The Mistress (33 page)

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Do you need to stop?”

“No...don’t stop.” She wrapped her legs around his back, desperate to keep him close, keep him in her. As much as it hurt she didn’t want to let him go.

He pushed in and she inhaled sharply as she felt something tearing.

“Breathe,” he ordered as he pulled out of her.

“Wes?” She immediately felt empty the moment he left her.

“We’re not done, I promise.” He smiled down at her and wiped her hair off her forehead. When she’d entered his room she’d almost felt chilly. Now sweat covered her body and she burned from within. “But you’re in agony. I don’t like agony. Maybe this will help.”

“What will help? Anything. I don’t want to stop.”

Wes kissed her chest and her stomach. She twined her hands in his hair as his lips feathered delicately over her hips. When he pushed her legs open wide she almost stopped, but his mouth upon her silenced any protest. Carefully he spread her wide and licked her clitoris. He teased it with his tongue until she started panting again from the pleasure. He moved lower and licked her aching lips, even pushing his tongue all the way into her. Moans, deep and guttural, escaped the back of her throat. She felt wanton, beautiful, erotic, even womanly, as he opened her up with his mouth. He lavished her with his lips and tongue. Her moans turned to pleas, begging him to enter her again.

He covered her again with his body. Hooking his hands under each of her knees, he forced her legs wide open as he sat between her thighs. With short thrusts of his hips he worked himself into her again, this time with much less pain and almost no resistance. Laila reached out her arms and Wes fell into them as he pushed all the way into her. She needed to hold him, needed to touch him, needed to have as much of him as possible in her and against her and on top of her. She couldn’t quite believe it...Wes was inside her. They were joined, their two bodies moving as one. She might love him...she did love him. Even if it wasn’t forever, she did love him tonight. This was love, what they did together. Two people saving each other from a night spent alone and lonely. They brought their pain to each other and each accepted the gift. This was love, keeping watch together until dawn. This was love, not letting the people who hurt them win. This was love, taking a risk for someone else.

Whatever anyone said or thought, Laila didn’t care.

Wes was inside her because he wanted to be, needed to be. This was no sin.

This was love.

42

THE ROOK

G
race stared down at her wedding ring and smiled. How far she and Zachary had come since the day he’d slipped this ring onto her trembling hand. They’d married in fear and desperation, not knowing what else to do. She’d been barely nineteen then and pregnant with her university professor’s child. Nothing good would come of this, she’d feared. Nothing but heartache and disappointment for Zachary.

The night she’d woken up hemorrhaging in their bed, she wondered a moment if God was punishing her for seducing her teacher, or punishing Zachary for succumbing to a student. Only now did she realize how foolish she’d been to think of God as some cosmic dean of academics who’d slap their hands with a ruler for breaking some ordinance of the honor code. Terrible and beautiful things happened to everyone. That was life. Simply life. And now she understood...now she felt the method behind all the madness that had brought her to this moment. She didn’t quite know the meaning yet, couldn’t see the plan, but she felt it, sensed it, trusted it like a pilgrim walking a labyrinth blindfolded with her hand on the wall knowing she’d find the answer at the center and yet not hurrying her steps. The answer would wait. The journey was what mattered.

And tonight the journey brought her here.

She raised her hand to her lips and kissed her wedding band. Although still thousands of miles apart, she’d never felt closer to Zachary. He’d given her a promise, given her a night of freedom, given her his trust that she could wander the labyrinth a little and would still find him at the center.

When Søren entered the room, Grace smiled.

He locked the door behind him. In his hand he carried a long back bag. When he dropped it, she heard the distinctive and unnerving sound of metal clicking against metal.

She wanted to ask about the bag, what was inside it, but she decided to enjoy the mystery.

Søren came to where she stood at the end of the bed. She wore nothing but a white Oxford shirt, one of Zachary’s she’d packed. She’d asked Nora what she should wear for such a night. Nora’s answer was both elucidating and terrifying.

Doesn’t matter. You’ll be naked five minutes after he shows up, anyway.

“Nora said I wasn’t supposed to speak until you spoke to me.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, leaned against the bedpost and smiled.

“You’re doing a wonderful job at it.”

Grace burst into nervous laughter.

“I have no idea what I’m doing,” she admitted.

“Obviously.”

“That obvious?”

“Well...you are standing.”

“I’m...of course, I’m sorry.” She knelt on the floor and Søren stepped so close she could have rested her cheek against his thigh. She rather liked that image.

Søren snapped his fingers in her face and she started and looked up at him.

He crooked his finger and she stood up again, feeling both awkward and foolish.

“Grace...” Søren laid his hands on either side of her neck and caressed the line of her jaw with his thumbs. Relaxing into his touch, she closed her eyes. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I know. But I want to.” She opened her eyes and looked at him. “Please.”

