The Last Good Knight (7 page)

“Absurd or not, that’s how the courts ruled. And until I can afford a killer attorney, that’s how it will be. Unless you have a better idea?”

Nora couldn’t answer. The only ideas she had involved beating the shit out of Lance’s ex-wife and the attorney who dragged Lance’s private fantasies into the courtroom.

“It’s not right,” Nora said. “It’s not fair.”

“It is what it is.” Lance raised his hands. “I haven’t given up. I’m just regrouping before the next fight.”

They finished their coffee and returned to her car.

“So who’s up next?” Lance asked.

“He’s the CFO of some big computer company. Pineapple, Crabapple, something fruity. I can’t remember the name.”

“He’s kinky?”

“No, he’s not actually. Not really. He’s a chronic pain sufferer.”

“And he sees a Dominatrix? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Submitting to pain causes the body to release endorphins and other natural pain-fighting hormones. I see several guys who medicinal floggings.”

Lance waited outside the door as Nora gave the billionaire businessman the holistic flogging of his dreams. She poured her anger and frustration at the injustice of Lance’s situation out onto her client. She left the client a thousand dollars poorer but that did nothing to help Nora’s mood.

Lance escorted her to the car and they headed back to Connecticut. Usually she spent her weekends playing at Kingsley’s townhouse. The most interesting kinksters of the city passed through his house on a regular basis. They’d drink, they’d talk, they’d play. One time Kingsley and Søren had even gotten into something of a Dominants’ duel as they put their flogging and whipping skills to the test. A little alcohol plus a lot of male ego plus far too many beautiful women watching and applauding had made for one hell of an entertaining evening. But she knew the atmosphere at Kingsley’s would be subdued while everyone waited for news about Mistress Natasha and the man who had attacked her. So much injustice in the world, so much suffering. On days like this Nora almost wished she could have been one of those vanilla types she usually so disdained. A nice husband, a house in the country, maybe some cats and dogs. She could write and go for long walks, maybe do volunteer work. She knew she’d be bored out of her mind after a week with a life like that. But every now and then she did see the appeal of a life lived outside the Underground.

They reached her house and Lance escorted her all the way to the door.

“You want to come in?” she asked. “I won’t jump you. I promise we can just eat dinner and talk.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea. I can’t remember the last time I wanted someone as much as I want you. We both might forget to behave ourselves.”

Nora leaned back against her front door.

“There are other jobs, you know, even if you lose this one,” she said.

“This one pays better than anything I could get right now that isn’t a desk job.”

“Money troubles?”

“No. I’m just saving up to buy a really good lawyer and go another round with my ex-wife.”

“I’d like to go a round with her. I have a vicious right cross I’d like her to meet.”

“No violence against women,” he said, wagging his finger at her. “Not even ex-wives. But I would pay good money to see you walk up to her and tell her we had sex.”

“Oh, I’d tell her. I’d tell her how good in bed you are and how she doesn’t even know what she’s missing. And that she can have fun being frigid while I’m riding her ex-husband’s amazing cock every night of my life...”

“Got a tape recorder on you? I’d like you to say that again. Just for me, though. And maybe my voice mail message.”

Nora reached out and grabbed Lance by his jacket lapels.

“Please...” she said, pulling him a couple inches closer. “Stay with me tonight. King won’t know.”

“But
I’ll
know. I made him a promise I would protect you without letting anything get in the way of that. And anyway, once they catch that bastard, I won’t be on guard duty anymore. We can pick up where we left off.”

“Promise?” She raised her hand to his handsome face, stroked the stubble on his chin.

“On my honor as a seaman,” he said, kissing the back of her hand.

She tore herself away from him and went inside her house. She didn’t make it much farther than the front door, however. Once she’d closed it behind her, she waited. It took almost two whole minutes before she heard Lance’s boots heading down her front porch steps. Nice to know he was as reluctant to leave her as she was reluctant to let him go.

Finally she heard the engine starting and Lance driving away. With a heavy heart Nora looked around her house and found its emptiness almost unbearable. No, not almost. Entirely unbearable. She needed something, someone, safety and comfort, and distraction. She needed an amazing distraction. She ran up to her bedroom and changed from her fetish-wear into more normal clothes—a plain black skirt, black sweater, stockings and low-heeled black boots. She threw on her coat and headed out again, knowing her destination before even admitting it to herself.

