted to learn. Having a beautiful domme gently scouring his naked skin with her fingernails while telling him stories about her life as a submissive might have been one of the most erotic moments of his life. Unfortunately when she’d tried asking him specific questions about what he wanted to do, to try with her, he clammed up, too embarrassed to answer. He’d apologized for his inability to articulate his sexual needs to her. But she’d just kissed him gently and whispered, “We’ll get there.”

  One thing they had been able to talk about was safety. Tomorrow he’d start taking the sub-cocktail, as Nora called it. vitamin K and zinc, to help his bruises heal faster. During their scenes he was to use the green/yellow/red light system to let her know how he was faring. And, of course, his safe word would still be what she’d given him their one night they spent together: wings.

  Michael remembered that night, that moment when he’d told her his name. Nora had smiled and reminded him that Michael was the name of God’s chief archangel, God’s fiercest warrior. A fierce warrior? Whatever. His father had named him and obviously expected a different sort of son. His dad would have been much happier with a masculine, athletic son. Not the pale, thin, almost feminine-looking kid he’d ended up with. A guy like Griffin, that’s what his dad would have wanted in a son. With his sinewed muscles and powerful build, his strong nose and jaw, Griffin was the sort of man anyone would want—men, women, everybody. He’d said as much to Nora when she asked him about his parents.

  “Your father would find as much fault with Griffin as he does with you,” she’d said, caressing his forehead with the loving touch of a mother checking for a fever. God, when was the last time his mom had even touched him? “Griffin was a hell-raiser of the highest order when he was your age, and didn’t even begin to settle down until his twenties. Plus he’s crazy kinky and bisexual.”

  “Griffin’s bisexual?” Michael had asked, a strange thrill running through his body.

  “He is. So, you know, watch your back, beautiful,” she said, winking down at him.

  Michael had groaned. “Guys aren’t supposed to be beautiful,” he’d protested as Nora stroked the high arch of his cheekbone.

  “But angels are,” she said and gave him another soft kiss. And then she’d brought her lips to his ear and whispered, “Saturday night.”

  “What’s Saturday night?” he’d asked.

  “That’s when I’m going to beat you and fuck you again. If you’re ready. Ready?”

  “Very ready, ma’am.”

  Michael exhaled loudly, irritated at himself. He’d grown hard again just thinking about Saturday night, which fell an agonizing two days from now. And Nora had already warned him he couldn’t come without her permission. Apparently Father S imposed the same rule on her during the two years he’d trained her before they became lovers. She said that being a madly-in-love eighteen-year-old virgin with a raging libido who had to get permission from her priest before she could even masturbate might have been the worst torture Søren had ever inflicted on her. Caning was a breeze in comparison.

  Slowly Michael crawled out of bed, pulled on his boxers and T-shirt, and walked to his bathroom. No, he corrected himself. Griffin’s bathroom. Everything belonged to Griffin, and Michael was merely a guest in this house. He couldn’t, wouldn’t, get used to this luxury. At the end of the summer, he’d move from his mother’s small house to an even smaller dorm room where he’d go back to being alone. If he got used to this house and the people in it, it would hurt so much worse when he left it in August.

  Leaning over the sink, Michael splashed cold water on his flushed face. He brushed his teeth and combed out his hair with his fingers—routine actions that helped his arousal die down a little. His stomach rumbled. How long had it been since he’d eaten? Yesterday maybe? Griffin had told him where to find the kitchen and that anything in it was fair game. Food. Food was good. Food would distract him.

  He crept out of the room in the nursery wing and headed for the main stairs. He remembered Griffin’s rather idiomatic instructions—down the fuck-off big stairs in the middle, left at that stupid marble whatever that I want to get rid of but Mom would kill me if I did, past the dining room with the anal table, and the kitchen’s on the right.

  “The anal table?” Michael had asked.

  “Perfect height for anal sex,” Griffin explained.

  So Michael descended the fuck-off big stairs in the middle of the hall and turned left at the marble statue, which was some kind of horse, he guessed. A door on the left side of the hall stood slightly ajar. From inside escaped soft sounds of pleasure.

  Quietly he crept to the door. Inside the expansive, opulent dining room Michael saw Nora and Griffin. Nora lay naked on the center of the enormous table. Long cords of red silk bound her wrists to the table legs while her own legs lay splayed open at the edge. Griffin, wearing nothing but leather pants that rested low on his trim hips, stood between her knees as he worked his hand into her. Carefully he pushed first three, then four and finally all five of his fingers inside her straining body. Michael winced but Nora seemed to enjoy it. Her back arched and her hips rose off the table as Griffin’s entire hand disappeared inside her.

