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

by Reisz, Tiffany

  Before she knew what she was doing or why, Nora put both her hands on Lance’s face. From his face her hands moved down his neck and up both arms. She ran her hands over his chest, his hips, his legs, and over his feet. Søren had done this to her so many times she lost count in their years together—touched her like this. I own you, was the message. I own every part of you.

  She said nothing while she touched him, claimed him, and he said nothing, either, perhaps recognizing the significance of the moment. Finally she couldn’t wait anymore. She took a condom from her drawer and rolled it onto him. She took off her underwear and straddled him. With her mouth on his mouth, she took him in her hand and guided him inside her.

  At first she barely moved, wanting nothing more than to take him into her and let him fill her. She brought her breasts to his mouth and let him suck deeply on her nipples while she moved gently against him.

  She slid up and down his length, going as slowly as she could, not wanting to rush the moment. With her hands on his chest, she held her upper body steady as she made slow ovals with her hips, lightly grinding her clitoris against him.

  “You feel amazing inside me,” she said, bending to kiss his chest.

  “I do feel amazing inside you.”

  “Smart-ass.” She sat up and scratched his chest and stomach lightly with her fingernails, light enough his skin shivered under her hand.

  “I’m only telling the truth. I want to stay inside you forever, Mistress.”

  “I might just let you.”

  She braced herself against the headboard and started to move faster on him.

  “Don’t come,” she ordered as she rode him harder, filling her own orgasm starting to build.

  “No, ma’am. No chance.”

  “Good.” She didn’t want this to end yet. She didn’t want it to end...ever.

  The pressure rose in her back and stomach. She dug her hands into Lance’s biceps so hard she knew he’d have bruises. He didn’t raise any objections. Instead he lay beneath her whispering erotic encouragements to her.

  “Use me, Mistress...”

  She used him. She used him to climax hard, hard enough Lance seemed to feel it. He closed his eyes tight as she cried out with intense pleasure, every muscle in her stomach spasming.

  She collapsed onto his chest and breathed, moving just enough to keep him hard.

  “I’m not done,” she said.

  “I know you aren’t.”

  “I just need a minute.”

  “Take all the time you need.”

  After she caught her breath she kissed him again. His tongue slipped between her lips and she lightly bit it. The sexy sounds he made while their tongues intermingled and the presence of him still inside her and still hard made her eager for another round. She pushed against him, her body alive with want and hunger.

  “Come with me,” she said and Lance’s only response was to dig his heels into the bed and thrust up and into her. The room filled with the sounds of their need for each other. The bed creaked underneath them. When Nora came again she felt as if she rose so high her breath could fog the ceiling. As soon as her orgasm peaked she reached out and quickly freed Lance’s hands from the wrist cuffs. He rolled up and wrapped his arms around her, buried his face against her breasts, and came hard, clinging to her.

  After they both came, Lance wouldn’t let her go. He held her close, held her tight and said nothing. He lay back on the bed and brought her down with him. Exhausted and spent she fell asleep on his chest almost immediately. He was still inside her.

  Nora woke up a few minutes later. Or maybe it was an hour. Who knew? She didn’t know and didn’t care. All she knew was that Lance lay next to her in bed where he belonged. She bent her head to kiss him, but paused when she heard a sound.

  Someone was at her door.

  Lance stirred and she kissed him.

  “Stay here,” she whispered. “Sleep. It’s an order.”

  He flipped over in her bed and fell back to sleep. Poor thing, she’d worn him out. Nora found her grey silk bathrobe and knotted it around her waist. She walked downstairs and without looking out the window, she opened the front door.

  “It’s Sunday,” she said. “Isn’t this the one day of the week you have to work?”

  “You know I always take the afternoon off between Masses,” Søren said. “How are you?”

  “I’m fine,” she said to Søren who stood on her porch wearing jeans, his black leather motorcycle jacket, and holding his helmet in his hand. “I wasn’t even there when that guy broke in.”

  “I know,” Søren said.

  “So you’re here because...?”

  “Do I need a reason?”

  “I broke up with you, so yes, you do need a reason.”

  “You were in my bed last night.”

  “I’m in my own bed today,” she said.

  Søren looked over her shoulder. Nora closed her eyes and winced. She knew exactly what Søren was seeing. Two open beers on the coffee table.

  “You still drink Achel Blonde,” Søren said.

  “It’s good stuff,” she said.

  “I know,” he said. “I’m the one who introduced you to it.”

  He met her eyes and Nora refused to look away.

  “You should go,” she said. “If someone sees you here...”

  “Of course,” he said, his tone even. “I see that you’re safe. That’s all I needed to see. I’ll leave you to your guest.”

  He turned to leave and Nora stepped out onto the porch.

  “Søren?”

  “Eleanor, it’s forty degrees out. Put on shoes if you’re going to stand outside.”

  “I’m an adult,” she reminded him. “I’m not fifteen anymore.”

  “An adult would wear shoes in forty-degree weather.”

  She stared at him and shook her head.

  “You...” she said. “You are infuriating.”

  “Me? Because I don’t want you getting frostbite?”

  “Because you will not move on.”

