The Return (The Original Sinners)

by Tiffany Reisz

  “Move,” Søren ordered and Kingsley made himself move, but only to lay his head on Søren’s stomach. Kingsley lay a long time in that halfway place between waking and sleeping, soothed by Søren’s fingers running through his hair and occasionally tugging on it hard enough to almost hurt.

  Almost. But it didn’t hurt. Nothing did and nothing could. Not with Søren’s stomach under his head and his come inside him. Since he was bulletproof and weatherproof and immortal, Kingsley pushed his luck, as he always did.

  He asked, one more time, “Why did you walk barefoot in the woods?”

  “Like a child,” Madame said. “They always know what the adults don’t want to talk about, so they keep asking and asking and asking...”

  “And asking,” Søren said.

  “What did you finally tell him?”

  “I told him—”

  “Floor,” Søren said.

  Kingsley lifted his head. “What?”

  “Floor. Now. You’re sleeping on the floor tonight.”

  “On the floor? Why?”

  “One—because you talked back to me tonight. Two—because I said so. Three—two is the only reason that matters.”

  Kingsley’s jaw set into a hard line, and he didn’t respond or even look at Søren as he got out of their cot. They only had the one quilt but spare clean sheets and luckily Søren didn’t stop him when he grabbed a sheet from the pile, wrapped it around himself and curled up on the floor in front of the fireplace. His wadded-up clothes worked as a pillow, but not much of one.

  The floor was miserably hard and cold even through the sheet. No way to get comfortable. Kingsley thought he’d never go to sleep, especially not with the thoughts running through his head. What had he done wrong? What had he said wrong? Or was this simply the price he had to pay for being in love with a god? Gods were cruel, weren’t they? And arbitrary? Blessing you one minute, punishing you the next?

  Or maybe it wasn’t a punishment. Maybe it was a test. Gods did that, too. If it was a test, how would Kingsley pass it? He tried to think, tried to remember...what did the priests at their school say God commanded his people to do? There were the ten commandants, he knew that. But there was one commandant even more important than that.

  Something Jesus said. Søren was big into Jesus. Big enough Kingsley occasionally paid attention in chapel when Jesus’s name came up, which it did a lot at a Catholic school.

  “Master, which is the great commandment in the law?” some disciple had asked.

  And Jesus said something about...

  “I love you,” Kingsley said to Søren because the greatest commandment was love.

  Søren laughed. A soft, cruel laugh.

  “You said you’d hate me later.”

  “I didn't mean it. I still love you. And you can’t make me not love you although you do a fucking great job trying.”

  “Go to sleep,” Søren said. And since it was a commandment, Kingsley did.

  “He fell asleep on the cold hard floor. You bastard,” Madame said. “How cruel could you be? I almost want to shake your hand.”

  “He told me he loved me. After the way I’d treated him that night...and right after he said he loved me, he fell sound asleep on the cold hard floor. And I lay there in the soft warm cot, wide awake and staring at the ceiling. I wanted him in bed with me so badly, it hurt worse than sleeping on the floor. I even wanted his head on my stomach again, where he always laid it when we slept together, God only knows why. Proof that love’s a form of insanity. His head on my stomach is miserably uncomfortable. My Eleanor always sleeps on my chest, but Kingsley, it has to be the stomach, every time.”

  “You could have apologized to Kingsley, told him the truth, invited him into bed with you.”

  “Teenage boys can be intelligent, bright, accomplished, talented...but have you ever met one who was wise?”

  “Ah, well, wisdom is the prize life rewards us for surviving our mistakes,” Madame said. “You survived yours.”

  “Barely. I wouldn’t mind a little less wisdom.”

  “No...neither would I. A little less wisdom and a few more nights with my husband. And you...a few more nights with Kingsley, his head on your stomach.”

  “I would happily make that trade, yes.”

  “So, tell me what happened next. Our time is almost over. Kingsley fell asleep on the floor. What did you do?”

  “You know exactly what I did.”

  “Right off the floor? That couldn’t have been easy.”

  “I was strong for my age, and Kingsley didn’t weigh much at sixteen.”