  If a cannon had gone off behind Michael, he still wouldn’t have been able to look away. Nora had such beautiful breasts, and they rose and fell with her every ragged breath. The sight of Griffin’s muscled, tattooed arm wrist-deep in Nora brought Michael nearly to orgasm from watching alone. He never thought he had a leather fetish or anything, but for some reason the sight of Griffin in leather pants, looking like some kind of rock star bathed in sweat and candlelight, brought every part of Michael’s body to full attention.

  He heard Griffin whispering carnal encouragements to Nora, who rode his hand with hungry undulations of her pelvis as she pulled at
the scarlet scarves. Her breathing grew harsh and labored. Griffin’s fingers massaged her swollen clitoris until her entire body went rigid for what seemed like an eternity before she released an exalted cry.

  Her orgasm over, Nora lay still for a minute panting and laughing a little as Griffin gingerly worked his way out of her. He untied her wrists from the table and used the scarf to clean his hand. Reaching out, he grabbed Nora’s spent body and lifted her off the table with a casual display of strength. A small puddle of fluid glimmered on the table’s polished surface right where Nora’s hips had rested.

  Pulling Nora to him, Griffin hissed a harsh command into her ear as he took the silk scarf and tied her wrists behind her back. Nora protested, pouted, begged a little. But Griffin only took her by the neck and pushed her onto the floor. He leaned against the table as Nora sunk to her knees in front of him. Michael nearly moaned out loud as Griffin freed his erection from the confines of his leather pants. Good God, Griffin was seriously well hung. Michael couldn’t tear his eyes away as Griffin grabbed the back of Nora’s head and forced her to take his impressive girth into her mouth. Griffin braced himself on the table with one hand as he moved in and out slowly.

  Michael knew he shouldn’t be watching this. Griffin and Nora were having sex. No way would they want him gaping at them the whole time. But he couldn’t leave, couldn’t look away, couldn’t stop staring at the line at the center of Griffin’s chest, the line that started at his strong neck, trailed down his broad chest, divided his ridged stomach and led down all the way into Nora’s mouth. Griffin’s stomach tightened further as a little grunt of pleasure passed his lips.

  The hand in Nora’s hair now caressed her face, her cheek, and Griffin stared down at her with hooded, lust-filled eyes. He playfully tapped her on the chin and winked. Winked? At the wink, Nora’s rather occupied mouth twitched with a little smile. Until now Michael had always thought of kink as something dark and dangerous, something for fetishists and freaks like him. Now it suddenly dawned on him. BDSM was a game—a game where both players won.

  Griffin returned Nora’s smile before another desperate breath escaped his lips. Michael’s heart clenched at the obvious affection Griffin felt for Nora. Would someone ever do that to him—smile at him like that, touch him like that, with affection, with love during sex? He worried constantly he would never find anyone to love him. Finding someone who understood his sexuality and didn’t judge him for it seemed a near-impossible dream. Nora had Father S, and surely Griffin had tons of lovers who satisfied all his wants and desires. Would Michael ever have that? Surely most girls would make a run for it the second he told them he needed to be dominated in the bedroom. And Nora sort of seemed like one of a kind.

  With a heavy heart, Michael finally pulled away from the cracked-open door and headed back to his room. Once again the demon of envy danced in his chest. He stopped and rested his head against the wall to breathe for a few seconds.

  The scene he’d just witnessed flashed in front of his mind’s eye again, but this time it was him in the dining room. He could feel the plush Persian rug soft but prickly under his knees, the cord taut around his wrists. In shock, Michael’s eyes flew open as he realized for one second he didn’t envy Griffin because he got to be with Nora.

  He envied Nora.

  10

  Nora checked the time on the clock in her bedroom and made a quick mental calculation. Sunset hit at about nine o’clock and it was just six. She still had three hours to kill before Michael’s first session. She didn’t want to have sex with Griffin first. Knowing him, he’d wear her out and she wouldn’t have as much to give Michael. Too wound up to write, she decided to do the next best thing.

  Digging into her purse, she found her cell phone and hit number three on her speed dial. A slightly groggy voice answered after three rings.

  “Nora, do I need to remind you that it’s midnight in England?” came Zach Easton’s sexy British accent over the line.

  “Were you dreaming about me again?” she teased as she sat on the floor and stretched her legs out in a V.

  “God, I’m never going to hear the end of that, am I?”

