The Last Good Knight (The Original Sinners Pulp Library)

by Tiffany Reisz

  She started humming.

  “Kingsley didn’t say I had to guard you when you weren’t working, did he?”

  “What was that? I didn’t hear you over my humming?”

  “I said—”

  Nora started humming again.

  “Nora.”

  “If I flashed you my breasts would you be shocked into forgetting this line of questioning?”

  “I’ve already seen your breasts,” Lance reminded her.

  “Dammit.”

  “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that wouldn’t work. I’m just saying I’ve already seen them.”

  Nora got off the couch and came to stand in front of Lance. She pulled her T-shirt off over her head. Underneath she was wearing a red push-up bra.

  “Nora, I was just—”

  “Too late,” she said, unhooking her bra in the front.

  Lance covered her hands with his before she could finish. “I don’t want to lose this job,” he said.

  “You think if I show you my breasts you’ll fuck me right here on the floor? ‘Yes’ is a perfectly acceptable answer.”

  “I think…” Lance took a ragged breath. “If you take off any more clothing, I’ll beg you to take me to your bedroom, and I’ll worship your body until the world ends.”

  “That’s a long time, sailor,” Nora said, pressing closer to Lance.

  “Your body deserves all the attention it can get. So please don’t ask me to pay it any more attention because I will.”

  It was moments like this that Nora wanted to curse Søren for making it impossible for her to be completely selfish 100 percent of the time like she wanted to be. Knowing Kingsley, he would ask Lance if he and Nora slept together. Knowing Lance, he’d fess up. Lance would get fired. Nora would get a slap on the wrist.

  “Fucking conscience,” Nora sighed. “Always cock-blocking me.”

  “Pesky thing, consciences,” Lance agreed.

  “Yes, I would be a much happier person—” Nora fastened her bra and bent over to scoop up her T-shirt.

  “Nora, what the fuck?” Lance grabbed her by the arm so quickly she flinched.

  “Jesus, what?”

  “What happened to you?” He spun her around and Nora groaned.

  She pulled her arm out of Lance’s grasp. “Nothing. Just kink.”

  “Kink? That’s not kink. You got the shit beat out of you. Those welts are deep. Who did this to you?” he demanded.

  “Nobody you know. I wasn’t mugged. I played last night.”

  Nora pulled her T-shirt on.

  “Played with who? Vlad the Impaler?”

  “He’s not into impaling. Not even he is that kinky. Wait, what kind of impaling are we talking about?”

  “Nora, I’m not joking. Your back is a mass of bruises.”

  “Yeah, so what? Take your shirt off. Show me your bruises.”

  “I know what my back looks like. That’s not the point.”

  Nora crossed her arms over her chest. “I think it is the point. It’s okay for me to beat the shit out of you, but I’m not allowed to submit to the same kind of pain?”

  “No, it’s not okay. You’re a woman. You don’t play that hard on women.”

  “Are you judging me?”

  “I’m judging him.”

  “It was a woman,” Nora lied. She raised her chin and gave Lance her coldest, most dominant stare. “What are you going to do now? Go beat up a woman on my behalf?”

  “You just said, ‘He’s not into impaling.’ Was it a man or a woman you played with?”

  “I never asked. Personal question, you know.”

  Lance turned his back on her and sat down hard on the couch. His posture was tense, his jaw clenched with anger.

  “Lance?” Nora sat down next to him. “I’m a switch. I don’t tell people that. I mean, everyone in the Underground knows I used to be a sub. They think I’m an ex-sub or former sub. Kingsley calls me a ‘reformed sub.’”

  “Not so reformed, I guess.”

  Nora laughed ruefully. “Yeah, I still sub sometimes. Only with one person, though. He’s special. What we were was special.”

  “How special?”

  “Sometimes he calls me, tells me he needs me, and I go to him. I left him, but…sometimes I forget that for an hour or two. Sometimes I forget for the whole night.”

  “Is that what happened last night? He needed you?”

  Nora grasped her hands between her knees. “No,” she admitted. “I went to him. I needed him.”

