“Hurt me,” she begged and he slammed her back into the wall with bruising force. His kisses were equally bruising. He bit at her bottom lip and she tasted blood.
He let her down and the moment her feet touched the floor his hand grabbed the back of her neck with a vicious, merciless grip. In the open doorway of his bedroom, he shoved her to her knees, exactly where she wanted to be. Impossibly strong fingers dug into her skin as she rested her forehead against his hip. She breathed through the pain, breathed through it and into it, not fighting it. She had come here tonight for the pain, for the surrender, for the chance to forget everything she didn’t want to remember.
“Now,” he said again and the one word constituted all the instruction she needed. She opened his pants and took him into her mouth. Even as she sucked him, licked and caressed him with her lips and tongue, he gripped her neck. She clung to the fabric of his shirt with both hands as she made herself a willing slave. She’d left him, and no matter how often he reminded her of how much she missed him, she never admitted it to him. But here and now on her knees in front of him, she admitted it to herself.
She pushed his shirt up. The muscles of his hard stomach tightened as she scratched deep, scoring his skin with her fingernails. Like many sadists she knew, he had a love for pain that manifested in borderline masochism. He’d never allow himself to be dominated but he’d take any pain she gave him during sex without complaint. Sex was at its most potent to them both when spiked with pain.
He thrust his hips forward and she almost choked on him. Søren could be gentle in the bedroom but only after he’d unleashed his sadism on her. And they’d only just begun to play this game.
Without warning he pulled her to her feet and turned her back to him. He wrenched her skirt up, pushed her black lace underwear down, and shoved his fingers inside her from behind. Bracing herself against the doorframe, she closed her eyes and forced herself to remain perfectly still as he pried her open. She grew wet against his hand, wet enough he laughed at her body’s eagerness.
“Bastard,” she said under her breath but still loud enough for him to hear.
“Watch your language, Eleanor. You’re never too old for me to turn you over my knee.”
“Spank me all you want, just fuck me first. Please.”
“Please what?”
Nora rested her forehead against her crossed arms.
“Please...sir.” Sir Asshole, she said in her head. “Please fuck me.”
“I will...but you’ll pay for it. Now or later?”
“Later.” She knew if she let him flog her or cane her now, it would be over in minutes. Later he would be calmer, colder, and the pain would drag on and on. Bargaining for sex from Søren was as dangerous as dealing with the devil. He’d give her what she asked for but payback would be hell.
“You might regret that decision,” he said into her ear. “In fact, I’ll make sure of it.”
He withdrew his fingers from of her and dragged her down to the floor, pushing her onto her back, and draping her ankles over his shoulders. Nora groaned as he entered her, relishing that feeling of completeness she experienced only with him. His thrusts were punishing but she didn’t care. She loved the pain that was proof of his passion, loved the bruises a night with him left behind on her body.
Her body filled up with each thrust and emptied as he pulled out. Every new push into her left Nora gasping, grasping for release. With only the hardwood floor underneath her, she could cling to nothing but empty air.
Soon she fell into the rhythm of his thrusts as she opened up completely to him. He touched no part of her but her hips where he gripped her. She felt like nothing more than a hole, a sheath, a body to be used. Søren topped other women, but he never had sex with them. He beat them, broke them, and if they were very good girls he might allow them to receive his come on their backs. Only with her did he share his body; she knew it had been months since he’d had sex. She felt his need, his hunger, even his loneliness with every thrust. She took the pain because it was the only thing she could take from him. Not his love. Not anymore.
One glass of wine on the kitchen counter. What would she have felt if had been two? Would the day come when he stopped waiting for her to come back to him? Would the night come when he took another lover finally and left her in the past? Part of her feared that night more than anything else. Another part of her wished he’d hurry up and do it already so they could both move on.
Nora didn’t pay any attention to how long he stayed inside her. He didn’t come, nor did he allow her to. When aroused enough he could fuck forever, but not even forever would be long enough for her.
“Clothes off,” he ordered after he’d caught his breath. “End of the bed.”
Nora stripped out of her sweater, bra, skirt, boots and stockings in record time. She’d made the deal with him—sex now, payment later. Later was now. Now was later.
She waited naked at the foot of the bed breathing into herself. A sleepiness overtook her, a heaviness. When Søren buckled cuffs around her ankles and wrists, she put up no resistance. She became lethargic, listless. Her joints felt loose as if she stood in warm water and not in the bedroom of a sadist. A dozen years of practice had brought her to the place where the threat of erotic pain caused her body to relax instead of tensing.
Søren cuffed her ankles to a two-foot spreader bar, cuffed her arms over her head to the bedpost. When the first blow of the cane landed on the back of her thighs, she barely flinched.
The cane was first. Then the flogger. Cane again—the smaller one that left the vicious little welts instead of the big bruises. After that a heavier flogging. Then the belt, that unholy bitch of a leather belt.
