CHAPTER 22
Michael had never felt so safe in his life. A strange sensation considering the agony he’d been in the last two hours as Spike, the purple-haired tattoo artist, pierced black ink deep into his damaged skin. But the pain centered him, calmed him the way pain always did. But even more than the pain, Griffin’s strong hands on him, holding him steady, brought Michael into a haven inside himself he’d never gone to before. Nora sat on the couch working on her edits. Spike dug into his wrists with her buzzing needle. But no one in the world existed but him and Griffin.
Every few minutes Spike would pause and reink her needle. Griffin would loosen his grip on Michael’s forearms and offer him a drink of water or ask if he needed a break. The pain hit its peak and sweat would drip down Michael’s forehead. Griffin would call for a break, wipe Michael’s face and let him breathe for a few minutes before Spike started up again. At no point did Griffin ask him if he needed or wanted to stop. And for some reason Griffin’s faith in his ability to take the pain meant more to him than anything.
“That’s it, mate,” Spike said, leaning back in her chair and stretching her back. “Done as much as we can do tonight. Let it heal. Six weeks, we’ll do touch-ups.”
Michael turned his eyes from Griffin’s to his own wrists. During the entire ordeal he’d kept his gaze on Griffin’s face and not on Spike’s needle. He hated seeing his own scars, hated the memory of that moment of despair and idiocy that had led to them. And he’d yet to find anything or anyone in the world he’d rather look at than Griffin. But now he looked at his wrists and inhaled at the sight of them—and not with disgust as he had every day for the past three years, but with awe.
“Wow…” he breathed. “Spike, it’s—”
“Motherfucking beautiful,” Griffin said, gently touching the skin around the edges of the raw and still-bleeding tattoos.
They were beautiful, his black wings that covered the insides of both wrists. Somehow Spike had managed to create the illusion of delicate feathered edges out of flesh and ink. And the scars…they were gone. The body of each tattoo completely covered the angry, raised remnants of Michael’s suicide attempt.
Griffin took both of Michael’s hands in his and pushed his freshly tattooed wrists together side by side, creating a wingspan.
“Gorgeous, Mick. They’re gorgeous.” Griffin squeezed Michael’s fingers. “Just like you.”
The pain from the two-hour tattoo session had already pulled Michael to the very edge of arousal. And Griffin’s hands on him, the hungry tone of his voice made Michael painfully aware of the one part of his body that ached more than his bleeding wrists.
“I’ll be right back,” Michael said and yanked his hands away from Griffin. He nearly ran from the room and into the bathroom down the hall. Standing at the sink he bent over, turned the taps on and splashed water on his fevered face.
He couldn’t do this anymore. For two months now, his lust for Griffin had been like the scars on his wrists—something he hid, something that shamed him, something he was afraid to look at. But tonight on that table, it wasn’t only the scars on his wrists that had been transformed.
Michael loved Griffin. He knew that now. And he had no fucking idea what to do about it.
“Angel?” The door to the bathroom opened and Nora stood staring at him with concerned eyes.
“Nora…” Michael stood up and raised his hands in a kind of surrender. “Nora…I…”
“I know, Angel,” she said. “I know.”
She shut the door behind her and reached for him, pulling him close. He nearly groaned at the human contact, the touch of her hand on his face, her lips on his cheek. She reached between them and unzipped his jeans as Michael raised her skirt.
He pulled her panties down and pushed inside her. Never before had he been this aggressive with Nora. But this wasn’t about sex or scening or S&M. This was survival. He thrust roughly as she gently ran her hands through his hair and down his back.
Michael came quick and hard, shuddering against Nora with his face buried in the crook of her neck.
“I don’t know what to do, Nora,” he whispered as he pulled out of her. “I don’t know what to say. He’ll kill me. My father will kill me. And my mom, she’ll never look at me again. I don’t know…”
“You have to tell Griffin,” Nora said. “You have to talk, Michael. You have to speak.”
“I can’t, I can’t.” Michael’s whole body seized up in the agony of his need and his love. His knees buckled and together he and Nora sunk to the floor of the bathroom.
“You can, Angel. You’ve been so brave this summer. You’ve faced so many demons. And I’m so proud of who you are and who you’re becoming… Just say it. Tell me what you want to tell Griffin. Just get it out. No one will hear but me. But you’ve got to say it to somebody. Just talk, Angel. Speak. What do you want? Tell me.”