  “For pain?”

  “For…everything.”

  “You slept with him.”

  It wasn’t a question, so she didn’t bother answering it.

  “Can’t have you, right? Not until they find that asshole who knocked Natasha out. A girl’s got needs.” She plucked at a loose thread on the faded jeans she lived in on her days off. “You think I’m a slut?”

  Lance laughed loudly, so loudly it surprised her. “I think you forgot that I was in the Navy. Once upon a Fleet Week…Well, you know.”

  “Oh, I know Fleet Week. Except the women in the Underground don’t call it Fleet Week. We call it ‘Christmas in May.’”

  “Trust me, this sailor is not going to judge you for having sex with two different men in one week. You’d have to do triple that to beat my record.”

  “Six men in one week? You deserve a medal.”

  “Six women,” he corrected, shooting her a dirty look. “But you get the point.”

  “Damn.” Even Nora had to be impressed by six.

  “I was young.”

  “I wanna be that young. Can I be that young?”

  Lance rubbed his forehead and groaned a little. The groan turned into a laugh.

  “I’m sorry.” Lance finally at up straight again. “I didn’t mean to overreact. I…I just don’t like the thought of someone hurting you.”

  “I promise, it was consensual. It’s always consensual with him. I like pain just like you do. I like sex just like you do. And just like you do, I don’t like it when I’m judged for what I’m into.”

  “Point taken. Point very well taken.” He sighed and leaned back, sinking into the couch cushions. “So you’re a switch? I would never have guessed, not in a million years.”

  “I’m a damn good domme, aren’t I?”

  “You are. I can’t even picture you kneeling in front of some jackass man.”

  “He’s not a jackass. Even when I’m standing I might as well be kneeling.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he’s eight feet tall.”

  She gave him a wink and Lance laughed again, this time in shock. “The priest?”

  “The priest,” she admitted. “He was my first dominant. First lover. First everything that mattered. Don’t go thinking anything sick or weird, though. I was twenty before we had sex the first time, before he beat me the first time.”

  “What’s that old line—‘Methinks the lady doth protest too much’?”

  “Just stating the facts.”

  “I want to kill him. That’s a fact.”

  “Get in line,” Nora said. “You have a lot of competition for that privilege. Mainly from me.”

  “Love-hate relationship?”

  “Mostly hate these days.”

  “Is he as much of an asshole as I hope he is?”

  “No,” she said with a sigh. “He’s just very good at playing one when he’s in the mood.”

  “Then why all the hate?”

  Nora weighed her words. She could give Lance the usual bullshit answers. Søren was a total hard-ass as a dominant—true. He loved playing mind games—also true. He’s a sadist who couldn’t get aroused without causing pain or severe humiliation—very true. But still…none of those were reasons to hate him. Not for her anyway. And Lance deserved better than a half-truth or a full lie.

  “Hate’s like lube,” she finally said. “Makes it easier to get in and get out. If it was all love with Søren, if I didn’t make mysel
f hate him, I don’t think I could get out again.”

  Lance looked at her and, although it took all her willpower, she managed not to turn away from his intense stare. With her answer, she’d let him see a part of her soul she rarely shared with anyone, the part that still loved Søren even though she didn’t want to. In the Underground, she played the part of the invincible dominatrix perfectly. Even leaving Søren had become part of her legend, her mythos. She’d defeated the dominant of dominants by leaving him and his collar behind. At the club, she and Søren treated each other like equals, like rivals. It was Sheriff Pat Garrett versus Billy the Kid down there sometimes and everyone did love an outlaw. Søren stood for law and order in the Underground. Nora caused as much playful chaos as she could. And no one knew how often Nora returned to Søren’s bed by cover of darkness and slipped out again before sunrise.

  Now Lance knew and knowing he knew lifted a weight off her shoulders, one she didn’t know she’d been carrying.

  “It’s hard to pretend to be something you’re not,” Lance said, taking her hand in his and rubbing her palm in a manner both soothing and erotic. “The guys I served with, they thought I was old-fashioned the way I treated women. They didn’t know what I really was. They wouldn’t have understood.”

