“That’s because they don’t want to advertise that you can leave. They’re afraid of a rush for the doors.” Mark sounded as angry as he had looked earlier. What had she told him about her past that pushed him over the edge?
“How many nuns have left in the time you’ve been at St. Agnes?”
“Maybe three. Most of us there truly feel it’s where we belong. If not for both of you, I would be going back thinking the same.”
“You have really thought about this, haven’t you?” Mark asked. “Jordan and I don’t want to be the reason you leave. It has to be what you want for yourself, not what you think we want for you.”
“Mark’s right. As much as we love you and want you with us, a step this huge has to be your desire.”
To Mark she said, “It’s all I have been thinking about. And yes” —she turned to Jordan— “it is what I want. It’s just that, without the two of you, I would still be afraid to see the world as something I deserve. I thank you for that, no matter what happens.”
The rain made the only sound heard in the room for several minutes. Mark used his cane to stand. “I think we have plenty enough food to keep Jordan from getting soaked. I’ll fix something for us.”
“Do you need help?” Catherine asked.
“No thanks. I need to use my foot a bit. You two stay there.”
After he left the room, Jordan held out his hand. “Come here.”
Catherine took his hand and rose to stand before him. His hair had dried from his shower, but hers was beginning to curl with the dampness left from hers. She smelled fresh and clean, and he ached to give her everything she wanted out of life.
Leaning forward, he laid his forehead on her stomach and breathed her in. She cradled his head. He ran his hands under her prim and proper skirt until he reached her panties, which he knew to be virginal white. Pulling them below her ankles, he held onto her hips while she stepped out of them. Kissing her through her clothing, he still felt her heat, still recognized the catch in her breathing and knew when her heart began to race.
“Do you have something to put on?” she asked hoarsely. Jordan nodded, still braced against her. “Let me have it.”
Where had she learned how to command in their sex games? He loved that she took the initiative. From his shirt pocket, he handed her the square wrapper and then leaned back and opened his trousers. Arching his back, he pushed them to his knees and then waited.
She looked at him, studied his cock as a boy examines a new toy to see how best to play. Then she sheathed him, taking care to stroke his entire length and squeeze the root. He needn’t have wished she would straddle him—she did it as though she read his desires telepathically. And then she drove him crazy by rubbing her pussy across the head of his dick. Fire licked his balls when her skirt swished across them with every move. Flames chased desire through his veins until, just before he was ready to force her onto him, she sank over him on her own.
She unbuttoned her blouse and pulled it out from the waistband, exposing her tits held beneath one of her mother’s silk slips. He’d been shocked to find her breasts bound under her habit, rather than held in a bra. As in everything else, she must be slighter than her mother in bras, too, because she hadn’t worn one since shedding her nun’s clothing.
Jordan took one nipple into his open mouth and breathed on it, then sucked. She thrashed her hips, rising and falling faster with each passing moment. He grasped her hips and guided her to a more steady rhythm, but she fought him with the coming of her climax.
Mark came back into the room. He stood beside and slightly behind her, so he could cover her breasts with his hands. He circled her nipples with his thumbs. Holding onto Jordan’s shoulders, she pressed her head to Mark’s groin, turning to his zipper as though seeking something, as a baby seeks its mother’s nipple. Mark undid his pants and set his cock free. Catherine licked the head, and Mark guided it farther into her mouth.
Jordan pulled her skirt away so he could see his cock pounding into her and then looked up to see Mark’s cock disappearing a couple of inches into her mouth. She truly was theirs, and they would never let her go.
She came with spasms that had him shaking. He came with the force of a young boy just learning how to fuck. Mark withdrew from her mouth and jacked off while watching her pussy contract over Jordan’s cock. He’d read of these kinds of scenes in underground Victorian sex novels but never thought he’d be part of one.
This is your new life, boy. And he couldn’t be more excited.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“What the hell are you doing here?” Brendan Tipton had been out. It so happened that Jordan followed him up his driveway.
