The Angel (The Original Sinners) (23 page)

* * *

Suzanne stared at the ceiling and tried to become one
with her sofa. Emptying her mind, she slowed her breathing and focused only on
the beating of her heart. It pounded hard, almost audibly. She breathed deep
again but the pounding only grew louder. Groaning she raised a hand to forehead
and called out, “Go away, Patrick.”

“Open the damn door, Suz,” he called back. “I’m not leaving
until you let me in or the cops come for me.” Once more he beat on the door. How
the hell was anyone supposed to meditate under these conditions?

She stood up, walked to the door and threw it open.

“Fine. Come in.” Suzanne threw herself back down on the couch
and closed her eyes.

“What the hell is wrong with you? Where have you been?” Patrick
demanded. She didn’t have to open her eyes to know he stood next to the couch
glaring at her.

“I’ve been busy. I started writing a book about my time in
Afghanistan. Been living at the library.”

A long silence followed her words.

“A book…about Afghanistan. That’s why you haven’t called me
back or emailed me or answered the door or anything for six fucking weeks?”

“I’m very busy. Can’t you see?”

She’d hoped the bitchiness would send Patrick running. Instead
he sat down on the couch right next to her stomach.

“Suz.”

She shut her eyes tight.

“Suzanne.”

Slowly she opened them.

“What happened?” Patrick asked, brushing a lock of hair off her
face. The tone of his voice was so gentle, the concern so intimate that tears
sprang to her eyes. “Something happened. Tell me.”

She swallowed hard and covered her eyes with her hands.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she said, her voice no more
than a whisper. “I can’t…”

“That priest you were investigating…did something happen? Did
he threaten you? Hurt you?”

Suzanne laughed miserably.

Hurt her? Well, she did have bruises the day after. Suzanne’s
whole body tingled from the memory of that night a month and a half ago. She’d
been such an idiot going to the rectory. Looking back she saw that she’d started
to fall for Father Stearns. Maybe not fall for him. Maybe it wasn’t love. But
lust definitely. Lust as she’d never experienced before in her life—blazing hot,
unbearable, like a fist in her stomach and a splinter in her mind.

Suzanne, are you planning on standing in
the hallway all night staring at me? Or are you coming in?

She’d come in. And he’d turned to her. And she’d reached out
and laid her hands on his chest. Underneath her hand she’d felt his heart
beating slow and steady. He hadn’t been afraid or nervous. Only her. In an
instant his mouth had crashed onto hers and she’d thrown herself into the kiss,
body and soul. Her nails dug into his back, her breasts pressed into his chest.
Nothing would have stopped her from having him that night. Not the Church or the
state or her better judgment or her job or even her memories of Adam. She
reached between their bodies to unbutton his pants, and a pair of hands with a
viselike grip clamped down on her wrists. She found herself backed to the wall,
her arms pinned above her head, and Søren’s face by hers, his eyes closed, the
slightest grimace of pain on his face.

“I can’t…” he’d whispered and his hands had dug deeper into her
soft skin.

And she should have left at that. But she couldn’t. In her
twenty-eight years, she’d had sex, she’d liked sex, she’d enjoyed sex…but not
until that moment had she needed it, needed it more than the air her lungs
demanded of her.

“Please.” She’d said please once and she should have stopped
there. But it came out again. “Please, Søren…please…” and over and over again.
She begged for him, begged for it. Even now, six weeks later, she couldn’t think
of how much she’d pleaded with him without blushing with utter shame. She would
have sold her soul to feel him inside her.

Instead he’d covered her mouth with his hand to stop her
words.

“Forgive me, Suzanne,” he’d said and she heard her own need
echoed in his voice. “I do not belong to myself.”

And slowly he’d let her go. And once free of his shockingly
strong hands, she’d run hard and fast from the rectory, back to her car, back to
the city and away from him.

The next day she couldn’t stop staring at her own skin. Søren
had purpled her arms from elbow to wrist. And looking at those bruises brought
back such waves of desire that she’d lain in bed giving herself the pleasure
he’d denied her and crying during every orgasm.

“I fucked up, Patrick,” she said finally. “I fucked up the
whole investigation. I killed my credibility.”

“What did you do?”

Suzanne pulled her hands from her face.

“I kissed him.”

A half-truth seemed better than a lie.

“You kissed him?”

She nodded miserably.

“And it doesn’t matter. Because he kissed me back. And I know
he wanted me and he didn’t do anything. Just stuck to his vows. He’s a good
priest. I wasted his time and my time and your time… It’s pointless. You were
right. I shouldn’t have pursued it.”