“I…” Michael began and stopped. Even to Nora it seemed a Herculean task to say what he felt, what he wanted.
“Michael, this is an order from your mistress. Tell me what you want. Now.”
“I want Griffin.” The words came out immediately. She had trained him too well. “I want Griffin so much it hurts. I love him, Nora. I have never felt anything like this before. And it’s absolutely stupid because he’s rich and he’s perfect and amazing and I’m a nobody. I’m a nobody, and I’m in love with someone I can’t be with. He’s so beautiful. I can’t stop looking at him, I can’t stop thinking about him. I dream about him at night. And he’s the first thing I think about when I wake up. And I want to touch him so much. I want to touch his face and that fucking perfect hair of his. And his lips and his chest and his arms—and I think about those arms around me, and it’s humiliating how much I want that. And, God, I want to live in his bed. I want to spend the rest of my life underneath him. I want to feel him on top of me and inside me. And I want submit to him. I want to go down on my knees in front of him. I want to call him sir and wear his collar and kiss his fucking feet if he told me to. And I want to walk down the busiest street in New York with him holding hands so the entire world can see us together and know that I belong to him. I love Griffin, Nora. I’m in love with him. And I can’t be with him. But that’s…that’s it.” Michael turned his head and buried it a little deeper into the cleft of Nora’s neck and shoulder. He wanted to stay there so he wouldn’t have to look her or anyone in the eyes ever again. “You won’t tell him, will you?”
“She doesn’t have to.”
Griffin’s voice came from the doorway to the bathroom. Michael gasped and looked up. Nora pulled away enough to turn her head.
“Shit,” Michael breathed, his heart freezing, his stomach dropping, his whole body turning to ice.
“You meant all of that, didn’t you?” Griffin asked, looking down at where Michael sat in a pile of misery on the floor.
“Griffin, I’m sorry.” Michael pulled his knees tight to his chest. “I’m so sorry. Forget I said all that. I’m just—”
“Stand up,” Griffin said with the unmistakable tone of an order.
Michael came immediately to his feet.
“I’m so—” Michael began but Griffin didn’t let him finish the apology.
Griffin reached out and cupped Michael’s neck and pulled him hard against himself. Before Michael even knew what was happening, Griffin’s mouth was on his.
The kiss was everything Michael had dreamed about—powerful, possessive, unyielding. Griffin held Michael’s face in his hands, allowing Michael no chance for escape. But as Griffin’s tongue sought his, as their lips found each other, Michael knew he never wanted to escape.
Slowly Griffin pulled back.
“I’ve wanted to do that since the second I saw you,” Griffin breathed, pressing his forehead to Michael’s. “I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you, Mick.”
Michael couldn’t believe the words.
“No…no way. I’ve been here two months. If you wanted me—”
“Your fucking priest told me if I laid a hand on you, he’d never let me see Nora again.”
Michael whirled around to face Nora, who watched them both with the tiniest hint of amusement on her lips.
“Nora? Father S said—”
“He has his reasons,” Nora said. “And yes, he told Griffin he’d revoke his 8th Circle privileges and kick him out of the community if he tried anything with you. And he wouldn’t let us see each other again. But I told you before, Griffin. Søren’s not a monster. You can talk to him. Call him. Explain—”
“Fuck calling him. And fuck the explanations. He thinks he’s God making all our decisions for us. What happens with me and Mick is none of his business. And I’m going to go tell him that. Right now.”
Griffin grabbed Michael one more time and gave him a kiss that left Michael panting and aching. But it ended all too quickly as Griffin wrenched himself away and left the bathroom.
“Griffin!” Nora called out. Both she and Michael nearly had to run to keep up with Griffin’s long, determined strides. “It’s about to storm. Can’t you wait until tomorrow? Just use the damn phone.”
“That won’t be good enough for Søren, and you know it, Nora. When I went to him six years ago and told him I was in love with you, talking wasn’t good enough. I had to prove myself. I was too pussy to do so then. And I didn’t love you enough to man up. For Mick, I will. If only to show that self-righteous, pretentious asshole priest of yours that he’s not the only dom with balls around.”
Michael looked at Nora in abject terror.
“Griffin’s not going to fight Father S, is he?”
