Author: Tiffany Reisz

“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.

“I’m not a virgin.”

His words and the gleam in his eyes left Suzanne’s hands trembling.

“You aren’t?” Now they were getting somewhere. Now maybe she could get something out of him.

“I wasn’t born a priest, Ms. Kanter. Any more than you were born an atheist war correspondent with a burning hatred of the Catholic Church.”

Suzanne’s spine stiffened.

“You’ve been investigating me, I see,” she said.

“Your opinions on the church and faith are matters of public record,” he said as he strolled toward her. “And I believe you may intrigue me nearly as much as I intrigue you. Since I answered your question, might I ask you one?”

“Ask.” She made no promise to answer it.

“You are an atheist. God is truth. Without God, all is chaos, all is relative and truth is meaningless. And yet you became a journalist who’s dedicated her life to seeking out the truth amidst the chaos, a truth you don’t believe exists. Why?”

“Diogenes traveled the world with a lantern by day looking for an honest man. I’m just Diogenes out with my lamp trying to shed a little light where I can.”

“Diogenes also slept in a barrel and masturbated in public. How deep does your metaphor run?” he asked, raising his eyebrow at her.

She opened her mouth and shut it again.

“You’re not a normal priest, are you?”

At that, Father Stearns laughed. A warm, open laugh, intoxicating and masculine. She wanted to hear it more, hear it again. It seemed so incongruous.

“What?” she asked.

“Eleanor asked me the very same question the day we met almost twenty years ago.”

“And what did you say to her when she asked that?”

“Exactly what I’ll say to you now—my God, I hope not.”

Now Suzanne laughed. Laughing with a Catholic priest…the last thing on earth she ever dreamed she’d do. Suzanne abruptly stopped laughing when she remembered her job, when she remembered Adam. Father Stearns seemed smart enough that he could manipulate anyone he wanted to. She couldn’t let herself get sucked in just because of his appearance and sense of humor.

“You speak of her very fondly. You two are close?”

His smiled disappeared and once again he gave her a steely glare.

“I could be a thief. Or the bastard son of the pope. Both would qualify as conflicts of interest. Why are you so certain the reason for my asterisk is sexual?”

Suzanne thought about lying then had the feeling he’d see right through it.

“I suppose it’s because you’re so incredibly attractive.”

He laughed again, this time far more subtly.

“Finding me attractive hardly qualifies as evidence, Ms. Kanter. Wishful thinking possibly, but not evidence.”

Suzanne flushed, suddenly remembering the last time she’d had sex and how for one brief moment it was this priest, this man, on top of her and inside her and not Patrick.

“I find you attractive as well,” Father Stearns continued. “But I shan’t accuse you of pedophilia and ephebophilia simply because I do.”

Suzanne swallowed.

“You find me attractive?”

“Very much so.”

“But you’re a priest.”