Patrick shook his head.

“No. You were right. There is something weird about him.
There’s no way some stranger would send you an anonymous tip about him if he was
the saint everyone says he is.”

“I dug, Patrick. And I can’t find anything. The kids at church
love him and trust him. The parents love him and trust him. What else is there?
I don’t care if he’s cheating on his taxes as long as he’s never hurt a child. I
wanted to believe he was a monster just because he’s a priest. Look.” She
pointed at a box on the floor by her desk. “There’s all my notes on him. There’s
nothing. He’s a saint.”

With a groan, Patrick got up, grabbed the box and sat back down
on the couch. He flipped through her notes.

“Nice to see you made sure to write down how hot he is,”
Patrick said, reading her steno pad.

“It’s ungodly how gorgeous he is, Pat. You’d turn gay for this
guy.”

“Don’t think so. I like young, buxom redheads only.” He winked
at her, and for the first time in six weeks she started to feel human again.

“I’ll try to find you one then.”

Suzanne sat up and stared down at the box of notes. She pulled
out a newspaper. “Oh, and look at this. We thought something funky was going on
with Father Stearns and Nora Sutherlin? Check this out. That guy look
familiar?”

Patrick squinted at the Page Six photograph.

“That’s Nora Sutherlin,” Suzanne supplied. “And that gorgeous
male-model clone is—”

“Griffin Fiske.” Patrick shook his head. “Yeah, covered his
rampages a time or two. Fucking trust fund babies. They get all the girls.”

“They get Nora Sutherlin apparently. Seems she prefers rich
boys over poor priests.”

Patrick took the newspaper and tossed it aside before grabbing
her notebook from the box.

“What’s this?
‘Min Søren, Min søn er nu en
far. Jeg er så stolt. Jeg elsker dig altid. Din mor.
’”

“I think you just murdered the Danish language.” Suzanne sat
up.

“Danish?”

“Yeah, it means, ‘My Søren, my son I am so proud. Your
mother.’”

“The priest is Danish?”

“Half Danish, half English. Mother was an au pair for this
wealthy family in New Hampshire. The wife had a hysterectomy after baby
Elizabeth was born. Daddy raped the pretty blond nanny who then gave him the son
he wanted.”

“Jesus…” Patrick breathed. “That’s fucking awful.”

“Yeah. I can’t imagine what that does to someone knowing your
father’s a rapist. She must have been an amazing woman to love her son so much
considering how he came into the world.”

“Søren…I thought his name was Marcus.”

“It’s both. Marcus is what the dad named him. Søren is what the
mom named him. He says only the people closest to him, who know his past, call
him Søren.”

“Søren…I guess that’s a good name for a priest. Like Søren
Kierkegaard, right? The theologian?”

“I don’t think Kierkegaard was Catholic.”

“You sure?” Patrick grabbed his laptop and opened it. As long
as she’d known him, Patrick would never take her word on anything. He’d been a
reporter too long and had to fact-check everything. “Yup. You’re right. Søren
Aabye Kierkegaard—Lutheran. You two have the same initials, Suzanne Angela
Kanter. Anyone ever call you Suzangela?”

“Only Adam until I punched him in the face for it.” Suzanne
glanced over Patrick’s shoulder at the screen. Søren…Aabye…Kierkegaard. Why did
that look so familiar to her?

She grabbed her steno pad, flipped through a few pages, and
found the words
Meine andere Geschenk wird nicht in einer
Box passen. AABYE.

My other present will not fit in a box. AABYE.

Aabye.

Suzanne’s eyes bored into the word as if demanding it to tell
her what it meant. And it did mean something. She knew it meant something. From
Patrick’s computer she turned her gaze to her bookshelf and a book with a
bloodred cover written by Nora Sutherlin. In an instant she left the couch and
snatched the book off the shelf. There it was, right on the dedication page. The
answer had been sitting on her bookshelf the entire time.

Søren’s words from their almost night together rang in her
mind.

We are close. She had a nasty run-in with
the law at age fifteen. The judge had me supervise her community service.
Her parents had little to do with her after that. I suppose you could say I
had to become her father.

“Suz?” Patrick asked, turning his face to hers.

“Goddamn you,” Suzanne said to herself. “You were her priest,
her father…”

“What?”

“Do you have your car?”

“Yeah, why? What’s wrong?”

“I need it. Don’t wait up. I’ve got a priest I need to
crucify.”

“Suzanne, stop right now and tell me what’s going on. It’s
almost midnight.”