Forty minutes later she arrived, parking her car where no one would see it and its telltale SAY OUCH vanity plate.

She prayed he would be home and her prayer was answered. She knocked and he opened the door, greeting her with only a raised eyebrow and not a word.

She didn’t bother with a greeting, either. She merely stepped past him and walked into his house like she owned the place.

If she couldn’t have Lance, she’d have the one and only man who she wanted more than him tonight.

Søren.

* * * * *

The Last Good Knight
Part III: The Games Destiny Plays

Tiffany Reisz

An Original Sinners Story
Told in Five Parts

The Last Good Knight:
An Original Sinners novella told in five parts.

Part III:
The Games Destiny Plays

Shocked to see Nora’s bruises, Lance is furious that she put herself in danger and demands to know where she got them. As Nora confesses her true nature, she’s equally shocked to learn that Lance has some secrets of his own, drawing them together despite Kingsley’s orders....

Contents

The Games Destiny Plays

“Don’t look at me like that,” Nora said as she stepped into his kitchen.

“How am I looking at you?” Søren closed the door behind her and locked it. She shucked off her coat and sat on the edge of the kitchen table.

“Like you’ve been expecting me.”

“I was expecting you. I knew you’d want to talk about Natasha. I saw it in your eyes last night at Kingsley’s.”

“Ha,” she said as Søren came to her and stood in front of her. “Shows how much you know. I don’t want to talk about Natasha.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. Now late evening, he’d abandoned his clerics for normal clothes—black long-sleeved T-shirt, black jeans. Even off-duty he couldn’t get away from all black. She saw a glass of wine on the kitchen counter and smelled a fire burning in his fireplace. Briefly she wondered if she’d interrupted him entertaining someone. But no, it was one glass of wine—not two—on the counter. They were alone, and she was ashamed of her relief.

“Is that so?” he asked. “Then what do you want to talk about, Eleanor?”

“Nothing,” she said as she raised her mouth to him for a kiss. “Nothing at all.”

Søren didn’t seem to care if they talked tonight or not. She kissed him first, but he kissed her harder, deeper, and with such desperate possessiveness she almost forgot she didn’t belong to him anymore—a dangerous sort of amnesia. Nora could have stopped him with a word but the only word that passed her lips came in the form of a question.

“Bedroom?”

“Now,” Søren ordered and in seconds they’d reached the top of his stairs. Once there he lifted her off the floor, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, her legs around his back. As a Dominatrix she had to be strong, all the time. Men submitted to her, feared her, knelt at her feet and worshipped her. Tonight she needed to be his, needed to submit, needed to be the one on her knees. So she’d come to Søren, the one man she gave up her power to, if only for the night.

“Hurt me,” she begged and he slammed her back into the wall with bruising force. His kisses were equally bruising. He bit at her bottom lip and she tasted blood.

He let her down and the moment her feet touched the floor his hand grabbed the back of her neck with a vicious, merciless grip. In the open doorway of his bedroom, he shoved her to her knees, exactly where she wanted to be. Impossibly strong fingers dug into her skin as she rested her forehead against his hip. She breathed through the pain, breathed through it and into it, not fighting it. She had come here tonight for the pain, for the surrender, for the chance to forget everything she didn’t want to remember.

“Now,” he said again and the one word constituted all the instruction she needed. She opened his pants and took him into her mouth. Even as she sucked him, licked and caressed him with her lips and tongue, he gripped her neck. She clung to the fabric of his shirt with both hands as she made herself a willing slave. She’d left him, and no matter how often he reminded her of how much she missed him, she never admitted it to him. But here and now on her knees in front of him, she admitted it to herself.

She pushed his shirt up. The muscles of his hard stomach tightened as she scratched deep, scoring his skin with her fingernails. Like many sadists she knew, he had a love for pain that manifested in borderline masochism. He’d never allow himself to be dominated but he’d take any pain she gave him during sex without complaint. Sex was at its most potent to them both when spiked with pain.

He thrust his hips forward and she almost choked on him. Søren could be gentle in the bedroom but only after he’d unleashed his sadism on her. And they’d only just begun to play this game.

Without warning he pulled her to her feet and turned her back to him. He wrenched her skirt up, pushed her black lace underwear down, and shoved his fingers inside her from behind. Bracing herself against the doorframe, she closed her eyes and forced herself to remain perfectly still as he pried her open. She grew wet against his hand, wet enough he laughed at her body’s eagerness.

