Author: Tiffany Reisz

The implication of Kingsley’s words took a moment to sink in. Then Griffin’s handsome face lit up with a combination of mirth and shock.

“Oh, shit. Nora’s kicked your ass? God, I would have paid through the nose to see that.”

“Not for all the money in the world, young man.”

“Damn. Well, I did ask her once who her first client was when she became a Dominatrix, and she wouldn’t tell me.”

“And now you know.”

“Now I know. Damn,” he repeated, laughing softly. Kingsley couldn’t help but smile. Perhaps this was the real reason he’d summoned Griffin—to force him to smile for the first time in what felt like ages. “Okay, I’ll take Mick to Nora’s house, as ordered. Fucking Mick in Nora’s bed will be a dream come true. Or would be if she was there, too. But we’ll make do.”

“See Sophia. She’ll have a set of keys for you. The house is alarmed. She’ll give you the codes, as well.”

“We’ll stay there until you give us the all clear.”

“Bon. Merci.”

“Of course. Anything. You know you just have to ask.”

Griffin headed for the door. But he paused before leaving and turned around.

“He is good. Søren, I mean,” Griffin said. “Couple of weeks ago, I had to let him top…I did it for Mick.”

“I know. Anything that happens at The 8th Circle, I know about it.”

“He didn’t even lay a hand on me. He didn’t have to. Broke me in half with words.”

“He knows how to break you and yet leave you feeling more whole than you ever had before.”

“Don’t tell him I kind of liked it,” Griffin said with a wink.

“Your secrets, as always, are safe with me.” Kingsley gave a slight bow and Griffin laughed on his way out the door.

Kingsley straightened up, wincing as he did so. Alone now, he didn’t have to hide his pain. He considered sitting down and then thought better of it. He could still barely move, much less sit or lie down. The adrenaline from his night with Søren had faded, leaving him in agony. Everything ached, everything throbbed. Søren had nearly killed him last night. Kingsley could only hope that he still healed as quickly as he used to.

The only thing that would truly heal him would be another night with Søren.

Summoning Sophia, he ordered a muscle relaxant and something sturdier to drink than sherry. She brought them quickly and Kingsley discarded the pills and the drink before imbibing either. All the Underground knew of his penchant to overindulge. Kingsley cultivated with care the reputation of being a lush. Few people realized how little he actually drank, how rarely he ingested any illicit substances at all. He wanted everyone to think he had more weaknesses than he did. And now more than ever he needed the shield of the debonair drunk to protect him.

For the rest of the afternoon, Kingsley worked in his office. Or pretended to. In reality he merely stared at reports from the managers of his various clubs and enterprises, while his mind lingered thirty years in the past.

How…how had it happened? Had he known? Thirty years…how could anyone...it made no sense, yet it made perfect sense. He refused to believe it, but it was the only explanation. He wanted to rejoice, knowing the truth now. But what was the truth?

Christian. He should go talk to Christian again. That priest knew more than he’d said. He’d tried…tried to tell Kingsley, but couldn’t.

“Sophia,” Kingsley barked into the phone. “I need to return to Maine. Make the calls.”

“Oui, monsieur? When?”

“Now.”

He hung up before the girl could say another word. Now was no time for conversation or questioning of his orders. He considered calling Søren, but decided against it. Søren had an uncanny gift for reading people. It served him well as a priest and a Dominant, but made it nearly impossible to keep any secrets from him. One look and he would know that Kingsley knew…knew who their stalker was, who the thief was, and the motive behind the threats.

Threats. Only threats, Kingsley reminded himself as he returned to his bedroom and pulled on his jacket. No one had been hurt yet. Just a dog. And no one would get hurt. Not if he could help it.

He headed down the stairs and toward the front door of his town house. He had to get back to Saint Ignatius, get more information out of Father Christian. And he would, if he had to string the priest up by his ankles and flog him.

“Monsieur?” Sophia called out as his butler raced to open the door for him.

“No time, Sophia. Take a message.”

“It’s Master Griffin, sir. He’s at Mistress Nora’s home.”

“Lovely news.” The door opened. He saw his Rolls-Royce idling out front on the street.

“But, sir…he needs to talk to you.”

Finally, the panic in his secretary’s voice penetrated Kingsley’s fog of concentration. He whirled around and faced the girl, who stood pale and shaking, a black phone in her hand.

“About what?” Kingsley asked, not wanting to talk to Griffin, already fearing the worst.

“He says he got to the house as fast as he could but…”

“But?”

Sophia swallowed, her pale skin now white.

“Someone got there first.”

SOUTH

This was what heaven felt like. Had to be. All his life he’d heard about heaven from pastors and preachers and teachers. He’d read it about it in the Bible, learned about it in Sunday school... Heaven was paradise where everything became complete, where man saw God and rejoiced in the knowledge that this place of ethereal beauty and utter peace would last forever and ever.

Wesley looked down and smiled at the sight of Nora’s hair draped across his stomach, her mouth around him, taking him between her lips, caressing him with her tongue. A knot tightened in the pit of his stomach as she moved from the base to the tip, over and over again.

“Nora…I’m going to come if you keep doing that.”

Nora paused long enough to give him a look of amused annoyance. “That is sort of the point.”

“But—”

“No butt,” Nora declared as she stroked him with her hand. “We’ll do that later. Blow job now. I’ve wanted to blow your bugle for years. Shut up and let me.”