She grabbed her copy of Nora Sutherlin’s book
The Red
off the shelf and shoved her feet into her
sandals. In the doorway, Suzanne paused only long enough to recite five words to
Patrick.

“‘As Always, Beloved, Your Eleanor.’”

17

Michael stared down at the note in his hand and wished
somehow he hadn’t found it. Nora had a habit of leaving notes for him in funny
places; notes that contained his orders for the day.

Angel, come to my bedroom at ten
o’clock…on your knees. Bring your favorite flogger.

He’d found that note in the shower.

Angel, high noon, the swimming pool. Be
prepared to skinny-dip.

That note she’d taped to his watch while he was napping.

All her notes so far amused him and aroused him. But this
latest note flat-out terrified him.

Angel, you aren’t a real kinkster until
you have a threesome. Meet me and Griffin in his bedroom at
midnight.

Threesome? With Nora and Griffin? Michael came dangerously
close to puking as he walked at a sloth’s pace down the hall. For six weeks now
he’d been unable to think of anything or anyone other than Griffin. That night
at Sin Tax…it hadn’t been real, he kept telling himself. Griffin didn’t really
mean Michael was his property. He’d just said that to scare Jackal off. But then
the sketchbook…and the way Griffin looked at him while he held his leather belt
taut in his hands…and Michael had wanted to tell him something, had tried to
tell him something. He had the words. He wanted to say, “Griffin, I’m falling in
love with you, and it’s the scariest fucking thing ever. My dad will kill me
dead if he finds out, but right now, I couldn’t care less, because being in bed
with you even for one night would be worth dying for.”

But Michael hadn’t said that. All he’d managed to say was,
“Thanks for the sketchbook. Good night.”

Thanks again.

Good night.

Good thing he was over his suicidal tendencies. Otherwise he
might have slit his wrists again for blowing maybe his only chance with the most
amazing person he’d ever met in his life. Because ever since that night, Griffin
had pulled back and stopped flirting with him. They’d been buddies since that
night. Nothing but friends.

Michael wanted a lot of stuff from Griffin—his heart, his body…
His friendship wasn’t even in the top five.

And now Michael had to watch Griffin have sex with Nora, which
right now sounded about as sadistic as inviting a starving kid to a buffet and
not letting him eat.

He came to the end of the hall and slowly pushed the bedroom
door open. At least this thing would happen in Nora’s room, not Griffin’s. It
would be fine, he told himself. They’d probably just take turns with Nora.
That’s all. No big deal. In the past six weeks he’d done kinky shit he’d barely
even let himself dream about. Having sex while someone watched would be a
breeze.

All thoughts of breezes evaporated when he saw Nora lounging on
her bed in black panties, a black push-up bra and black thigh-high boots. A
dozen black candles burned on the bedside tables. And Griffin was nowhere to be
seen.

“Come here, Angel.” Nora crooked her finger, beckoning him to
the bed. Michael stifled a whimper, took a deep breath and nervously crawled
across the sheets to her. Swinging her booted leg out, she hooked it around his
waist and playfully kicked him toward her. She wrapped both legs around his back
as she held him to her.

“My Angel. Can’t fly away now,” she teased as she took him in
her arms. “My scared, shaking Angel.”

Her voice dropped to a whisper and Michael buried his head in
the crook of her neck.

“Terrified,” he confessed.

“Want to tell me why?” Nora kissed him on the cheek, the
forehead, and he sighed from the simple gesture of affection.

Michael gave a low, rueful laugh.

“Not really.”

Nora nodded as if she understood everything he wasn’t telling
her. Knowing Nora, she probably did.

“That bad, huh?” she asked, brushing his hair off his face as
he slowly pushed up on his hands and looked down at her.

Their eyes met and in that look he saw knowledge in her gaze,
deep knowledge and sympathy.

“Worse.”

“Believe it or not, this might help.” She traced his lips with
her fingertips.

“Help what?” Michael inhaled as Griffin’s voice came from
behind them. Nora unwrapped her legs from around his back and Michael rolled
onto his side and sat up. Griffin stood in the doorway of her bedroom wearing
nothing but black silk pajama pants and a slight smile on his sculpted lips.

“Help me get over my wicked need to have two incredibly
gorgeous guys in bed with me tonight,” Nora said as she sat back on her hands.
Out of the corner of her eye she winked at Michael and something told him that
somehow Nora knew about his feelings for Griffin. “Think you can help with that,
Mr. Fiske?”

