The Angel (The Original Sinners) (17 page)

Could he take more? Did he want to take more? His entire back
smoldered from neck to hip.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“God, I love masochists,” Nora said, setting the glass aside.
“Such gluttons for punishment.”

Nora slid the cane off the bed and Michael’s body stiffened in
fear.

“Six-bar gate,” she said. “Just one. Upper thighs. Then we’re
done. Ready?”

He couldn’t bring himself to say yes. But he swallowed air
again and nodded. Behind him he heard that hissing whistle again.

“You know, Angel, some people say it’s the sound of the cane
that’s the worst part. Personally, I think that’s bullshit. What do you
think?”

At that, he experienced a pain so excruciating that it would
have dropped him to his knees had he not been tied up.

The second strike came before he could recover from the
first.

“You see why it’s used for interrogations?”

“Yes—” he cried out as the third blow fell. The pain stabbed
into his legs and shot through to his stomach. The agony was so acute, the pain
so precise he could feel exactly where Nora placed each blow. Perfectly spaced,
one inch apart.

The third felt like a knife on his skin instead of a cane.

The fourth and fifth he couldn’t even feel.

But the sixth landed diagonally across all five and the sound
that escaped his lips sounded foreign to him, strange, like the cry of a wounded
animal instead of a person.

Michael sagged in his bonds, barely aware of his surroundings.
When Nora untied his arms, they dropped like dead weight to his sides. She
unshackled his ankles and he hardly noticed.

Nora pressed her body into his burning back.

“Good boy,” she whispered. “I’m very proud of you.”

Proud of him? When was the last time anyone said they were
proud of him? If Nora said she wanted to cane him again, he would have said,
“Yes, ma’am.”

She stepped away and sat in a large leather armchair. She
snapped her fingers and pointed to the floor by her feet.

Michael floated to her more than walked. A pleasant
light-headedness gripped him. The sharp pains in his back and thighs had turned
into a gentle throbbing. When he knelt at the floor by Nora’s feet, he half
hoped she’d let him curl up in her lap and sleep.

“You did such a good job, Angel, that I’m going to give you a
reward. Well, both of us a reward really.”

Nora’s shifted in the chair and draped one leg over each chair
arm. Underneath her short, tight skirt she wore absolutely nothing.

“Do I need to tell you what to do?” Nora asked.

Michael licked his suddenly dry lips.

“Good start,” she said.

Heart pounding, Michael laid his hands on her inner thighs and
brought his mouth to her. He’d dreamed of doing this to Nora, servicing her
sexually. And now he could feel her swollen clitoris against his tongue. He took
the little silver ring that pierced her hood between his lips as he brought his
fingers up and slid two of them inside her. He had no idea what he was doing.
Apart from a few awkward preteen kisses and gropings, he’d never been sexual
with anyone other than Nora. He had zero experience with oral sex and nothing
going for him but enthusiasm. From the sound of her ragged breathing, the
enthusiasm seemed to be doing the trick.

She felt so wet and warm on his fingers, tasted so sweet and
tart on his lips. How did Father S get anything done with this woman waiting for
him back at the rectory?

Michael pushed his tongue far into her and her hips rose off
the chair.

“Stop,” she ordered and Michael pulled away, wiping his lips
off with the back of his hand. “On the bed. Now.”

He remembered Nora’s instructions and moved slowly, not
hurrying too much to do her bidding. Kneeling on the bed, he waited as Nora came
to him and shoved him onto his back. She grabbed his arms and pushed them over
his head. Using a snap hook to connect his wrist cuffs, she secured his hands to
the bars of the bed.

“Knees up,” she said. “Spread your legs.”

Just then he noticed the tube of lubricant in her hand.

“Forgive me,” Nora said. “I’m just a little a curious about
something. Some men love this. Some hate it. Some are indifferent. I don’t care
either way. Your order is to be honest and tell me if you like it or not. Say
‘yes, ma’am’ if you understand.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Michael said, his hands going numb with
nervousness. He wasn’t quite sure what she was going to do to him. But if it
involved lube he had a fairly good idea.

She rubbed the liquid over two fingers on her right hand, and
with her left hand, moved his knees farther apart.