  Kingsley woke up, and he was warm. Why was he warm? He lifted his head and saw he was stretched out on his side in the cot and his head was on Søren’s stomach. They were in bed together. How the hell did that happen?

  Søren was asleep. He could tell from Søren’s steady breathing.

  Kingsley must have woken up for a second, freezing, and gotten into the cot with Søren. If he got caught, he might end up sleeping on the floor for a week. Kingsley started to slide out of bed to get onto the floor again when Søren stirred. He stirred and wrapped his arm around Kingsley’s shoulders, trapping him exactly where he wanted to be. Kingsley surrendered and fell back asleep in seconds. It was only when he woke up around 3 am, and Søren sent him back to school for the rest of the night...only when he was in his own bed in the dorm, did it occur to Kingsley...he didn’t remember getting into the cot with Søren.

  So how had it happened?

  Chapter Seven

  Now Kingsley knew.

  “It’s 9:55,” Søren said to Madame. “Our time is up.”

  “Yes, I see that it is. And you’ve even given me the gift of one extra minute.”

  “With my compliments.”

  Kingsley detected the faintest note of sarcasm in Søren’s tone.

  “You gave me a gift and I’ll return the favor. I asked you questions and you answered them. I’ll now answer one of yours.”

  “There’s nothing you know that I want to know.”

  “Do you want to know what he said about you when we’d drugged him?”

  “No.”

  “Your self-restraint is admirable.”

  “If it’s flattering, he’s already told it to me in more ways that I can count. If it’s insulting, then...same.”

  “You’re being cruel to me now,” she said. “I want to keep playing and you won’t play along.”

  “I am cruel,” Søren said. “Ask Kingsley. Ask Eleanor. I’ve cut them both open to the marrow of their souls, brutalized them both, physically, emotionally, and psychologically. And while you’re at it, ask them why they let me. Now that’s a question I would love answered.”

  Kingsley almost called out from his hiding place, “Because it makes her wet and my cock hard, Dummkopf!” but he refrained. Really, Kingsley thought, it wasn’t rocket science. Why anyone would let Søren play with their mind and body and soul was hardly one of the great mysteries of the universe.

  And supposedly Søren was the smart one.

  “How is this then...I’ll tell you why Kingsley sleeps with his head on your stomach.”

  “You can’t possibly know that.”

  “I could make an educated guess.”

  “Go on then. If you need to tell me, I’m happy to listen.”

  Kingsley wanted to hear this, too.

  Madame coughed again, that deep liquid wracking cough. But she recovered and began to speak.

  “The last thing I said to my husband before I cast him out of the house was this—‘You were supposed to protect me, and you didn’t.’ He promised that on our wedding night, that no matter what he did to me that was painful and seemingly cruel, he would always protect me. When I sent away all the male dominants and brought home only male submissives, then...finally...I felt protected. That’s the beauty of a male submissive—they see women as their betters, their superiors. All the men who served under me were here for one reason and one reason alone—to protec
t the women of this house. Like guard dogs. Like knights.”

  “Like soldiers,” Søren said. “Serving a general.”

  “No, like soldiers guarding a village of women and children,” she said. “Which we were. The stomach is the weakest part of the body,” Madame continued. “It’s the most unprotected. A knife can be stopped by the thick bones of the sternum and ribcage. A knife to the belly is a death sentence. Kingsley sleeps on your stomach to protect you. When the knife comes down, it will have to go through him to get to your most vulnerable organs.”

  Søren said nothing to that at first. Kingsley had to give the old girl credit. Nail on the head.

  “Game over,” Madame said.

  “Shall I fetch Kingsley now?” Søren asked.

  “In the morning, I think. I’m too tired now. Much too tired. And I’d hate for him to see me like this.”

  “We’ll come back in the morning then.”

  “No, no. Stay the night. We have rooms enough. Especially with the family away until Friday. Ring the bell there. Colette will be up shortly to show you and Kingsley to your room.”

  “You’re very gracious,” Søren said.