“Mr. Fiske is my dad. But if you want to fuck him, I think you
could probably talk him into it.”

Griffin came over to the bed and sat down next to Nora.

Nora stuck out her leg and rested her booted ankle on Griffin’s
shoulder. Griffin turned his head and nipped at the leather, a move that made
Michael’s stomach knot up from envy and desire.

“What are we doing tonight, boys? I’m open for anything.”

“This was your idea.” Griffin slid his hand from her knee up
her inner thigh.

“I have wonderful ideas.” She grinned at them both. “And
terrible ideas. And terribly wonderful ideas. Hand me that book in the
nightstand, Griff. I just had another terribly wonderful idea.”

Griffin opened the nightstand and handed her a large
coffee-table-size book. Nora didn’t even look at it, merely passed it to
Michael.

“Let’s let our Angel decide where we’re doing tonight. Go for
it,” she ordered, nodding at the book in his hands. “Pick.”

Glancing down at the cover, Michael’s eyes went wide.
The Joy of Sex.

“Pick?” he repeated.

“Yup. Any position. Griffin and I will put on a little show for
you. But you have to tell us what you want to see. So pick.”

Michael’s hands turned to ice. He could hardly feel the book in
his hands.

“I think you scared him, Nora,” Griffin said, giving Michael a
searching look. Michael could barely meet Griffin’s eyes.

“Good,” she said. “I’m not the world’s scariest dominatrix, but
I have my moments of evil genius. I’m horny, Michael, and Griffin’s half-hard
already.” She reached out and cupped Griffin between the legs. Michael’s groin
twitched with his own hunger and need. What he wouldn’t give to touch Griffin
like that.... “So let’s get on with it. Pick a position. Trust me, no matter how
acrobatic it is, we can do it.”

“No wall sex though, please,” Griffin requested as Nora
continued to massage him through his pants. “Nora’s a lot heavier than she
looks.”

“Is that something you really want to say to a woman who has
your balls in her hands?” Nora batted her eyelashes at him.

“Good point. You’re as light as air.” Griffin smiled at
Michael, a friendly smile but nothing else. “Pick, Mick, before I lose any more
blood from my brain.”

Michael exhaled heavily and opened the book at a random page.
He was fairly certain he didn’t want to see Nora and Griffin having sex in any
position so he’d simply let fate decide.

Fate decided on doggy style.

The book lay open on his lap and Michael barely looked at the
picture. But that didn’t stop Nora from grabbing the book and brandishing it in
Griffin’s face.

“Woof,” Griffin said as he grabbed Nora by the ankle and
started to drag her to him. “Wait. Anal or vaginal?”

Nora shrugged. “Pick an orifice. Any orifice. Angel?”

“What?” Michael pulled his legs into his chest.

“You decide.” Nora smiled at him over her shoulder.

“Oh, God…” Michael took a heavy breath. “I don’t… Vaginal.”

It might be easier to watch if it was the one act he and
Griffin couldn’t do.

“Fantastic.” Griffin grabbed Nora by the wrists and turned her
onto her stomach. Taking her hips in his hands, he brought her up to her hands
and knees. “Foreplay, Nora?”

“Don’t bother,” she said, waving her hand dismissively. “This
entire conversation has been all the foreplay I need. Go for it.”

“Weirdest. Woman. Ever.” Griffin shook his head as he came up
on his knees behind her. “Come here, Mick. Time for some advanced
instruction.”

Michael almost threw up on Nora’s sheets. He swallowed hard and
tentatively crawled over to where Griffin knelt behind Nora. Griffin slid Nora’s
panties off her hips and down her thighs but left them on her at her knees.

“Makeshift restraint,” Griffin explained. “Wide legs are good
for deep penetration. If she keeps them closer together, however, it’s a tighter
fit. Little tip there. Panties around knees equals poor man’s thigh stocks.”

“Should I be writing this down?” Michael asked.

Griffin laughed. “And don’t listen to the woman. No foreplay?
Ridiculous.” Griffin gave Nora a good, hard slap on her shapely bottom. Nora
yelped but made no other protest. “She might not need it, but I do. Give me your
hand.”

Michael slowly raised his hand and gave it to Griffin.

“How are you doing, Nora?” Griffin asked as he bent Michael’s
fingers down until only his index and middle finger of his right hand were
extended.

“I am fine. Impatient but fine. Is there any fucking coming
anytime soon? I ask out of mere curiosity. I could work on the edits Zach just
sent me while you two chitchat.”