“Bastard,” she said under her breath but still loud enough for him to hear.

“Watch your language, Eleanor. You’re never too old for me to turn you over my knee.”

“Spank me all you want, just fuck me first. Please.”

“Please what?”

Nora rested her forehead against her crossed arms.

“Please...sir.” Sir Asshole, she said in her head. “Please fuck me.”

“I will...but you’ll pay for it. Now or later?”

“Later.” She knew if she let him flog her or cane her now, it would be over in minutes. Later he would be calmer, colder, and the pain would drag on and on. Bargaining for sex from Søren was as dangerous as dealing with the devil. He’d give her what she asked for but payback would be hell.

“You might regret that decision,” he said into her ear. “In fact, I’ll make sure of it.”

He withdrew his fingers from of her and dragged her down to the floor, pushing her onto her back, and draping her ankles over his shoulders. Nora groaned as he entered her, relishing that feeling of completeness she experienced only with him. His thrusts were punishing but she didn’t care. She loved the pain that was proof of his passion, loved the bruises a night with him left behind on her body.

Her body filled up with each thrust and emptied as he pulled out. Every new push into her left Nora gasping, grasping for release. With only the hardwood floor underneath her, she could cling to nothing but empty air.

Soon she fell into the rhythm of his thrusts as she opened up completely to him. He touched no part of her but her hips where he gripped her. She felt like nothing more than a hole, a sheath, a body to be used. Søren topped other women, but he never had sex with them. He beat them, broke them, and if they were very good girls he might allow them to receive his come on their backs. Only with her did he share his body; she knew it had been months since he’d had sex. She felt his need, his hunger, even his loneliness with every thrust. She took the pain because it was the only thing she could take from him. Not his love. Not anymore.

One glass of wine on the kitchen counter. What would she have felt if had been two? Would the day come when he stopped waiting for her to come back to him? Would the night come when he took another lover finally and left her in the past? Part of her feared that night more than anything else. Another part of her wished he’d hurry up and do it already so they could both move on.

Nora didn’t pay any attention to how long he stayed inside her. He didn’t come, nor did he allow her to. When aroused enough he could fuck forever, but not even forever would be long enough for her.

“Clothes off,” he ordered after he’d caught his breath. “End of the bed.”

Nora stripped out of her sweater, bra, skirt, boots and stockings in record time. She’d made the deal with him—sex now, payment later. Later was now. Now was later.

She waited naked at the foot of the bed breathing into herself. A sleepiness overtook her, a heaviness. When Søren buckled cuffs around her ankles and wrists, she put up no resistance. She became lethargic, listless. Her joints felt loose as if she stood in warm water and not in the bedroom of a sadist. A dozen years of practice had brought her to the place where the threat of erotic pain caused her body to relax instead of tensing.

Søren cuffed her ankles to a two-foot spreader bar, cuffed her arms over her head to the bedpost. When the first blow of the cane landed on the back of her thighs, she barely flinched.

The cane was first. Then the flogger. Cane again—the smaller one that left the vicious little welts instead of the big bruises. After that a heavier flogging. Then the belt, that unholy bitch of a leather belt.

Then nothing. Nora hung from her bonds, her muscles limp even as her body burned from the hour of pain she’d endured. When Søren unlocked her, she nearly sank onto the floor. But he caught her and laid her on the bed. For the privilege of watching him undress, she managed to open her eyes. Everyone in the Underground had seen Kingsley naked at some point or other. His French sensibilities precluded any body shame. Only when covered in the bruises and welts she’d inflicted on him, was Kingsley careful to keep his clothes on, even during sex. And she...back in her submissive days she’d been fucked in public view at The 8th Circle so many times she’d lost count. But no one but Nora got to see Søren completely naked these days except for his one and only lover—her.

He unbuttoned his jeans slowly as she lay there watching him.

“Stop being such a tease,” she said, a tired smile crossing her face.

“I can’t imagine to what you are referring...” he said, dropping his hands.

Nora rolled up onto her hands and knees and crawled across the bed to him.

“I am referring,” she said as she took his wrists in her hands, raised his arms and yanked his shirt off, “to the fact that you are stalling, sir. You know I’m dying here for you.”

“Dying? Should I say the Last Rites?”

“I’ll need them if you don’t get naked and get your cock inside me soon.”

“I was thinking of getting a glass of wine first.”

“I hate you.”