  “I will when you do,” Søren said. “And don’t pretend you’ve moved on simply because you’re sleeping with someone else tonight. My housekeeper comes tomorrow. I have to change the sheets before she cleans my bedroom. There are stains on them. Yours and mine. I haven’t had to do that since the last time you spent the night with me.”

  “Last time you called me and asked me to come to you.”

  “And you came when I called. You came several times if I remember correctly, and I always remember correctly.”

  “That was just sex.”

  “Say that again. I might believe you.”

  “It. Was. Just. Sex.”

  He raised his chin and looked down at her. With his eyes narrowed he said softly, “No...still don’t believe you.”

  “Find someone else to fuck,” Nora said.

  “Find someone else to fuck?” he repeated. “Is that your answer for everything?”

  “It’s working for me,” she said. “You should try it.”

  “Who do you suggest?” he asked, his voice as cold but conversational—a trap, obviously. “You have someone in mind?”

  “There’s always Kingsley.”

  “Kingsley is finally moving on himself,” Søren said. “I have never seen him as happy as he is with Juliette.”

  “Then you’ve never seen him with you.” She crossed her arms tighter across her chest. “Okay, not Kingsley. Someone else. Anyone else. Stop living in the past. I’m not there anymore.”

  “Eleanor, I’m not going to take another lover simply to assuage your guilt for leaving me.”

  “No, you’re going to play the heartbroken celibate martyr until I come back to you out of guilt. Now you’ve fu
cked me and you’ve fucked Kingsley since becoming a priest so don’t pretend to be saint or a virgin or worse—monogamous. The only reason you haven’t moved on and found someone else to love is because you know if you do, then I’ll finally be able to move on, too. This is one more example of your sadism.”

  “That’s an astute observation, Little One. You’re more intelligent than you look.”

  “Do I look stupid today for some reason?”

  “You’re standing outside in forty-degree weather with no shoes on. You’ve certainly looked more intelligent than you do now.”

  Nora’s fingers curled into a fist. One of these days he was going to be on the receiving end of her sadism, and he wasn’t going to like it.

  “Have you ever considered the possibility I want you to find someone else to love for you? For your sake?” she asked, trying to stay calm.

  “No.”

  Nora laughed although she found none of this funny.

  “Anyone on earth...” she began and stopped. She had to take a deep breath before she could start again. “Anyone on earth would be blessed to be loved by you. I was. Maybe I want you to move on and find someone else for her sake.”

  “Or you could stop running from me.”

  “This isn’t running,” she said looking down at her bare feet that ached on the cold floor of her porch. “This is standing. Standing and living my life. I’m not your property anymore. I submitted to your from the age of fifteen to twenty-seven. That’s twelve years. I’ve been a Domme for two years. I’m not ready to give this up yet. I’m just finding out who I am finally.”

  “Mine,” Søren said. “You are mine. That’s who you are.”

  “And you wonder why I’m not running back to you?”

  He looked her up and down and smiled coldly to himself.

  “Put your shoes on, Eleanor.”

  And without another word he turned and walked away. She didn’t give him the satisfaction of watching him go. She stepped back into her house, shut and locked the door behind her and winced in agony.

  He was right. She should have put on some fucking shoes. Standing outside barefoot in forty-degree weather was incredibly stupid.

  Nora stood with her back to her front door stamping her feet and waiting for the pins in her feet sensation to fade.

  She raised her hand to her face and wiped away an unwelcome tear with her fingertips. She hated fighting with Søren. Play-fighting was one thing. Saying “I hate you, you big blond asshole” was one thing. Acting like they were archenemies for the amusement of The 8th Circle’s denizens was one thing.

  This was another thing entirely. And it hurt.

  She looked at the two beer bottles on her coffee table. The first time she’d gone to Europe she’d been with Søren. The trip was a gift from Kingsley to them both. Søren was a wine drinker, not a beer drinker. Except, he’d said to her, the Trappist monks in Belgium made the most perfect beer in the world. If Christ had turned water into beer instead of wine it would taste like Achel Blonde. He’d taken her to Denmark to meet his family, Belgium to drink their beer, Germany to visit her ancestral stomping grounds, and Paris because Kingsley had grown up there and she’d wanted to see his old house, his old neighborhood, his old life he’d left behind. Those were the two most perfect weeks of her life. And then they’d come back to America, back to Connecticut, back to Søren being a Catholic priest, back to her being his dirty little secret.

  She never forgot that trip, never stopped drinking that perfect Belgian beer, and never forgotten how hard it was to come home. In Europe when he was off-duty, they’d walked in the sunlight together. Back in America, she could see him only at night, only in secret, only in the shadows.

  Pain no longer needled her feed. She picked up the bottles off the coffee table, poured the contents down her kitchen drain and threw the empties into the recycling bin. She’d yelled at Søren for living in the past.

  Maybe she should take her own advice. Right now.

  She walked back to her bedroom and found Lance still sleeping. He looked pretty damn comfortable in her bed. Too comfortable. She woke him up with a few bites on his shoulders, a few bites on his chest.