  “I understand.”

  They said nothing for a moment, a long moment that allowed for the temperature in the room to rise, Nora’s heart to beat faster, and the hunger for each other to build. Nora leaned forward to kiss Lance, not giving a damn anymore what Kingsley had decreed. Lance didn’t seem to care anymore, either. Cupping the back of Nora’s head, he brought his mouth to hers. But before their lips could touch a sound like a klaxon broke the moment in half.

  “Fuck…” Nora growled.

  “What the hell is that?”

  “My hotline. Kingsley set the ringtone to something I couldn’t ignore. Now I can’t figure out how to change it.”

  She got up and grabbed her hotline phone off the charger in the kitchen. “This better be good,” she said to Kingsley, now in no mood for polite hellos.

  “It’s good. I promise it’s very good.”

  Nora wrote down the information Kingsley gave her and hung up. She returned to the living room and found Lance waiting by the door, his leather jacket back on, keys in his hand.

  “Kink emergency?” he asked.

  “How did you guess? I’ll be ready in ten.”

  Nora changed into her fetish-wear and this time let Lance do the driving. They valet-parked at an exclusive hotel near Gramercy Park.

  “So what now?” Lance asked as they left the car. “We just walk in the front door?”

  “We just walk in the front door. We look nice and vanilla.” Nora had put on a black trench that covered up every inch of anything interesting on her. From the outside, she looked like any other rich Manhattanite who didn’t want to get rained on. Under the coat, she looked like a cross between Bettie Page and Marlene Dietrich with a little carnival barker thrown in for shits and giggles.

  They got on the elevator and headed to the seventeenth floor.

  “You’ll need to wait outside the room. I’ll be done in an hour.”

  “What’s on the menu today?” Lance asked as the elevator doors closed.

  “Some famous actor I’ve never heard of,” she said, checking her notes. “Wants a good beating. Kingsley says he’s a total asshole who’s notoriously mean to his assistants. Beating the shit out of him should be fun. I might even make him confess his sins.”

  “Good times. Be safe,” he said when they got to the door of the hotel suite.

  Nora reached under a newspaper left lying outside the door and picked up a keycard. “Don’t worry. I’ve got this one under control.”

  She gave him a wink before sliding the card through the lock and slipping into the room.

  She found her client sitting on the edge of the bed, shirtless and smiling. He had a good body and a vaguely familiar face.

  “Kingsley tells me you’re famous,” she said, dropping her toy bag on the floor and tossing her coat aside.

  “I am. Very famous.” He leaned back resting on his hands. “Want to see my Oscar?”

  “Never met a man who named his cock Oscar before.”

  “I meant my Academy Award.”

  “Oh, then no.”

  Her client blanched and Nora smiled. God, she did love putting the rich and famous in their place. And their place was, of course, at her feet.

  “It’s a big deal to get an Oscar,” he protested.

  “Yeah, well, I have no idea who the fuck you are and I don’t give a damn about your Grammy.”

  “Oscar.”

  “And quite frankly, I don’t care who you are. But I hear you’re an asshole who treats his assistants like shit, and I think you’re probably going to have to be punished for that. Say ‘Yes, Mistress’ if you agree.”

  He swallowed hard.

  “Yes, Mistress.”

  “Good boy. Now get naked and bend over the table. Let’s find out how an Oscar-winner screams.”

  She quickly found out how an Oscar-winner screams. Loudly and without shame. Luckily the walls were soundproof; otherwise, she might have hotel security banging on the door. She’d learned that lesson the hard way.

  After an hour, her Oscar-winner had turned into a puddle of blissed-out goo at her feet. He kissed her boots, declared his undying devotion, and begged her to let him see her again next weekend.

  “I might consider it,” she said. “But only if I check the newspaper and see that you’ve issued a public apology to your assistants.”

  “Done,” he pledged. “I’ll do it today.”

  “Good. Now get the fuck off my feet.”