Nora shook her head.
“No. Søren’s a pacifist.”
Michael sagged with relief. As strong and tough and young as Griffin was, he had a feeling Father S could wipe the floor with anybody on the planet.
“Thank God.”
“No, Søren doesn’t want to fight Griffin. He wants to break him.”
“Oh…” Michael watched Griffin disappear down the hall. “Fuck.”
Nora nodded. “My sentiments exactly.”
Michael waited for Griffin to reappear from wherever he’d gone. Maybe he could talk some sense into Griffin. He remembered the story Griffin had told him that morning after his first night with Nora—Griffin had gone to Father S to ask permission to be with Nora. Father S said not until Griffin was willing to submit to real pain, real dominance. Griffin couldn’t go through with it back then, not for Nora. But him…for him…
“I can’t let him do it. It’s stupid. We’ll figure something out,” Michael said, desperate to keep Griffin safe. “I’ll talk to him. I’ll talk to Father S. He—”
The sound of a roaring engine interrupted Michael and put an end to whatever plans he had to stop Griffin from his ridiculous idea of confronting Father S.
“What the—”
Nora sighed.
“That would be a Ducati monster peeling out of the driveway,” she said. “And in high gear too. He’s gonna get a shitload of speeding tickets if he’s not careful.”
“Nora…” Michael looked at her, his stomach a knot of pain and hope and sadness and joy in one aching, roiling mess.
She exhaled and laughed.
“Can we not have one week without some major drama around here? Come with me, Angel. I want to show you something.”
* * *
Suzanne drove back to the city but didn’t stop there. She kept going, kept driving and didn’t stop until she’d arrived in Wakefield, Connecticut. The entire way there, she thought about Søren, Father Stearns, Elizabeth’s brother… How could they all be the same person? To Claire he was the ideal older brother. To Elizabeth he was the symbol of the worst part of her life. To his congregation he was practically God incarnate. And to Nora Sutherlin he was “Beloved.” But that she loved him didn’t mean he loved her back, not in the same way perhaps. Suzanne knew Patrick loved her, was in love with her. But she didn’t feel the same.
Or did she?
Pulling her phone out of her purse, she dialed Patrick’s number. She nearly laughed at the relief in his voice when he answered.
“Suz. Goddammit. Where have you been? Is everything okay?’
“It is. I think so. Better anyway. Can you do me a favor? I’m driving and I need to look something up.”
“Sure. Anything.”
“Can you see if a woman named Elizabeth Stearns from New Hampshire has any kind of criminal record?”
“Google won’t help much with that. Let me call my NYPD friend. He can look it up.”
Suzanne hung up and waited. But she didn’t have to wait long.
“So?” she said when she answered.
“Arrested on suspicion of manslaughter. Father fell to his death down several flights of stairs. He was notoriously healthy and virile for an old geezer, so no one believed that he’d just fallen.”
“No conviction?”
“Nope. No witnesses. Spotty evidence. The only really incriminating thing Elizabeth Stearns did the day after Daddy’s death was head straight for Wakefield to talk to her priest-brother.”
“The cops thought she confessed the crime to him.”
“They did. Tried to get him to talk. Wouldn’t say a word even though the sister’s not Catholic. Apparently only baptized Catholics are supposed to go to confession so they leaned on him pretty heavily to spill it. Even the diocese wanted him to spill it. He refused on theological grounds.”
“And on the grounds of covering his sister’s ass. Knowing what her bastard of a father did to her, I don’t blame him at all.”
Patrick exhaled and the phone buzzed in her ear from the force of his breath. She smiled. Patrick…what would she do without him?
“So you’re done, right? This is done? You’re coming home now, right? Right?”
Suzanne grinned into the dark.
“Got one more thing to do first.”
“Then you’re coming home, right?”
“Right. But don’t wait up. This might take a while.”
“I’ll wait up.”
The smile lingered on Suzanne’s face long after she’d hung up. At about ten o’clock she arrived in Wakefield and Sacred Heart. A few lights still burned in the church and set the stained-glass windows subtly glowing. How beautiful the church looked by night…how peaceful, how sacred. She still didn’t really believe in God. Nothing would ever convince her that some man in the sky was running the show down here on Earth. But for once she started to believe a little in one of His believers.