Jordan didn’t expect Tipton to greet him any other way, and it was fine. He was in no mood for niceties. “I want to know about you and Emma Jacobsen and my father.”
Tipton stared for a moment and then grinned. “Well, it’s about time you figured it out. Come on, we’ll talk.”
Jordan didn’t like the way the conversation was starting already, but he was determined to get the truth out, no matter what it cost him.
They went through to Tipton’s study. “Don’t disturb us,” he called out to someone in the vestibule. He went to the credenza. Tossing his hat onto a chair, he asked, “Want a drink? Oh, that’s right. You don’t drink this early in the morning.”
“I’ll take whiskey, straight.”
Tipton raised his brows. “My, my, we are upset.” He handed Jordan the drink, and he slugged it back. Like liquid fire, the whiskey went down with a good burn. Handing the empty glass to Tipton, he asked for another. Then Tipton settled into his chair and propped his feet on the edge of the desk. “What do you want to know?”
“Start at the beginning.”
“Okay. Your dad and I went to Harvard together. Hometown boys making good. I came back to take over the family farm, he came back three years later with a law degree. And a few proclivities.”
“Meaning what?”
“He liked prostitutes. He liked being in charge, having control. We called him the Lion of Harvard, because he ruled the house where we lived. Not with an iron hand exactly, but most kowtowed to him. He had a presence, and he used it to his advantage.”
Tipton stopped to appreciate the whiskey. “After he’d been back for a while, he started taking cases all up and down the coast. A winning attorney can build a name for himself, and Bob did that in spades. On one of his trips he visited a whorehouse, where he met a pretty young girl. There was something about Emma. You might have met her, but you never knew her, so you can’t understand what I mean.”
“Catherine is like that, even raised in a convent.”
“Ah. I thought she would be. It’s an innate sensuality. Emma hadn’t been whoring long enough to be jaded and old. He brought her back and installed her in the cottage. I didn’t even know he owned the place until he came to me with a proposition. Our own little whorehouse, with our own special whore. Once I met her, it was too good to pass up. We went in on all expenses. And let me tell you, she wasn’t cheap. But she was worth every penny. I actually miss her.”
“But she had a daughter.”
“Yes, the kid.”
A sickening thought formed in Jordan’s mind. He thought for a moment he would vomit Tipton’s expensive whiskey all over his expensive carpet. “He wasn’t—” Say it, coward. “He wasn’t Catherine’s father, was he?”
“No. Emma already had Catherine when Leo met her. But he already had a plan for how to handle her.” Tipton held up the glass until light coming through the side window filtered through the whiskey. Colors reflected on the far wall from the amber liquid. He took another drink and then looked hard at Jordan. “You ever wonder why you were an only child? After all, everyone in town knew your family was perfect and loving.”
This sounded like a question he’d need alcohol to get through. Jordan shrugged and took a healthy gulp of whiskey. “I just thought they couldn’t have more kids.”
“They couldn’t have more kids because when Bob found out you were a boy, he stopped sleeping with your mother. She’d served her purpose.”
How could that be? “They shared the same room.”
Tipton shook his head. “Adjoining rooms. As far as I know, your mother’s a virtual virgin, and your dad had no use for her. Hell, there were times he cheated on Emma. She was supposed to be the one he went to for sex, but he was a frequent customer at some of the high-class places you can find if you know where to look or who to ask. Anyway, the point to all this is that he hated kids.”
“He loved me.”
“He loved his heir.”
Jordan thought back. Had the interest in his schoolwork and his athletic prowess been a father proud of a son he loved or a man proud to stand out in the community because the boy who succeeded was a reflection of himself? He couldn’t tell anymore.
“So he came up with the idea of sending her away.”
“Bob had contacts and found out about the convent school. He convinced Emma that it would be best for the girl, and of course we would pay for everything. And he got her in. I never knew how much that cost him. As her attorney, he had a long talk with the head nun and explained what Emma was. Of course he left out his part in all of it.”
“Of course,” Jordan said wryly.