  Her client pulled a bathrobe on and walked her to the door. “My new assistant is outside,” he said. “He’ll walk you out.”

  “How gallant…of your assistant.”

  She stepped back into the hallway and found Lance and another man waiting in the hallway. The other man had about five inches on Lance and at least fifty pounds.

  “You don’t have to walk me out,” Nora told the heavy. “I have my own babysitter.”

  “That’s fine,” he said. “I do have to frisk you first.”

  “Frisk me? I don’t think so,” Nora said. “You can check my bag to make sure I didn’t steal any ashtrays, but the body’s off-limits.”

  “Have to do it,” the bodyguard said. “Don’t want any pictures out there.”

  “Look, the lady said don’t touch her.” Lance stepped between them. “This woman’s a professional. She doesn’t take pictures of clients.”

  “I’d hardly be beating the shit out of Oscar-winners if I couldn’t be trusted not to blow their covers, now could I?” Nora chided in her most patronizing voice. “I don’t have a camera on me. Your boss’s little secrets are safe. We’re leaving.”

  She turned around but stopped when a big heavy hand clapped down on her shoulder with enough force to make her knees buckle.

  “Excuse me—” she started to say but all words became unnecessary when Lance grabbed the bodyguard by the forearm. In seconds Lance had the man on his stomach, his arm twisted behind his back.

  “You touch her again and you lose this arm,” Lance said, his voice calm but menacing.

  “Get the fuck off me.” The bodyguard tried to rise up and Lance slammed him back down again.

  “You fight like a bouncer. In other words, you’re a shitty fighter. So stop trying or I’ll dislocate your shoulder for the fun of it.”

  “That is fun,” Nora agreed. “Especially when you pop it back in again.”

  “You ready to go, Mistress?” Lance asked.

  “I was ready five minutes ago.”

  “Then let’s go. You,” Lance said to the man underneath him, “you stay here. I’ll walk the lady out.”

  “What lady? You mean the slut in the black boots over there?”

  Lance sighed. With one jerk of his arm, he popped
the man’s arm out of his shoulder socket. The man screamed even louder than his boss did.

  “Put his shoulder back in right this second.” Nora rolled her eyes.

  “Anything you say, Mistress.” With another jerk, he popped it back and the man screamed again.

  Lance stood up and left the man on the floor writhing in pain. Arm in arm she and Lance walked toward the elevator.

  The elevator doors closed and she and Lance dissolved into laughter.

  “Thanks for taking care of that big dumb behemoth for me. Does he not realize ‘slut’ is a compliment in our world?”

  “The bigger they are, the harder they fall. I probably shouldn’t have dislocated his shoulder.”

  Nora shrugged. “Kingsley once sanded a guy who got too handsy with one of the submissives.”

  “Sanded? Like with sandpaper on sensitive parts of the male anatomy?” Lance winced.

  “No, that would have been barbaric.”

  “That’s a relief.”

  “He used an electric sander.”

  Nora and Lance swung by Kingsley’s for lunch and put Mr. Oscar-Winner on the no-play list. Kingsley had a strict one-strike-and-you’re-out policy for clients. One misstep and they lost any chance to play with his employees, ever. Too bad. The guy had been a decent tipper.

  After lunch, they drove back to her house in Westport where Nora changed back into normal clothes again.

  “I hope that wasn’t a total waste of an afternoon,” Lance said as she returned to the living room back in her jeans and T-shirt. She got two beers out of her fridge—Achel Extra Blonde—and handed one to Lance. She kept the other for herself.

  “And milady’s a beer drinker, too,” Lance said with a heavy wistful sigh.

  “Only rare European beers brewed by monks,” she said. “Friend of mine made me try it while we were in Belgium.”

  “Good stuff,” Lance said, after taking a long drink.

  “Thanks for taking care of that asshole today. I don’t like admitting this, but he did scare me.”

  “Scared me, too,” Lance admitted.

  “You put him on his face and dislocated his shoulder.”

  “He could have done the same to me if he knew what he was doing.”

  “I’m still impressed.”

  “Dick-swinging bravado impresses you?”