  The bell rang out loud and long and Kingsley came to his feet, wincing. He’d been sitting on a tile bathroom for almost an hour. When he heard footsteps outside in the hall, he snuck into Madame’s pale blue bedroom. And when he was certain Colette was in Madame’s room, he made a fast break for it. Down the hallway, back into the empty bedroom, back onto the balcony, down the drainpipe and in the window.

  He made it back into the drawing room without getting caught. Once there he stood by the fireplace, straightened his clothes and ran a hand through his hair. Only then did he hear Colette and Søren approaching.

  “Damn, I’m good,” he said to himself. He might be an ex-spy but no denying...he still had it.

  Colette opened the door and Søren came into the drawing room looking as if he’d spent the last hour having a pleasant cup of tea with a friendly old lady instead of having his soul raked over the coals.

  “I’ll show you to your room,” Colette said. “This way?”

  “We’re staying the night?” Kingsley asked Søren, playing dumb.

  “Apparently so. Madame said she’ll see you in the morning.”

  “She will?”

  “So she says,” Søren said.

  “If she’s feeling up to it,” Colette said. “Only then.”

  “Of course.” Søren smiled at Kingsley the moment Colette turned her back on them. They followed her from the drawing room, up the stairs to the second floor and then through the heavy double doors.

  “We’re staying in the old wing of the house?” Kingsley asked.

  “You’re sleeping as far away from Madame as possible.”

  “How do you say, ‘I am on Colette’s shit list,’ in French?” Søren asked in English, and Kingsley laughed.

  “I speak English, too,” Colette said, in English, of course.

  “I assumed you did.”

  The corridor of the old wing didn’t look much different from Kingsley’s day. Maybe a fresh coat of paint. A few new old paintings on the wall. Colette took them to the room at the very end of the corridor, right before the door to the servants’ stairwell. She took a key from her pocket and unlocked the door.

  “I hope you’ll both be very comfortable tonight.” Colette waved her arm to usher them into the room. She flipped on the light switch and said, “Goodnight.”

  Then she shut the door behind them.

  They stood in the room and it was a beautiful room to stand in. Golden light emanated from a small crystal chandelier. A portrait of Madame as an exquisite young bride hung over the gas fireplace with an ornately carved mantel flanked with white taper candles in matching brass candlesticks. Bookcases lined the walls filled with French, German, and Italian classics bound in red, green, and blue leather. Matching armchairs sat on a plush Persian rug in front of the fireplace.

  Only one small problem.

  “No bed,” Søren said.

  “You know the château,” Kingsley said.

  Søren nodded. “Men sleep on the floor.”

  “I don’t know what’s more humiliating,” Kingsley said. “That I didn’t see it coming or that I’m actually enjoying this a little.”

  Chapter Eight

  “This is my penance,” Søren said. Kingsley saw him smile to himself.

  “I’d say we sneak into another room, but...” Kingsley turned the knob on the door. Colette had locked them in. “We could leave through the window. Wait. No.” Kinglsey patted his pockets. “She stole the car keys.”

  He’d left his jacket in the drawing-room while he’d been eavesdropping. Okay, so maybe he wasn’t much of a spy anymore.

  “We’ll survive the night,” Søren said. He seemed to be taking it all in stride.

  “At least the fireplace works,” Kingsley said, turning the knob and watching the fire spark and bloom. “Guess we’ll camp out on the rug.”

  “I’ve slept in worse places.”

  “One question, though,” Kingsley said.

  “Yes?”

  Kingsley asked, “When we’re cuddling on the floor, can I be the big spoon?”

  That question earned Kingsley the dirtiest look in the history of dirty looks. This particular dirty look should have been accompanied by the Jaws theme. Kingsley took that as his cue to say, “I’ll find some blankets.”

  “Do that,” Søren said.

  Thankfully, the linen closet in the bathroom held sheets and blankets galore. And Søren found the liquor cabinet hidden inside an antique secretary desk. Kingsley laid the blankets out on the floor by the fireplace, turned the heat up, and took a glass of red.

  Kingsley lifted it to his lips, then paused. “Are we sure it’s not poisoned?”