She entered the church and found it empty. But surely Søren would return before long to turn off the lights and lock up. Søren… She realized all of a sudden that he’d become Søren again in her mind. But although she knew his name, knew his secrets, she didn’t feel quite worthy to call him by the name only his most trusted intimates knew him by.
“Father Stearns…” she whispered aloud as she stared at the altar at the front of the church. She’d never call him Søren to his face or in her heart and mind again. Glancing around, Suzanne saw a small staircase that led to the choir loft. She climbed the stairs and stood at the edge of the balcony area and surveyed the entire sanctuary.
Sanctuary. In olden times she knew that criminals and runaways would seek real sanctuary inside the walls of churches. The church was holy ground, sanctified, and the authorities treated it as a place of real power not to be meddled with. For the first time since childhood, Suzanne felt safe in a church and safe with a priest. She used to think the only cure for the ailments of the Catholic Church was wholesale destruction. It gave her pleasure to quote Denis Diderot’s words, “Man will never be free until the last king is strangled with the entrails of the last priest.” She’d met both a king and priest in her investigation and had to admit that while the world might not be better off with them in it, it certainly was more interesting.
Below her she heard the door open and Father Stearns strode down the center aisle toward the altar. She watched him a moment and smiled as he crossed himself, gave a quick, elegant bow next to a pew and sat down to pray. In his hands he held rosary beads, and she had to wonder for what special intention he prayed. She started to call out a greeting to him, but she heard the door below her open again.
“Søren!” A man’s angry voice echoed throughout the sanctuary. Suzanne took a step back from the edge of the railing and hid herself in the shadows. Father Stearns stood up and turned around.
“Griffin…how nice to see you in church.”
Suzanne’s inhaled in shock. She couldn’t see the man’s face, but from his muscular build and the photos that she’d seen, she recognized Griffin Fiske, the son of the chair of the New York Stock Exchange.
What the hell…
“None of that,” Griffin said, his voice flush with fury. “Don’t pull any of the bullshit mind-fuck stuff on me. You know why I’m here.”
“I don’t actually.” Father Stearns stood in the center of the aisle and gave Griffin a placid smile. “But tell me. We can discuss whatever you like.”
“Let’s discuss how my love life is none of your fucking business. Let’s discuss what an arrogant, pretentious asshole you are for thinking you can tell me or anyone who they can or cannot be with.”
“Eleanor is very fond of you, Griffin. I’ve yet to discern why.”
Griffin took a menacing step forward.
“Maybe because unlike you, I don’t try to control her every move.”
“Yes, Eleanor is utterly oppressed, isn’t she?” Father Stearns’s voice dripped with mockery. “Eleanor acts like a child because she’s full of childlike joy. You simply are a child, Griffin. A spoiled child who has never had a real relationship in his life. I’ve watched you use people up and discard them over and over again. If you think for one moment I would allow you to use up and discard someone I love—”
“Me?” Griffin laughed bitterly. “Me? I use people up and discard them? Are you blind? Are you deaf? Your precious Eleanor uses men like fucking tissues. One good hard blow and she tosses them out. Her editor? Her intern? Her thousand ex-lovers? Jesus Christ, Søren, even—”
Whatever name Griffin Fiske started to name went unuttered. And it all happened so quickly Suzanne couldn’t even reconstruct in her mind the series of motions she’d witnessed. She knew it began with Griffin pointing his finger at Father Stearns’s chest and ended with Griffin on the floor of the church with his arm pinned behind his back. Father Stearns had moved with such brutal force and efficiency Suzanne could only cover her mouth in shock.
“Griffin…” Father Stearns spoke the name with cold, calculating, utterly terrifying calm. “You are in God’s House. And Eleanor is His Child. And when you dare speak of her in my presence or in His, you will do so with the utmost respect. Are we understood?”
Suzanne could only stare at the scene. It appeared that if Father Stearns pulled on Griffin’s arm any harder, he would dislocate the shoulder. Griffin grimaced and took a pained breath.
“Yes, sir,” he finally said.
“Good.” Father Stearns released Griffin’s arm and stood up. Griffin quickly came to his feet. “Now shall we continue brawling like schoolboys? Or should we discuss this somewhere like gentleman?”
Griffin nodded. “The Circle?”
Father Stearns sighed heavily.