  His eyelashes fluttered open and Nora raised a finger to her lips, bidding him to remain quiet. As she bit him and nibbled on him, he managed to stay silent but for a few tight intakes of air.

  She bit a path up to his ear and kissed it before whispering, “Two nights ago you made me come using just your mouth and no hands. Now you get to use your hands...but nothing else. Understand?”

  Lance didn’t take the bait. He didn’t reply in words; he merely nodded a yes. Nora slipped out of her robe and straddled his naked hips. Pleased with his ability to follow orders, she gave him a kiss on the mouth before rolling onto her back. Lance took two pillows and put one under her head and the other under her hips. Her legs fell wide open and she relaxed into the warmth of the setting sunlight streaming through the windows and the comfort of being with a man who she trusted, a man who wanted nothing but to give her pleasure again and again. More women should really try the Domme lifestyle. A man genetically programmed to want to sexually service a woman and be her willing slave? She had yet to find the downside.

  Settling between her open thighs, Lance stroked her legs, massaged her stomach and hips.

  “Toys are in the drawer,” Nora said. “And lube. Anything you want. You don’t have to use them, but in case you were wondering...”

  Lance raised his eyebrow and tentatively opened the drawer of her nightstand. He looked in the drawer and his eyes widened hugely before looking back at her. He stuck his hand in the drawer, winced, and blew on his fingers as if something had burned him. Nora covered her face and laughed again. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed so hard in bed with a man. Usually it was get in, get kinky, get laid and get out. Or with Søren it was get in, cry, get beaten, cry, get laid, try not to cry when she remembered how much she missed him, and get out.

  With his hand playing the part of a creeping spider, Lance slowly and carefully dipped his hand once more into the drawer.

  “Lube and a vibrator?” she asked. “You take this orgasm stuff seriously, don’t you?”

  Lance nodded. He held three fingers up.

  “Is that what you’re putting in me?” she asked, pointing at his hand.

  He shook his head in a “no.”

  “Is that how many times you’re going to get me off?”

  This time he nodded.

  “Groovy,” she said and fluffed her pillow behind her head. “Go for it.”

  He went for it. First he did nothing but touch her with his bare hands. He slid two fingers into her and she sighed as he pushed deep, probing her. He widened her with his fingertips, and found the most secret places inside her, even going far enough in to lightly touch her cervix.

  He pulled his fingers out but only long enough to pour some lubricant on them before going back in. Now instead of two fingers, he pushed in three. Three and then four. And with his thumb he teased her clitoris.

  Heat pooled in her stomach and she knew Lance could feel it radiating between her thighs. She loved the touch of a man’s hand inside her, opening her up in different ways, turning her inside out with pleasure. Lance moved his hand with a spiraling motion, spiraling in and out again, in and out. She wanted to beg for release, but she remembered that she was the Dominant partner here and had to act like it. So instead of begging, she ordered.

  “Lance, if you don’t stop teasing me, I will get out the butt plugs and the hot sauce.”

  That threat did the trick. Lance pressed against her swollen clitoris and rubbed it. Nora raised her hips and came hard around his hand.

  She held up one finger.

  “One down, two to go,” she said. Lance gave her a smile so male, so ar
rogant she almost had a multiple orgasm.

  He held up two fingers in a peace sign. He didn’t seem the least intimidated by the prospect of giving her two more. She did like her men dexterous and confident. A fantastic combination.

  While she recovered from her first orgasm, Lance massaged her stomach before turning his attentions to her breasts. He rolled her nipples between his fingers and thumbs until the peaks had turned ruddy and hard. She closed her eyes as he toyed with her breasts. Every time he pinched her nipples, new ecstasy spiked into her stomach and made her hyperaware of her clitoris. When she started to pant again, Lance stopped and turned on the vibrator.

  Nora kept her eyes closed as he slid the vibrator into her. He’d chosen the largest, thickest one in the drawer and her body opened, stretching to take it all in. The low buzz of it sent delicious waves of heat deep into her. Lance needed to do nothing except gently tease her clitoris to bring her to a second, even more powerful orgasm.

  After her second climax of their game peaked and waned, Nora almost called off number three.

  “If you make me come again it might kill off the last of whatever brain cells I have left,” she warned Lance. Those two orgasms had been face-meltingly good.

  Lance gave a nonchalant shrug as if he couldn’t care less that her I.Q. dropped precipitously for every intense climax he gave her. According to the tests she had I.Q. points to spare. Why not?

  “Well, you used your fingers and you used a vibrator. What tricks do you have up your sleeve for number three?” she asked.

  Using both hands Lance motioned her to flip over. She gave him a suspicious look before complying.

  Lance lifted her hips so she had to come up on her knees. Then with both hands he parted her thighs. Resting on her elbows Nora felt him moving to sit right before her.

  “Just hands,” she reminded him. “No mouth or cock.”

  He spread her thighs even wider. Nora arched her back and waited. Once more she heard the flipping of the lid on the lubricant but this time Lance poured out a copious amount into his palm.

  She had a mirror on the back of her closet door. With her head turned she could watch what he did to her. Nothing better than starring in and watching porn at the same time.