“Shallow breaths, close your eyes,” Nora said. “This won’t hurt
but it will feel weird at first.”

Michael nodded and obediently closed his eyes. He felt Nora’s
fingers on him. If he had any shame or pride left he would have been mortified
by how ridiculously aroused he was. He inhaled sharply as he felt Nora’s cold,
wet fingers on him. Gently, so gently he sighed, she slid one finger inside
him.

“Okay?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am.”

She pushed in deep and went deeper. Michael fought the urge to
tense, to push her out.

“Now you know what women go through every time we get
penetrated,” Nora said. “Like it?”

“It’s…intense.”

“Good word for it. It’s about to get more intense. Ready?”

Michael nodded.

Nora slid in deeper and Michael felt her fingertip against what
felt like a tight knot of tissue deep inside him. Gently she rubbed and
Michael’s back arched off the bed as a lightning bolt of pleasure shot through
him.

“Oh, God,’’ he thought he said but he wasn’t sure if he spoke
any actual words.

“I’ll take that as a yes, you do like it. Yes?”

Michael swallowed and gasped.

“Yes, ma’am.”

The sensation of her finger on that spot inside him caused
every muscle in his back to knot up. His heels dug into the bed and he panted as
if he’d just run a mile.

Vaguely and in the distance he heard Nora laughing as she
continued to knead him.

“Born to be a bottom,” she sighed. “Can’t wait to torture
Griffin with this news.”

At the mention of Griffin’s name, Michael squeezed his eyes
tighter. Nora had said Griffin was bisexual. He’d been with men…sexually. Even
maybe done this to other guys. Maybe even more. And without warning an image
came unbidden into Michael’s mind. Griffin over him with his eyes half-closed
with desire, bracing his strong, muscular body over Michael’s slighter
frame…Michael’s leg over Griffin’s back, Griffin’s hand in Michael’s hair,
Griffin’s lips on Michael’s throat, and Griffin’s…Griffin inside him. And not
just his fingers.

“Come, Angel,” he heard Nora order before she brought her mouth
down onto him. Once more Michael arched, pushed his feet into the bed, and came
with desperate shuddering gasps that left his chest heaving and the muscles of
his arms straining.

Nora pulled her fingers out of him. Slowly Michael opened his
eyes and saw his bound wrists, the leather of the cuffs dark against his pale
skin. If only he could stay here forever, cuffed and safe, he would never have
to see the scars on his wrists again.

As Michael came back to himself, he felt Nora beginning to
stroke him again. So soon after coming, her touch felt almost painful. But a
good pain, a pain that set his nerves on edge again.

Raising his head he met Nora’s eyes. She leaned forward and
kissed him. The kiss turned into a bite that broke the skin of his bottom lip.
In one kiss he tasted the copper of his blood, the sweetness of her body, the
salt of his semen. Nora moved over him, straddling his hips with her thighs.

“Is it really safe?” he asked nervously as she took his bare
penis in her hand and started to guide him inside her.

“Don’t worry,” she said, caressing his chest, his shoulders
with her lips. “I’m on the world’s best birth control.”

“Okay,” he sighed. More than okay. Her body burned like fire
around him and he groaned as her heat enveloped him. She moved and he moved with
her, into her. “If you’re sure, ma’am.”

“Very sure,” she said, moving against him. “Learned that the
hard way.”

* * *

Slowly Suzanne turned around and found herself
face-to-face with Father Stearns. He stood there looking at her with barely
concealed amusement.

“Ms. Kanter, how nice to see you again.”

It took Suzanne a good three seconds to regain her composure
enough to even speak.

“Father Stearns…I’m sorry. I just wanted to check out the
sanctuary.”

“At ten o’clock on Saturday night?” He raised an eyebrow at
her.

Suzanne racked her brain trying to find the perfect lie. But
nothing came to her. And something told her that no matter what she told him,
he’d see right through it. So she decided to take a risk, a big risk, and tell
him the truth.

“I’m investigating you,” she confessed.

“Yes, I know.”

“That doesn’t bother you? Doesn’t surprise you?”

“Neither.”