“If you insist.”
“I do. This ends tonight. You know what I want and who I want.”
“I do, in fact. Are you prepared to earn what you want?”
Griffin’s back straightened.
“I’ll do whatever it takes. Last thing I want is to cause that kid any more pain. Not the bad kind of pain, anyway.”
The kid? Suzanne thought that was an odd way to refer to Nora Sutherlin. From what little she knew of the infamous Griffin Fiske, he was slightly younger than Nora. And what the hell did he mean by the bad kind of pain? Was there a good kind of pain?
“Nor I. Which is why I set the conditions I do.”
“Fine. Let’s get this over with. I’m not going to waste another night sleeping alone if I don’t have to.”
Suzanne saw Father Stearns’s eyes narrow as Griffin stormed out of the church. However pure his feelings for Nora Sutherlin were, surely he didn’t want to hear about her in bed with some other guy. Obviously Father Stearns had considerable sway over her if Griffin Fiske had to come fighting her priest to be with her. That night at the rectory when he’d dropped his guard and talked about how he’d had to rescue Eleanor Schreiber from herself as a teenager, how he’d practically had to raise her after her home life imploded…maybe Father Stearns was to her exactly what he’d said he was—a father.
Father Stearns left the church and Suzanne collapsed into a pew, her heart still racing from the strange scene she’d witnessed. Father Stearns had nearly gotten into a fistfight with New York’s biggest trust fund baby over Nora Sutherlin. Bizarre… Suzanne had so many questions, but she apparently wouldn’t get to ask them that night. Why didn’t Father Stearns want Griffin Fiske and Nora Sutherlin together? Why did Griffin call her “the kid”?
And what the hell was The Circle?
* * *
Nora took Michael up to his bedroom and sat him down in the window seat. She ordered him to stay while she went to her room to retrieve something. When she came back, she found him up and pacing.
“So you’ve just given up following any of my orders, I see,” she teased as she sat on the bench in the window. “Hopefully Griffin will be able to train you better than I have.”
Michael blushed and collapsed miserably onto the bench across from Nora.
“Oh, God, I’m in love with a guy…” he groaned. “This sucks.”
“It also blows.”
Michael groaned again and Nora could only laugh at him.
“Aah…teenagers,” she said, reaching out for Michael and dragging him to her. He curled up in her lap with his head on her thigh. “Everything is life-and-death when you’re seventeen. Especially love.”
“It isn’t life-and-death?”
Nora closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the wall.
“No, it is actually. Life and death are less life-and-death than love is. When I fell in love with your priest, I felt as though I had this open wound. I was so raw, so tender. And it hurt. But I didn’t care. Love is the open wound that you hope never heals.”
“Love will hurt a shit metric ton if my dad finds out about this.”
“Your father is an asshole, Angel,” Nora reminded him. “Why do you care what he thinks?”
Michael shook his head.
“He makes Mom miserable about me. Anything I do, he turns on her. He dumped us, divorced her, and he still comes around and gives her shit for every single thing he hates about me. And that’s a lot of shit.”
“Your father has terrible taste in sons.” Nora ran her hands through Michael’s long hair and brushed it off his forehead. “I’d be thrilled if I’d ended up with a kid like you.”
Nora gazed out at the manicured lawn and the empty driveway. Griffin probably wouldn’t be home until morning. God only knew what Søren would put him through tonight. Nothing truly terrible, of course. Nothing he hadn’t done to Nora a time or two. Just some mind-fucking and probably a hefty dose of pain. It would do Griffin good, actually. There was something to be said for fighting for the one you loved. Especially if the one you loved was a seventeen-year-old boy who didn’t think he deserved that love.
“What happened to the kid?” Michael whispered and Nora pulled her eyes away from the evening sky.
“What kid?”
Michael raised his head off her lap and simply stared at her. Nora sighed heavily.
“Oh, that kid.”
“I don’t talk much, but I do listen.”
“Too damn well apparently,” Nora said, laughing without joy or mirth. God, this was about the last thing she ever wanted to talk about. “You really want to know?”
Michael nodded.
“Maybe it’ll distract me from worrying about Griffin.” Michael sat up and pulled his knees tight into his chest.
Poor thing…love shouldn’t have to hurt this much, Nora thought before realizing what blasphemy such a sentiment was in their world. Would she ever know what love without pain felt like? Did such a thing even exist?