  “Your fault for telling me you had a sex dream about me,” she said, leaning over to stretch her back. A few weeks ago, Zach had sounded a little odd on the phone when she’d called him one morning. He’d confessed he’d just woken up from an intensely sexual dream about her. They’d been back at her S&M club, The 8th Circle, and playing in her old dungeon. She never got it out of him exactly what they’d been doing, but it must have been pretty steamy for him to tell her he needed a good five minutes alone before they could finish their conversation.

  “I shall never do it again, I assure you,” Zach groused but Nora heard the smile in his voice.

  Nora flipped over and raised her hips off the ground.

  “I had this dream the other night that I was eating oysters at Sacred Heart, and Søren rode in on a unicorn. I thought it meant something, but when I told him about it, he said I wasn’t allowed to eat Cajun food before bed anymore. That man has no respect for Jungian archetypes.”

  Zach sighed. “Yes, well, Gracie and I have the same problem.”

  “Speaking of your wife, where is she? I want to ask her how to say ‘Roughly from behind’ in Welsh.”

  “Gracie’s in the bathroom taking her temperature.”

  “She has to do that in the bathroom?”

  Zach coughed. Nora understood.

  “Oh…I see. Also, now I’m wondering if they make butt plugs with built-in thermometers. You know, for when you might have a slight fever and the urge for anal penetration.”

  “Your mind is both fascinating and repulsive,” Zach said.

  “Thank you. I try. I’m guessing you two are still attempting to conceive?”

  “Hence the constant temperature taking.”

  “Try dominating Grace in bed.” Nora lowered her hips to the floor and twisted her knees to the side.

  “Is kink your answer for everything, Eleanor?”

  Nora winced at the use of her birth name. Retaliation was in order.

  “No, Zechariah. It’s just the answer for everything sexual. For male dominants, kink causes a testosterone surge. That can up your sperm count. For female submissives, kink can cause the body to release opiate-like hormones. She relaxes deeply. Makes conceiving easier when you’re less stressed. There is a method to my madness. Tie her up. Knock her up. Doctor’s orders.”

  “You may very well be my new favorite doctor.”

  “You’re welcome. You can borrow my speculum. Borrow only. You have to give it back.” Nora twisted her legs to the other side and let out a small grunt of pain-pleasure as her back loudly popped.

  “Are you having sex right now?” he asked in response to the sound.

  “Nope. Just doing some pre-sex stretching,” she said, turning over into a yoga downward-dog position. “I’m fucking a teenager tonight. Gotta be prepared.”

  “Fucking a teenager?” Zach asked, laughing. “Good to hear both you and Wesley have moved on.”

  At the mention of Wesley’s name, Nora dropped the phone and collapsed onto her side.

  She heard Zach saying her name and she grabbed the phone off the floor.

  “Nora? Everything all right?” Zach asked.

  “What did you say about Wesley?” she asked, her hands almost shaking. “Do you talk to him?”

  She heard Zach exhale heavily. “I’m sorry. I’
m still half-asleep. I shouldn’t have said anything. Yes, Wesley and I exchange emails on occasion. He said you won’t answer his calls so he emails me to check on you.”

  Nora pulled herself off the floor and sat on the edge of her bed.

  “You still talk to Wesley,” she repeated, stunned by the news. It never once occurred to her that Zach and Wesley would stay in touch.

  “Just an email every few weeks,” Zach said. “He worries about you.”

  “Why?” she asked, her heart pounding against her rib cage.

  “Why? Oh, I don’t know. You’re sleeping with a sadist?”

  “Søren’s the best man on the face of the earth,” Nora said sharply.

  “You say that and I want to believe you,” Zach said. “And if any woman on the face of the earth can handle being with such a man, it’s you. But Wesley’s a teenage boy and rather romantically inclined. He simply sees Søren as dangerous and violent.”

  Closing her eyes, Nora pictured Wesley’s face the last time she saw it. His beautiful golden-brown eyes had turned bloodred with unshed tears. His lips that she’d kissed too few times had gone bloodless. Her handsome, sweet-faced boy disappeared and was replaced by a broken man.

  “He’s not a teenager anymore,” Nora said, her voice soft and hollow. “He turned twenty on September 9th. Did you know I’d already decided on his birthday present?”

  “No, I didn’t,” Zach said, his voice flush with sympathy.

  “I was going to surprise him with a trip to the Virgin Islands. Just me and him. I planned on teasing him that while we were there, we could change the island’s name.”

  Zach laughed. “Why am I not surprised?”

  “You said he moved on,” Nora said, suddenly remembering Zach’s words.

  “Nora, let’s not talk about this.”

  “What did you mean, ‘Glad to hear both you and Wesley have moved on’?” Nora demanded, putting her dangerously good memory to use.