Søren gave her a sharp slap on her bottom.

“You’ll pay for that, too, Little One.”

“Run up my tab,” she said, dropping his shirt to the floor. She opened his pants all the way and stroked him. “Sex with you is worth any price I have to pay, sir.”

Either her touch or her words convinced him. Either or both, she didn’t care. All that mattered was that the rest of his clothes seemingly disappeared and she had him on top of her and inside her again.

Their mouths met and their tongues mingled. With each thrust into her, her hips rose up to meet him. Søren grasped her wrists and pinned her hands into the bed. The tension mounted in her stomach and she begged permission to come. He granted it and her body released the tension with a hundred inner flutters of her vagina all around his incredible hardness. After coming she could completely relax. She threw her legs open as wide as possible, inviting Søren deeper into her body.

“You’re mine...” he whispered in her ear. “Whether you’ll admit it or not, you’re still mine.”

She closed her eyes and said nothing. To deny him would be a lie. To agree would be to admit defeat. It didn’t matter that she still loved him, that she still missed him. She couldn’t go back to him, couldn’t return to her old life at his feet, obeying his orders, hiding in his shadow, living a lie and counting the days until he got caught and excommunicated.

I
am yours...
She spoke the words only inside her head.

With his mouth on her throat and his fingers clasped around her forearms, Søren came with a shudder and a soft exhalation. She closed her eyes as he poured into her.

Soon she lay across his chest, her ear over his heart. He caressed her back with gentle strokes of his hand from her neck to her hip, gentle strokes that soothed her burning skin and yet made her ache even more.

“I don’t believe you,” he said as she pressed a few reverent kisses onto his collarbone, into the hollow of his throat.

“Believe what?”

“That you didn’t come here to talk. I know you didn’t come here just for sex, as much as I might flatter myself that my body tempts you that much.”

“Your body should win awards, medals even. Your body should be given honorary degrees from Ivy League schools.”

“In what discipline?”

“Anatomy. Maybe even chemistry. No...art.” She looked up at him and smiled. “You’re a work of art.”

“You can keep this up all night and I won’t complain, but that won’t change the fact that I know you’re stalling. I want you naked.”

“I am naked.” She pointed at her body. “You can’t get any more naked than I am right now...unless you skin me and that would just be gross and messy. I know you’re a sadist but I don’t think even you are into flaying.”

“I can’t say for sure. Never tried it.”

“Practice on Kingsley. Flaying is my hard limit.”

“You seem to have an aversion to answering my questions, too, Little One. Your body’s naked, but your heart isn’t.” He flicked the tip of her nose. “Would you rather answer me or let me flay you?”

“Let me think about this for a minute.”

“Eleanor Louise,” Søren said in a warning tone. She could only try his patience for so long before he brought out the dreaded first and middle name warning.

“Fine.” She sat up and pulled a pillow to her chest. Søren stretched out on the white sheets and waited. “But just remember, you’re making me talk about this.”

“I accept that. Now tell me.”

Nora took a deep breath as she tried to gather her words. She trusted no one in the world as much as she trusted Søren, valued his insight more than anyone else’s, cherished his counsel. But he loved her, wanted her back. To talk about Lance seemed almost too cruel.

“You know you can tell me anything.”

“I don’t want to hurt you...not any more than I already do.”

He pulled the sheet down to display the scarlet scratch marks she’d left on his stomach. Scratches? More like welts. Or worse, claw marks. He would wear them on his body for days.

“You don’t want to hurt me? How do you explain these?”

She dipped her head and kissed the welts.

“We hurt each other.” Søren spoke the words softly as he brushed her long hair over her bare shoulder. “It’s what we do. Hurt me. Trust that I can take it as well as I give it.”

Tears pricked at her eyes but Nora ignored them.

“Life has suddenly gotten annoyingly complicated,” she confessed.

“Life has a bad habit of doing that.”

“That guy in my dungeon last night when you knocked on the door...I like him.”

“You like him?”

“I like him. I just met him. I realize this. Then again, I fell in love with you the first second I saw you so there is some precedent for me taking these feelings seriously.”

“He was half-dressed and in your dungeon. Something tells me he rather liked you, too.”

Nora nodded.

“He’s a sub. One of those knight-in-shining-armor type subs. The ‘I was born to serve and worship women’ types. You should hear this guy talk—it’s like something from a movie or a romance novel. He really believes in all that honor and chivalry bullshit.”