“I was twenty-seven,” she began, turning her eyes back to the setting sun. “And so in love with your priest I couldn’t see straight. But for a long time, I’d felt…incomplete, I guess is the best word for it. I hung out at Kingsley’s a lot in my twenties—it was the only place your priest and I could really be ourselves together. You remember that hot French guy who came on to you in the Rolls Royce?”
Michael grinned. “Won’t ever forget that guy.”
“That guy owns New York. At least the Underground parts of it. He’s got the hottest submissives, doms and dominatrixes in the world on his payroll. They’re in and out of his town house all the time. And I would watch the dominatrixes and just stare at them. They were so beautiful, so powerful. Even the male dominants gave them a wide berth. You expect men to be tough and strong and in charge. But when you meet a woman like that? It’s mind-blowing. I ached for what they had. Don’t get me wrong, I love submitting to your priest. It fulfilled me like nothing else. But it never fulfilled me completely.”
“I can’t imagine,” Michael said with a shrug. “I guess I don’t have a dominant bone in my body.”
“You don’t. I’m sure of it. And that’s fine. I envy you. Being a switch is no party. The doms don’t quite trust you. The subs don’t quite get you. Just being one thing or the other would be so simple… It’s like being bisexual. Best of both worlds. Worst of both worlds.”
“Tell me about it.”
Nora squeezed Michael’s knee.
“You know your priest has not one but two PhDs.”
Michael blinked. “Really? In what?”
“Got his first one in his twenties in theology, of course. But when I was twenty-six, twenty-seven, he was working on PhD number two in Canon Law. Søren is, to say the least, a nerd.”
Michael’s eyes went wide just before he burst into laughter. What a wonderful sound, hearing Michael laugh like that—so loud, so boisterous, so open. At the very least, the summer at Griffin’s had made him learn to speak up a little.
“So your sexy nerd priest went to Rome to finish his dissertation at the Gregorianum. He never left me alone when he went away for his trips. He’d always leave me with another dominant to keep an eye on me. I didn’t really understand that then. First time he did I was only twenty-three years old and he drops me off as this mansion in butt-fucking nowhere New England with this brutally hot widowed librarian.”
“Seriously?”
Nora rolled her eyes. “Seriously. Søren told me he knew I’d be good for this guy, Daniel. And I was. And he was good for me too. Being with him that week made me realize how much I truly loved your priest and that being with him was worth the sacrifices. And that was the plan. Every time Søren left me, it was a test. Would I still be there when he came back?”
“So what happened when you were twenty-seven?”
“He left me with Kingsley for three months.” Nora closed her eyes and let her mind wander back to that time. She remembered the hot tears on her face as Søren had kissed her goodbye and warned her to be a good girl and do whatever Kingsley said. He promised her a hundred presents from Rome, a letter every week… She couldn’t bear being apart from him for so long. Her stomach ached at the very thought of it and continued to ache for weeks. Well, she thought it was his absence that caused the pain in her lower stomach. “I was sick,” she said, opening her eyes. “Kidney infection. Two-week course of very strong antibiotics. Didn’t think anything of it. Sort of forgot that birth control pills and antibiotics don’t mix.”
Michael didn’t speak and Nora didn’t want to. But she took a breath and carried on.
“It was just a few days before your priest was supposed to return from Rome. I woke up in Kingsley’s bed sick as a damn dog. I barely made it to the bathroom in time. Puked so hard I thought my ribs would splinter.”
Michael winced so dramatically Nora almost laughed.
“Yeah, pregnancy isn’t the glorious and beautiful thing the movies make it out to be. It’s gross and painful and miserable. And no one in their right mind would ever do it on purpose. So I did it for all of…well, about one day.”
“What did you do?”
Nora would never forget rolling onto the floor and curling up in the fetal position after throwing up for a solid ten minutes. The cool tiles felt like heaven on her fevered clammy skin.
Slowly her eyes fluttered open and she found Kingsley staring at her with his dark, knowing eyes.
“Chérie…” he’d whispered, whipping a swath of sweat-soaked hair off her forehead. “What have we done?”
“I think we know,” she’d whispered in reply, her voice hoarse from the force of her retching. She didn’t need any tests, any doctor’s visits. She simply knew. And so did Kingsley.