Then nothing. Nora hung from her bonds, her muscles limp even as her body burned from the hour of pain she’d endured. When Søren unlocked her, she nearly sank onto the floor. But he caught her and laid her on the bed. For the privilege of watching him undress, she managed to open her eyes. Everyone in the Underground had seen Kingsley naked at some point or other. His French sensibilities precluded any body shame. Only when covered in the bruises and welts she’d inflicted on him, was Kingsley careful to keep his clothes on, even during sex. And she...back in her submissive days she’d been fucked in public view at The 8th Circle so many times she’d lost count. But no one but Nora got to see Søren completely naked these days except for his one and only lover—her.
He unbuttoned his jeans slowly as she lay there watching him.
“Stop being such a tease,” she said, a tired smile crossing her face.
“I can’t imagine to what you are referring...” he said, dropping his hands.
Nora rolled up onto her hands and knees and crawled across the bed to him.
“I am referring,” she said as she took his wrists in her hands, raised his arms and yanked his shirt off, “to the fact that you are stalling, sir. You know I’m dying here for you.”
“Dying? Should I say the Last Rites?”
“I’ll need them if you don’t get naked and get your cock inside me soon.”
“I was thinking of getting a glass of wine first.”
“I hate you.”
Søren gave her a sharp slap on her bottom.
“You’ll pay for that, too, Little One.”
“Run up my tab,” she said, dropping his shirt to the floor. She opened his pants all the way and stroked him. “Sex with you is worth any price I have to pay, sir.”
Either her touch or her words convinced him. Either or both, she didn’t care. All that mattered was that the rest of his clothes seemingly disappeared and she had him on top of her and inside her again.
Their mouths met and their tongues mingled. With each thrust into her, her hips rose up to meet him. Søren grasped her wrists and pinned her hands into the bed. The tension mounted in her stomach and she begg
ed permission to come. He granted it and her body released the tension with a hundred inner flutters of her vagina all around his incredible hardness. After coming she could completely relax. She threw her legs open as wide as possible, inviting Søren deeper into her body.
“You’re mine...” he whispered in her ear. “Whether you’ll admit it or not, you’re still mine.”
She closed her eyes and said nothing. To deny him would be a lie. To agree would be to admit defeat. It didn’t matter that she still loved him, that she still missed him. She couldn’t go back to him, couldn’t return to her old life at his feet, obeying his orders, hiding in his shadow, living a lie and counting the days until he got caught and excommunicated.
I am yours... She spoke the words only inside her head.
With his mouth on her throat and his fingers clasped around her forearms, Søren came with a shudder and a soft exhalation. She closed her eyes as he poured into her.
Soon she lay across his chest, her ear over his heart. He caressed her back with gentle strokes of his hand from her neck to her hip, gentle strokes that soothed her burning skin and yet made her ache even more.
“I don’t believe you,” he said as she pressed a few reverent kisses onto his collarbone, into the hollow of his throat.
“Believe what?”
“That you didn’t come here to talk. I know you didn’t come here just for sex, as much as I might flatter myself that my body tempts you that much.”
“Your body should win awards, medals even. Your body should be given honorary degrees from Ivy League schools.”
“In what discipline?”
“Anatomy. Maybe even chemistry. No...art.” She looked up at him and smiled. “You’re a work of art.”
“You can keep this up all night and I won’t complain, but that won’t change the fact that I know you’re stalling. I want you naked.”
“I am naked.” She pointed at her body. “You can’t get any more naked than I am right now...unless you skin me and that would just be gross and messy. I know you’re a sadist but I don’t think even you are into flaying.”
“I can’t say for sure. Never tried it.”
“Practice on Kingsley. Flaying is my hard limit.”
“You seem to have an aversion to answering my questions, too, Little One. Your body’s naked, but your heart isn’t.” He flicked the tip of her nose. “Would you rather answer me or let me flay you?”
“Let me think about this for a minute.”
“Eleanor Louise,” Søren said in a warning tone. She could only try his patience for so long before he brought out the dreaded first and middle name warning.
“Fine.” She sat up and pulled a pillow to her chest. Søren stretched out on the white sheets and waited. “But just remember, you’re making me talk about this.”
“I accept that. Now tell me.”
Nora took a deep breath as she tried to gather her words. She trusted no one in the world as much as she trusted Søren, valued his insight more than anyone else’s, cherished his counsel. But he loved her, wanted her back. To talk about Lance seemed almost too cruel.
“You know you can tell me anything.”
“I don’t want to hurt you...not any more than I already do.”
He pulled the sheet down to display the scarlet scratch marks she’d left on his stomach. Scratches? More like welts. Or worse, claw marks. He would wear them on his body for days.
“You don’t want to hurt me? How do you explain these?”
She dipped her head and kissed the welts.
“We hurt each other.” Søren spoke the words softly as he brushed her long hair over her bare shoulder. “It’s what we do. Hurt me. Trust that I can take it as well as I give it.”
Tears pricked at her eyes but Nora ignored them.