Wesley laughed as she put her lips to the bugle tattoo on his hip and gave him a noisy raspberry.

“I’m in much less danger of coming now.”

“I can fix that.” Nora moved to take him in her mouth again, but Wesley caught her off guard by rolling her onto her back and sliding down her body. Without a word of protest, she opened her legs wide and Wesley pushed easily into her wet heat.

“Sorry…” he whispered into her ear. “I just needed this.”

“It’s okay.” She wrapped her legs around his back and drew him even deeper into her. “I need it, too.”

He did need. Inside Nora he felt…he couldn’t even think of the right word for it.

Complete, maybe…that’s what Wesley felt when inside Nora. He lacked for nothing as she lay beneath him, her thighs wide and open, her breasts rising with every gasp of pleasure, her dark eyes glowing like the aura that surrounded the moon. Her skin…so soft…he’d dreamed so long of touching her. But the parts that he’d fantasized about—her breasts, her thighs—while as spectacular as he’d hoped, paled before the parts of her that had never before entered his imagination. If he kissed her spine a few inches under her neck, her shoulders would raise and she’d laugh like a child. Lower…if he touched the small of her back with his fingertips, she’d moan like she did when he’d penetrated her the first time. He’d never felt anything softer than the skin at the back of her knee or underneath the bone of her ankle. This was the second time he’d made love to her that night. At one point during the first time, she’d put her legs on his shoulders and he’d turned his head to kiss the inside of her calves. She had a tiny birthmark by her left ankle. How had he never noticed that before?

“You’re so quiet,” she whispered as she arched beneath him. He loved the way she moved when he slowed down his thrusts. She’d stretch out like a cat in the sun and sigh luxuriously. “Something wrong?”

Wesley kissed her cheek, her neck, her mouth.

“I’m inside you. There’s nothing wrong. Anywhere. Ever.”

Nora laughed and he gasped a little as her inner muscles tightened around him. He’d never known that…never known the vagina tightened when a woman laughed. What else didn’t he know about Nora? If he had to he’d spend the rest of his life discovering the secrets of her body. He’d spend the rest of his life discovering the secrets of her body even if he didn’t have to.

“Nothing wrong anywhere? Spoken like a man getting laid.” Another thing about Nora during sex…her voice dropped about an octave and everything she said came out all husky and breathy. He’d never heard anything quite like it. He felt her words as much as heard them. They rubbed against his skin like velvet.

Wesley dipped his head and kissed her shoulder, moved lower and sucked on her right nipple. Slowly he moved his mouth from her breast to her chest. She loved having her chest kissed; she said the thin skin there made every touch tickle.

“I’m not getting laid. That’s not what this is.” He closed his eyes as a wave of pleasure passed through him from knee to neck. Having sex made him aware of his own body like never before. He’d never known that the slightest shift of his hips could take him from comfortable enjoyment to the very edge of orgasm in seconds. Before his first time with Nora, his arms had existed merely to hold things and move things. Now the muscles in his arms were there to hold him up and over Nora, keeping his full weight off her so she could writhe beneath him. He’d never given his shoulders much thought until Nora had bitten them, never considered his back until she’d scratched it during a particularly heated kiss, never given a moment’s notice to his rib cage until Nora had lain across his chest after sex and ran her fingers over every line of it.

“Then what is it, Wes?” She looked up at him as he pushed deeper into her. “Are you making love to me?”

He buried his face in her hair and whispered a “yes” in her ear. “Only because I love you.”

She whimpered in the back of her throat, and Wesley immediately stopped moving.

“Did I hurt you?” He still hadn’t gotten quite used to how intense sex could be. Sometimes he’d push too deep and Nora would flinch or gasp. She never complained, never told him to stop, but he always panicked at the very thought of hurting her in bed.

“No.” She raised her hand and caressed the side of his face. “Not in the bad way, anyway.”

Wesley smiled as he slowly relaxed down on top of her. Sometimes he’d let his full weight rest on her body. She seemed to like it, although he couldn’t imagine why.

“I should have been doing this for years,” he said into her ear. “Or at least doing it since the first time you offered.”

“Back in the pool?” she asked, pressing her hips up into his. The first time they’d had sex tonight had been quick and hard. Now, with one orgasm out of the way, he could move slowly and leisurely in her. At the moment he felt he could last all night. But if she kept doing that thing with her hips, he’d come whether he wanted to or not.

“Back then. Maybe not in the pool. But right after getting out of the pool.”

Wesley remembered that night near the end of his first semester at Yorke. Nora had called him out of the blue and practically dared him to meet her at the natatorium. He’d gone alone and found his creative-writing teacher in her racerback swimsuit standing on a starting block. A few days before that he’d complained to her that his only gripe about Yorke was their lack of a swim team. He had a killer freestyle that was going to waste, and Nora mentioned she’d been on her swim team at New York University. So she’d surprised him by challenging him to a race. He’d won, of course. Male versus female. Age eighteen versus age thirty-two. Six feet tall versus five-three. Of course he’d won. But just barely. He couldn’t believe how close behind him she’d stayed. That night in the pool he’d seen as much muscle on her petite body as he’d seen curves. He’d mentioned his surprise at the tautness of her arms and shoulders, and she’d said that she had to be tough to beat up on all her little bad boys and girls. He’d thought it was a joke. And then she’d asked if he wanted to have sex with her. But that, he knew, hadn’t been a joke.