“Saying ‘please’ is a good start.” He smiled and laughed a little. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. Are you?”

“Not even remotely.”

“Thank God.” She collapsed against his chest like she had that night on the roof. Only two nights ago she reminded herself. Seemed like a lifetime had passed between then and now. “I can’t recall ever being so nervous or wanting something so much.”

“I won’t even charge you your soul for it.”

“Good. I’m a poet. I need my soul.”

Søren held her close and massaged her back while she got used to being in such close and intimate proximity to him.

“It’s very kind of you to offer yourself,” he said, kissing the top of her head. She wasn’t short, not at all, but with him she felt tiny. Nora must feel like a little girl whenever around him. No wonder she adored him like a father while she rebelled like a child.

“It’s not kindness, I promise you. I feel this...I don’t even know the word. It’s not desire, not quite. Attraction? Definitely. I need to do this with you.” She looked up at him. “If it helps you, wonderful. It’s my honor. But please don’t think I’m doing it for you. I only know that if I don’t do this tonight, I will regret it for the rest of my life.”

“And Zachary?”

“I told him how I’ve envied him the adventure Nora took him on. He said I could have my own. I could do whatever I wanted, although he preferred to not know any details after.”

“A wise man in many respects.”

“I know my husband. I know my marriage. This won’t harm it. If one night with your Nora could change everything for him, then maybe a night with you...”

“It might change things, yes.” He slid his hand under her shirt and rubbed the small of her back. She’d prepared herself for pain tonight. She hadn’t expected such simple, gentle pleasures like this one. “I know these past few days you and I have gotten close. Tragedy and adversity can make best friends of even strangers. But you’ve only seen one side of me...and you seem to rather like that side of me. This...this would be a very different side of me.”

“Are you afraid I won’t respect you in the morning?” She grinned up at him.

“Morning?” He laughed as if she’d told the most hilarious joke. “You’ll be lucky to last an hour.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“Are you accepting?”

“I’m here. I’ve already accepted.”

He raised his hands to the back of her hair and pulled out the ponytail holder that tied the end of her French braid. Slowly he worked his fingers through her hair, freeing it from its confines. She almost always wore her hair up, wore it back, wore it in a braid or a ponytail. Only in the shower, only in bed, did she take her hair down. She always knew Zachary was in the mood for sex when he took her hair down and ran his fingers through it.

“What do you want to do?” Søren asked, his voice almost a whisper.

“I don’t know. Like I said, I’ve never done this before. I don’t know what the protocol is.”

“We should talk about your limits.”

She shrugged and smiled.

“Limits?”

“Limits. What you don’t want me to do. The lines that you don’t want crossed, what are they?”

She stared at him like he’d started to speak a foreign language or had broken into song. Her lines she wouldn’t let him cross?

“I walked with you to your death. You knew you were going to have to die for Nora and you went, anyway. I saw you do it. There is nothing I wouldn’t trust you to do to me. I don’t care if that’s the wrong answer. It’s the truth. And it’s the only answer I have.”

Søren sighed and took her by the shoulders.

“If you won’t tell me what you don’t want, perhaps you could tell me what you do want.”

His hands moved from her shoulders to the front of her shirt. He unbuttoned the top button. Grace stiffened but made no protest. Nora had warned her, after all.

“What I want...that might be a loaded question.”

“I’m not saying I’ll give you everything you want. But I might let you try to earn it.”

He smiled at her, a smile so arrogant and dominant she felt her knees weakening.

Another button came undone, then another.

She’d asked Nora about how it would all proceed once things started.

He’ll beat you with various toys probably,
Nora had said, as if getting beaten were nothing more than a game.
Anywhere from a few minutes to a couple hours, whatever you can take.

Nervously Grace posed one final question.

And how do we...I mean, how does he...finish?

Grace, my dear, God created the female back and made it such an easy target for one very good reason.

“Tell me something you want, Grace,” he said as he reached the bottom button, “or the night ends here.”

“I want you to kiss me,” she said, surprised by her boldness.

“Is that so?” He undid the last button and opened her shirt. With torturous slowness he dragged it over her shoulders and down her arms.

“Yes.”

“Do you want to guess how many people I’ve kissed on the mouth in my life?” He ran his hand up and down her side, barely grazing her breast with his thumb.

“Probably as few as I have.”

He laid his hand in the center of her chest. She couldn’t believe she stood naked in front of this man, this priest. Even in the black jeans and black T-shirt he still seemed like a priest to her. He had a holiness about him, a sacred quality. No matter what happened between them tonight, she knew nothing could change the way she saw him. His sanctity was immutable as truth or beauty.