“Hush. I’ll fuck you soon enough. Now, Mick.” Griffin turned to
him. “Science is divided on the existence of the G-spot. Some scientists say it
exists. Some scientists don’t. Those scientists that don’t—” Griffin took
Michael’s hand and guided it inside Nora “—are fucking idiots. See?”

Griffin led Michael’s fingertips to a spot a little over an
inch inside Nora.

“Push down and in,” Griffin said. “Hard.”

Almost two months under Nora’s tutelage had made it nearly
impossible for Michael to disobey any order. He pushed down as instructed.
Hard.

Nora gasped and her inner muscles clenched around Michael’s
fingers.

“Oh, God…” she panted.

“Love that G-spot,” Griffin said, pulling Michael’s fingers
from Nora. “Don’t you?”

Before he could answer, Griffin lifted Michael’s fingers to his
mouth and slowly, seductively licked the wetness off. Michael almost died the
moment Griffin’s tongue touched his trembling fingertips. Michael’s
fingers…inside Griffin’s mouth…

“Now excuse me.” Griffin let Michael’s hand go. “I need to fuck
your mistress.”

“About damn time.”

Griffin whacked Nora one more time on her bottom and she let
loose another yelp followed by a lusty giggle. Michael couldn’t look away as
Griffin pulled his pajama pants down and rolled a condom onto his erection.

Slowly Griffin slid into Nora, who moaned as Griffin pushed
deep with a sigh. As Griffin thrust forward, Nora pushed back against him. The
sight of Nora’s and Griffin’s bodies joined together sent a thousand different
feelings rushing through Michael’s body. He’d never been so turned on in his
life watching Griffin’s hips moving in hard but graceful undulations, the
muscles of his thighs and stomach thrown into high relief in the candlelight.
But underneath the desire lurked longing and anguish, need and sorrow. He wanted
this, wanted to be the one on his hands and knees with Griffin behind him and
inside him. But he couldn’t have that. Not now. Not ever. Not with his father
ready and willing to kill him for even thinking such thoughts. And Michael knew
Griffin deserved better than him—than a stupid kid with no money, no fame, no
nothing special about him. And Griffin deserved a hell of a lot better than
somebody too pussy to even tell him how he felt.

So Michael merely watched in silent envy as Nora came hard and
loud with Griffin’s hands on her waist. A few more thrusts and Griffin came with
a soft gasp. Michael closed his eyes and tried to imprint the sound of Griffin’s
orgasm forever into his mind. He might never hear it again and that little sigh
that caught in Griffin’s throat for the barest second was easily the most
beautiful and erotic sound Michael had ever heard in his life. He could hear it
every day for the rest of his life and never get tired of it.

Griffin pulled out of Nora and she rolled onto her back.
Reaching out she took Michael’s hand.

Michael didn’t have to ask. As he straddled Nora’s hips, she
reached into his boxer shorts and guided him inside her. She felt so warm
inside, so wet. Once deep in her, Nora twined her legs around his back and
gently rolled herself until Michael lay flat on his back with Nora on top and
over him. He closed his eyes and let himself get lost in the incredible heat of
her. Her lips caressed his neck, his cheek.

“Tell him, Michael,” she whispered, the halo of her hair hiding
her words from Griffin’s ears. “Just tell him.”

Michael shook his head.

“I can’t,” he whispered back.

Nora continued to move on him, taking him deep into her before
sliding out to the tip and back down again. Michael groaned with physical
pleasure even as a knife of agony cut into his chest.

Something brushed Michael’s hand and his eyes flew open.
Turning his head, he saw Griffin stretched out on his side next to him and Nora.
Griffin had taken Michael’s hand in his and twined their fingers together.
Griffin said nothing. Michael said nothing. They only stared at each other until
Michael had to close his eyes again as he came hard inside Nora.

Even as he shuddered in silence, Griffin held on to his hand so
tightly it almost hurt.

And even in the middle of the climax that racked his entire
body, Michael didn’t let go.

* * *

Suzanne arrived at the rectory at a few minutes before
midnight. First she checked the church and found it locked tight and abandoned
but for the small chapel of perpetual adoration that stayed open all hours of
the day and night. But she didn’t find Father Stearns there. She walked the
short distance to the rectory with her heart pounding so hard it felt as if it
was outside her chest. In her career she’d confronted lying politicians powerful
enough to destroy her and her family, foreign generals with firearms strapped to
their sides. But never before had she experienced fear like this. She remembered
her reaction to Father Stearns, to Søren, that night at the rectory when she’d
begged for his body, begged to be with him.