“Life has suddenly gotten annoyingly complicated,” she confessed.
“Life has a bad habit of doing that.”
“That guy in my dungeon last night when you knocked on the door...I like him.”
“You like him?”
“I like him. I just met him. I realize this. Then again, I fell in love with you the first second I saw you so there is some precedent for me taking these feelings seriously.”
“He was half-dressed and in your dungeon. Something tells me he rather liked you, too.”
Nora nodded.
“He’s a sub. One of those knight-in-shining-armor type subs. The ‘I was born to serve and worship women’ types. You should hear this guy talk—it’s like something from a movie or a romance novel. He really believes in all that honor and chivalry bullshit.”
“I believe I warned you a long time ago about those sorts of men.”
“I know, I know. ‘When one is a monster, one does well to avoid knights in shining armor.’ Trust me, I don’t want to lose my head over this guy. Especially since...”
“Since what?”
Nora sighed heavily and with extreme frustration.
“He has a kid. A little girl. It’s so unfair.”
“That he has a child? It’s a fairly common occurrence although I can imagine that you having feelings for someone with a small child would be—”
“Holy fucking terrified?”
“That.”
She shook her head.
“The kid isn’t the unfair part although, yeah, it does scare me. The unfair part is that this guy, he’s so good. Like genuinely good—kind and protective and noble...”
Nora spent the next half hour telling Søren everything she knew about Lance. How he’d been injured serving his country and was medically discharged from the Navy, how he’d endured three surgeries, and had been thanked for his service and his sacrifice by being cut off sexually by his now ex-wife. Nora spared no details of the drama, telling Søren about the pornography that had lost Lance custody of his daughter. Søren was a priest, after all. Watching porn was akin to a parking ticket compared to what sorts of crimes he’d heard in the confessional.
“So I’m pissed,” she concluded. “Pissed at Lance for taking the bodyguard job, which means we can’t sleep together again. I’m pissed at the asshole who beat up Natasha. Pissed at the universe for beating up Lance. That’s my job.”
She gave a groan and rolled onto her side next to Søren.
“I don’t know what to do,” she said, tracing the scratches on his stomach with her fingertips. “I hate feeling like this.”
“Like what?” Søren covered her hand with his.
“I hate feeling. Period. I just met this guy and I actually care about him? He was really good in bed but no one’s that good.” She laughed but Søren didn’t. He always seemed to know when her jokes weren’t jokes.
“There is nothing you can do for him,” Søren said. “Not unless you became a lawyer or a judge and have forgotten to tell me. You say you care about him, then care about him. Be his friend if you can’t be his lover. You can’t give him his daughter back but you can give him your friendship.”
“Like that would do him any good.”
“I treasure our friendship more than anything, even more than these nights when you come back to me. No man in his right mind would spurn your love and loyalty.”
“Not if he knew what was good for him.” She raised her fist and play-punched Søren in the center of his chest. He caught her hand and kissed the back of it.
“Don’t do that,” she said. “I have to put up with enough stupid chivalry from Lance. He even calls me a lady.” She laughed as if that were the most ridiculous concept she’d ever heard.
“Does that bother you?”
Nora rolled her eyes.
“No. It doesn’t bother me. It just doesn’t make sense.”
“What doesn’t make sense?” Søren asked, a slight smile at the edge
of his lips. “That he called you a lady, or that you liked it?”
Nora narrowed her eyes at him.
“I’d jump you more often if you didn’t make me talk to you afterwards,” she said, hating him for how well he knew her, how easily he could cut through her defenses with simply a question or two.
“Physical pain is only one of myriad forms of sadism,” he said, dragging her into his arms. “You take pain much better than you take interrogation.”
“I’m going to safe out if you don’t stop fucking with my psyche.”
“Is that so?” He pushed her onto her back and covered her with his body.
“Yes, especially since I can think of much more enjoyable parts of me you should be fucking with instead. For example, my c—”
He kissed her before she could finish her suggestions. The kiss was passionate but not desperate, not like before. He kissed her easily, leisurely, as if tonight would be the first of an infinite number of nights together, so why hurry?
“Why aren’t you mad that I have feelings for this other man?” she asked as he moved from her lips to her neck.
“Because you’re here,” he said, holding himself over her. “And I’m here.” He bent and kissed her chest over her heart.
“Why do I feel like Lance and I were supposed to meet? Like it was destiny?”
“Destiny doesn’t always play matchmaker,” Søren said, caressing her lips, her chin and nose. “Sometimes destiny plays other games with us.”
Nora tried not to think about Lance for the rest of the night. The things Søren did to her until about two in the morning helped keep anyone but her priest off her mind. Still when she snuck out before dawn, it was with Søren’s words ringing in her ears.
There’s nothing you can do for him...
The Last Good Knight (Mills & Boon Spice) (The Original Sinners: The Red Years - short story): Scars and Stripes / Sore Spots / The Games Destiny Plays / Fit to Be Tied / The Last Good Night Page 7