“I’ll call le prêtre.” Kingsley started to rise off the floor.
Nora pulled her mind out of the past.
“I can’t begin to tell you how hard it was to pull myself off that floor, Michael,” Nora said. “I was so sick and so tired…every muscle in my body was shaking. But I did. I stood up and looked Kingsley in the eye and I told him…”
Nora exhaled and the past reached out and took her in its arms against her will.
“Don’t, King. Don’t call him.”
Kingsley lifted his proud chin. “I must and you know it, Elle.”
“If you call him…if you tell him, then he’ll decide. Yes or no, it’ll be on him. I can’t do that to him. I can’t make him make this decision.”
She remembered the cold, hard certainty that she’d felt at that moment, the certainty that letting Søren decide would be a mistake. If he told her to keep it, it would ruin their life together. Twenty-seven years old…a job in a bookstore that paid almost nothing, and she was the mistress of a Catholic priest. Not ideal conditions for raising a child. But if he said to end it…a Catholic priest…she couldn’t let him make that decision. She had to do it. She had to do it alone. Not for her sake, but for his.
“You ever heard of the Fortunate Fall, Angel?” Nora asked, coming to the present yet again.
Michael shook his head.
“It’s a theological concept that Adam and Eve in the Garden were supposed to eat the fruit. That they were supposed to fall. That it was God’s plan all along. Søren thinks it’s bullshit. I’m inclined to disagree. That day when I had to make that decision without him… You have to understand, Angel, your priest made all my decisions for me and had for almost ten years. He owned me. He owned my body. I didn’t cut my hair without getting his permission.”
Michael whistled. “That’s intense.”
“Welcome to the world of being owned. You’ll like it. Until you hate it,” she said and winked at him. “Søren…I loved him too much to force him to make this decision for me. Either choice would break his heart. So for the first time in years, I made my own decision. I didn’t want to lose Søren and what we had. I couldn’t for one second imagine bringing up a child in the world I lived in—threesomes with Søren and Kingsley, parties at S&M clubs, slave auctions. Not a family-friendly atmosphere in our world. I went to the doctor, got the magic pills and took them. And the second I took them, it was like the Fortunate Fall. I had tasted the fruit of knowledge…but not of good and evil. The knowledge of freedom, of making my own decisions. And it tasted so sweet it scared me. I went to the rectory and waited for Søren. He came home and found me on his bathroom floor in absolute agony. I spent a lot of time on bathroom floors that week.”
“Did it hurt?”
Nora wiped at her cheek with the back of her hand.
“Yes, Angel, it hurt like fuck. And in the midst of a horrible cramp, your priest found me. I told him everything immediately. It all came out in one big rush. The antibiotics and the pregnancy and Kingsley and how I loved him too much to make him decide. Oh, my God, I’ll never forget the look on his face when I told him what I’d done, told him why I was in a ball of agony on his bathroom floor.”
“What? Was he angry?”
Nora reached out and took Michael’s hand in hers.
“No…he looked at me and…” She stopped to take a breath. “He said, ‘Little one, I’m so sorry…’ And he’d never looked at me before with such love or such compassion. He wasn’t angry at all. The opposite really. Goddammit, he’s a good priest, isn’t he?”
Michael bit his bottom lip and nodded. “Yeah. He really is. The best.”
“He wrapped me up in those crazy-strong arms of his and held me close to his chest. And then he gave me the one order he’s ever given me that I couldn’t obey.”
“What?”
Nora smiled.
“He ordered me to marry him.”
Michael actually gasped and Nora laughed at his shock.
“Yes. Romantic, isn’t he? Well, we kinksters can never do anything the normal way. I think he thought that’s what I needed—more supervision, more time with him. He said he would leave the priesthood and we would get married. Nothing like this would ever happen again. I would never have to go through anything like this alone ever again.”
“And you said no?”
“I said no. And then he got angry. I wasn’t afraid of him. I’ve never in my life been afraid of him. But I couldn’t stay, not a minute longer. What he offered, I wanted it so much I could taste it. But I had that other taste on my tongue, the taste of freedom. So I got up and walked out. And when I couldn’t walk anymore, I crawled. And your priest didn’t see me again for over a year.”
“A year?” Michael repeated in shock.
