The Angel (The Original Sinners) (12 page)

Okay, Suzanne thought, so Nora Sutherlin was a babe.
Interesting. And she wrote erotica. And in interviews she acted as though her
books were pale shadows compared to her real life. Suzanne had read a few of the
books. Hard to believe Nora Sutherlin could be living wilder than her
characters. That would take a lot of effort. Suzanne remembered Patrick’s
instructions—read file #1 first and then file #69.
Classy,
Patrick,
she thought.
Very classy.

She double-clicked on file #69. The document inside contained
only two sentences.

If
you want to know more, you have to have dinner with me,
read sentence
number one. But it was sentence number two that got Suzanne’s attention.

Nora Sutherlin is a world-famous dominatrix.

* * *

Michael groaned in ecstasy as Nora rubbed the backs of
his legs with her incredibly talented hands. He’d been a little disappointed
when Nora said they weren’t going to scene together or have sex yet. But a
full-body massage from the one and only Nora Sutherlin? He couldn’t find much
cause to complain.

“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.

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.”

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.”