“Tell me how to earn it, and I will.”

“Ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes?” she repeated. “Of what?”

Søren stepped away, squatted down to the black bag and unzipped it.

“You have your...equipment with you?” she asked.

“I’m a man. I always have my equipment with me.”

She blushed.

“You know what I mean.”

“I didn’t pack any ‘equipment,’ as you call it, before coming here. This is some of Kingsley’s gear he keeps in the car. Thankfully Kingsley has flawless taste.”

“In what?”

“Floggers. Canes. Singletails. Massive toy collection.”

Søren stood up and she saw floggers in his hands, several of them.

“Floggers? Do those hurt?”

“Very much so,” he said, laying them out on the bed. “My niece is in this house so try not to scream please.”

“I’ll try. But...” She looked at him and saw the hint of a smile on his lips. “You’re doing it again. You’re playing with my mind.”

“Foreplay, Grace.” He came back to her and lightly bit her shoulder. “Mind-play first. Then body.”

He brushed her hair off her back and swept it over her shoulder. When he laid a hand on her back at the base of her neck, Grace inhaled and closed her eyes. So strange to have another man’s hands on her body. Ian had barely touched her those three awful nights they spent together. It was nothing but tab A into slot B. That had been actual sex and it had felt less intimate than Søren’s hand on such a vulnerable part of her.

“I’m not going to tie you up, not yet, anyway. Cross your arms in front of your face and lean forward against the bedpost. Rest your forehead on your arms. Don’t forget to breathe.”

She did as instructed and took comfort in the calm authority in his voice.

“A flogging will not injure you.” He lightly stroked her back from neck to hip. “At worst I might break the skin a little. The pain is sharp and flat at the same time as opposed to the pain from a singletail, which is sharp and pointed. Nothing I do to you tonight will debilitate you or leave you scarred. But it will hurt and it will hurt very much. Do you understand that, Grace?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll start when you tell me you’re ready.”

“I’m ready,” she breathed, a tremor in her voice.

“Good. We won’t bother with safe words. Eleanor and I have them because she enjoys being overpowered during sex and we often play hard. She likes to say ‘no’ and ‘stop’ for the pleasure of having me ignore her protests. Only when she says her safe word, do I actually stop. For you, if you say ‘stop’ or ‘no’ I will honor your wishes.”

“Thank you.”

“And if you last ten minutes,” he said, and she turned her head and saw him glance at the clock on the fireplace mantel, “I’ll give you what you want.”

Ten minutes of pain? For a kiss from him? She would have traded an entire hour of pain for a kiss. Who was she kidding? She would have traded all night.

“Ready,” she said, and before she could prepare herself, the first blow landed on the center of her back. She gasped from the sudden shock of pain.

From behind her she heard Søren laughing.

“I told you so,” he taunted.

“I didn’t say ‘stop.’” Let him tease and taunt. She could do this.

“No. No, you did not.”

Grace braced herself but the second blow hurt even worse than first. The third came fast after that. She flinched with each strike but managed to do no more than gasp or wince. Not once did she cry out. Not once did she scream. After a few more strikes she found herself zoning out. The pain didn’t fade. On the contrary it built as the flogger landed again and again on her raw back. But she stopped caring about the pain, stopped counting the minutes until it would end. The most enigmatic man she’d ever met desired to give her this pain, needed to give her pain, and so she accepted the pain as a gift and offered him her body for his use as a gift in return.

When the flogging finally ceased, Grace sagged against the bedpost and swallowed large gulps of air.

Søren came to her and laid the flogger back on the bed. He reached up and took her by the wrist, turning her to face him.

He cupped her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes.

“Good girl,” he whispered. “I’m proud of you.”

“You are?”

He nodded. “For someone who has never done this before, you take pain beautifully.”

She beamed with pride. Praise from him was worth all the pain.

“Thank you. I want to please you.”

“You do.” He raised her hand to his lips and kissed the center of her palm. Still holding her hand he brought his mouth to hers. At first he kissed her so gently she barely felt it. Then she realized he was waiting, waiting for her to kiss him back, to take what she wanted, what she’d asked for, what she’d earned. And since she had earned it, she pressed her lips to his, opened her mouth and let him have at her. She tasted his tongue, the hint of wine, tasted his hunger or perhaps it was hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her naked body into him. An ache unlike any she’d ever felt before coalesced within her like a storm cloud forming. With each passing moment the storm intensified as her desire for him thundered through her.

Finally he pulled back and looked down at her with something akin to surprise in his eyes. Had the ferocity of the kiss shocked him as much as it shocked her?

“Tell me what you want, Grace,” he said again, this time slightly breathless. “And I’ll tell you how to earn it.”