“A year. I found a place to hide out. A place he couldn’t follow. And believe me, he tried. And after a year there I went back to the city and back to Kingsley. And we buried Eleanor Schreiber in the past, and Nora Sutherlin was born to take her place.”
Michael smiled. “But Eleanor didn’t die.”
“Shh…” Nora covered his mouth with her finger. “Don’t tell.”
For a few moments they both sat in silence. The sun had set and the lawn had come to life with a thousand yellow fireflies.
“Do your regret it?” Michael asked, his voice no louder than the lightning bugs.
“What? Not having Junior Kingsley or not marrying Søren?”
“Both?”
Nora sighed heavily and shook her head. Leaning forward she pressed her lips to Michael’s and gave him a deep, long, slow kiss. He moaned into her mouth and Nora smiled as she pulled back.
“Neither,” she whispered.
Michael gave a rueful laugh.
“So you don’t even wonder?”
“Sometimes,” she admitted, possibly for the first time ever out loud. “Junior Kingsley would be about seven years old now.”
“That’s how old Owen is.”
Nora ran a hand through her hair and tucked it behind her ear. Owen Perry—wavy black hair like hers, smart, weird—every time she saw him, she remembered.
“Yes, it is, isn’t it? But like I said, no regrets. Life’s too short for regrets.”
“Do you regret anything?” Michael asked and Nora’s stomach tightened.
Turning her head she saw Wesley standing before her, his big brown eyes rimmed with unshed tears as she told him goodbye.
“Nothing,” she lied.
She stood up and patted Michael on top of his head. “But that’s not what we were supposed to be talking about. Didn’t bring you up here to talk about all the gruesome shit in my past.”
“Better than talking about all the gruesome shit in my future when my father finds out about Griffin. Nora, if Father S doesn’t want me and another guy together, then maybe—”
“Angel, Father S has no problem with you being with a guy. He’s worried that Griffin won’t take care of you the way he thinks dominants should take care of their subs. Griffin’s a well-trained partier, an ex-drug addict. He put the play in playboy. And he and Søren hate each other for no reason either of them will tell me….”
Michael looked at her with guilty eyes.
“Michael…you know, don’t you?”
He didn’t answer. Nora cupped his chin and forced him to look at her.
“Angel, tell me. This is an order from your mistress.”
“It’s not fair that you can do that.”
Nora grinned at him. “I know.”
“Griffin…” Michael began and stopped. “He…and you…”
“Oh, Lord Almighty,” Nora groaned. Michael didn’t have to say another word. So Griffin had actually been in love once upon a time. With her of all people. Maybe one of these days she’d figure out why every man in her life had such terrible taste in women. “Griffin went to Søren about me, didn’t he? I should have known. Søren and Kingsley don’t believe any dominant should lay a hand on a submissive until he or she has experienced pain. And apart from bar fights, tattoos and hangovers, Griffin hasn’t. I guess that’s about to change tonight.”
“Father S is going to hurt Griffin?”
“Don’t worry. He loves you. He can take it.”
“You think Griffin loves me?”
Nora cupped his face and caressed his bottom lip with her thumb.
“I’m certain of it. After tomorrow, I think you will be too.”
Michael blushed crimson. “Oh, God. Me and Griffin… We’re going to be…” He couldn’t even finish the sentence.
“He’s going to fuck you blind the second he gets a chance. Hope you’re okay with that.” Nora grinned fiendishly.
Groaning, Michael collapsed down onto the window seat. Nora could only laugh at him.
“Don’t pretend you aren’t dying for it,” Nora said. She picked up her laptop bag and pulled a folder out of it, a folder that contained the single most beautiful photograph she’d ever seen in her life. No matter where she went, she always took the photo with her. She’d been given a copy with the express orders to show it to no one ever. And she’d followed those orders to the letter…until now.
“Nora…me and Griffin? Seriously? I want it…I do. I want it so much it hurts. But I just can’t. Father S—”
Nora opened the folder that contained the photograph and held it out in front of Michael’s face without a word. Silently Michael stared at the image in front of him. Watching his eyes, Nora saw his expression change from curiosity to understanding.
Michael finally wrenched his eyes from the photograph and looked at Nora, who stood subtly smiling at him.
“Feel better now?” she asked.
Michael nodded wide-eyed at her.
“Much.”