  “No,” Søren said. He sat down on one of the chairs in front of the fireplace.

  “You’re waiting for me to drink first, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  Kingsley raised his glass in a mocking toast. Before he could take a sip though, Søren drank his wine.

  Kingsley lowered his glass, untasted.

  Søren smiled. “I protect you, too.”

  Caught.

  “You knew I was listening,” Kingsley said.

  Søren slowly nodded.

  “You knew the whole time?”

  Søren nodded slowly again.

  “Can I ask about Doctor Jassa and his sword?”

  Søren shook his head no. That didn’t surprise Kingsley.

  “Am I in trouble?”

  Søren shook his head no again. That did surprise Kingsley.

  “Really?”

  “I knew you were there,” Søren said. “I wanted you there. I would have been disappointed if you weren’t there. Saves me from having repeat the entire conversation. Once was enough.”

  Kingsley laughed. “You didn’t like Madame?”

  “I have more than enough sadistic females in my life already. This trip was for you, not me. And I hope it was worth it.” Søren took another sip of his wine.

  “It was worth it when you told Madame you could leave, spend the night inside me and we’d forget her by morning. No, it was worth it in the drawing room watching you be a jealous bitch to Colette.” Who was he kidding? “It was worth it when you agreed to come with me before we even left.”

  “I love you,” Søren said.

  Kingsley’s brow furrowed. “That was unexpected.”

  “It was, wasn’t it? I like to keep you on your toes. When I’m not keeping you on your knees.”

  “You’re trying to get me into bed,” Kingsley said. “Won’t work. We don’t have a bed.”

  “We can improvise. Drink your wine first while I decide what to do with you.”

  Kingsley raised his hand.

  “Yes, Kingsley?” Søren spoke like a professor calling upon one of his students.

  “Can I make a suggestion?”


  Søren’s right eyebrow inched upwards. If he smiled, Kingsley couldn’t see it behind the wine glass.

  “Go on.”

  Kingsley unbuttoned his shirt while Søren drank his wine. Kingsley dropped his shirt on the floor and then walked over it.

  “Saves me a step,” Søren said.

  Kingsley went to the fireplace and removed the taper candle from the candlestick. He dipped the wick into the flame in the fireplace and presented it to Søren.

  Before taking the candle from him, Søren met Kingsley’s eyes.

  “You’ll like this, I promise,” Kingsley said.

  Søren set his wine glass onto the side table between the two arm chairs.

  He took the candle from Kingsley.

  Then Kingsley went down on his knees in front of Søren.

  “I’m warming up to this idea,” Søren said.

  Kingsley said nothing. He only smiled as he started unbuttoning Søren’s shirt. Button after button after button until it was all the way open and Kingsley couldn’t stop himself from pressing his mouth to Søren’s stomach.

  “Again with the stomach,” Søren said. But before Kingsley could explain himself, Søren let candlewax drip onto his back. With his head in Søren’s lap, Kingsley’s back presented an easy target.

  Kingsley gasped and flinched when the wax hit but managed to take the pain without straightening up. He kissed Søren’s stomach again, lower on his stomach, a longer, harder kiss... Søren dripped candlewax on Kingsley’s back again. Another kiss, another drop of candlewax. One large dollop rolled down his back, burning all the way to the base of his spine. It scalded. It seared. It was delicious agony. And Søren seemed to be enjoying it as much as Kingsley.

  Every time Søren let the wax drop, Kingsley kissed his stomach, or his ribcage, or his chest. Kingsley pressed his palm over Søren’s erection, feeling it through his trousers.

  Kingsley opened Søren’s pants and took his cock into his mouth. Judging by how hard Søren’s stomach contracted, that had been a good decision on Kingsley’s part.

  One hand held the candle but the other grasped Kingsley by the nape of the neck, fingers wrapped up in his hair. Søren inflicted the pain. Kingsley provided the pleasure. He sucked Søren long and deep into his throat, licked him and caressed him from the base to the tip with his tongue. He used his hands too, stroking the thick iron-hard length of him. On the dripping tip, Kingsley lavished warm wet kisses.