She raised her chin and stared into his steel-gray eyes. Steel,
the perfect color to describe them. She’d never seen harder eyes in her
life.

“They say you can tell an innocent man from a guilty one by
arresting him. An innocent man panics and paces his jail cell. The guilty one
relaxes. He’s caught. He’s done.”

She saw his eyes soften with a hint of amusement.

He stepped forward. As he brushed past her he dipped his head
and whispered in her ear, “I’m not afraid of you.”

Suzanne shivered. For some reason nearness of his mouth to her
ear and his fearless defiance did something to her stomach, something not
entirely unpleasant. She spun on her heel and followed him down the center aisle
of the sanctuary.

“I got a tip about you. A fax with your name and the names of
the two other priests up for bishop. Next to your name someone put an
asterisk.”

“A terrifying piece of punctuation to be sure.”

“It is when it indicates a footnote. And that footnote said
‘Possible conflict of interest.’ Can you tell me what that conflict of interest
is?”

Father Stearns stopped at a brass plaque with a roman numeral
I
above it. She stood a few feet away from him.
As tall as he was, the distance made it easier to meet his eyes.

“I’m quite familiar with all of my interests, and I assure you
none of them are conflicted.”

“Being a priest and having an interest in children is a
conflict of interest. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“I would agree if it’s an unhealthy interest in children.
Something I don’t have. If you doubt me, you are welcome to talk to every parent
at this parish.”

Suzanne’s certainty that Father Stearns was a sexual predator
wavered slightly at his calm conviction. But she pressed on, determined to find
some sort of chink in his armor.

“What about Michael Dimir? Do you have an unhealthy interest in
him?”

“I cannot and will not discuss Michael with you. I am his
confessor.”

“Are you Nora Sutherlin’s confessor too?” she asked, putting
suspicious emphasis on the word
confessor
.

Finally she seemed to get a reaction from him. He sighed
heavily and turned to face her again. Once more she felt overpowered by his
incredible handsomeness. Why would any man that attractive choose the celibate
life of the priesthood when he could have any woman on the face of the
earth?

“I am.”

“Are you sleeping with her?”

“Not since last Monday.”

Now it was Suzanne’s turn to sigh heavily.

“I can’t get a straight answer out of you to save my life. It’s
not helping your case any.”

He crossed his arms over his chest and looked at her
intently.

“If you asked me an actual question instead of simply making
accusations, you might receive an actual answer. You’ve never met Eleanor
Schreiber, the woman you know of as Nora Sutherlin, have you?”

“No.”

“Do you make it a common practice to pry into the personal
lives of women you’ve never met before, women who’ve never done you any
harm?”

Suzanne rolled her eyes.

“God, you Catholic priests. Masters of the guilt trip.”

“I’m very good at my job,” he said, mirth shining in his eyes.
What kind of man could find a conversation like this funny? This priest had
balls of steel to go along with his eyes. “I’m still waiting on a question, Ms.
Kanter. If you can ask it without including an accusation, I might consider
answering it.”

“Okay. Here’s one. Why are you a priest?”

“I’m glad you started with such a simple question.”

Suzanne couldn’t help but laugh a little.

“It was simple to ask.” She smiled despite herself.

He paused and seemed to mull his words over.

“I was not raised Catholic. I didn’t encounter Catholics until
I was sent to a Jesuit school in Northern Maine at age eleven.”

Suzanne inwardly winced. She couldn’t imagine a child so young
being sent away to a school in the middle of nowhere.

“The Jesuits priests, my teachers, were the best men I’ve ever
known. Their erudition coupled with their kindness and dedication to their work
humbled me. I felt called to join their ranks. I converted at age fourteen and
at age nineteen I went to Rome and started my training.”

“That’s it?”

“I apologize for not having a Road to Damascus story to tell
you.”

“You were only nineteen when you started seminary. You never
wanted to get married? Date? Have kids? Have…” Her voice trailed off.

“Have sex?” he finished for her. “I’ll tell you something
shocking if you promise not to share it with anyone.”

“Okay,” she answered nervously. “I can deal with ‘off the
record’ unless you confess to a crime. What?”

He gave her a smile that if she saw it on the face of any man
but a priest she would call it seductive.