“Bob told her that it would be best if there was no contact between mother and daughter. He said he was concerned only for the girl, of her being influenced by her mother.” Tipton turned and stared into Jordan’s eyes. The man was telling the truth.
“I just found that last part out, by the way. When I first met Catherine, she said she’d received no letters. I know damn well that Emma wrote her every week. So I called the place and asked what had happened. The nun I talked to said they withheld all mail, coming and going, in order to protect Catherine from unsavory influences.”
“That was unbelievably cruel.”
“He didn’t want her coming back.”
“What if Emma got pregnant again?”
“Oh, he wore rubbers, every single time they fucked, believe me. Told me to, too, but a few times I was in rut and we did it au natural, as the French say. She was always wet and hot and ready, and that’s no lie. And daring. I swear, that woman would spread her legs for us in a crowded room full of priests.”
Not what Jordan wanted to hear. None of it. His father, whom he had loved and respected, was a monster.
“Do you have any idea why Miss Jacobsen killed herself? It’s killing Catherine to know that she did it.”
“For all her skills as a fucking partner, she didn’t have good sense when it came to her emotions. She fell head over heels for your father. He saved her from a life in a whorehouse or being on the streets, so naturally she had feelings for him. She still screwed me from now ‘til Sunday, but he was the one she hungered for.” He stopped and stared out the window before starting again. “He wasn’t good to her or even gentle, but she waited year after year for him to leave your mother. Poor thing. I guess she never knew he’d fed her a pack of lies until the end, after your dad’s heart attack. Then your mother let her have it double barrels.”
“What? What did Mother have to do with Emma?”
For the first time, Tipton looked uncomfortable. He glanced away. “Damn whiskey. Loosens the tongue, you know?” He got up and refilled his glass, sloshing more into Jordan’s, too.
“I don’t know what you can do with the information, because I have no proof other than what she told me, but you might as well know everything.”
He settled in his chair again, but not with his feet up. He cradled the glass in his hand and sat forward, leaning on the desk. He didn’t look at Jordan but kept his eyes cast toward the desk. “Your mother stayed with your dad for the money and prestige. I mean, why else would a woman stay with a man who makes it clear he doesn’t want anything to do with her? But she grew balls during that time, let me tell you. Big brass balls. She knew about Emma. After Bob died, she went down to the cottage and confronted her in the yard. Years of bitterness over being left alone while Emma had Bob’s attention came out. She shouted and screamed, and I think she had a gun, because she told me she threatened Emma with something she couldn’t fight back against. And she said she cornered her against that useless fence on the cliff and just…pushed.”
The words didn’t even register with Jordan. She pushed? Pushed what? He must have looked confused, because when Tipton looked up, he shook his head and gave a mirthless smile.
“Your father held his mistress over his wife’s head, and his wife killed said mistress. Is that clear enough?”
Jordan shook his head, feeling like a marionette being maneuvered by strings. “That can’t be true.”
“That’s what she told me when they buried Emma’s body. It washed ashore about fifteen miles down the coast. ‘Course, there wasn’t much to bury. I was there, so was your cook, that Negress. Your mother had been in the woods watching. I was still there when she came out and spit on the grave. That was when she told me. Ask her. But there’s no proof you can use to do anything.” He knocked back the whiskey in his glass. “Wouldn’t be surprised if your dad’s heart attack was no accident, either. I tell you, that woman has balls.”
Jordan emptied his glass. “Is there anything else? I want to know all of it.”
“That’s it.”
Jordan nodded and stood. Three whiskeys was more than he usually drank in a month, but the adrenaline from anger and disbelief had kept him sober. He had to get home. No, not home, not home ever again. Now it was just his mother’s house.
At the door, he turned. “Did you love Emma? Did anyone love Emma?”
Tipton tilted his head and thought. “Catherine.”
* * * *
“Mother, I want to talk to you.” Jordan’s anger had built on the way from Tipton’s house to his mother’s. The pouring rain reflected the way he felt inside—doomed and adrift.
“I thought you might, after seeing Brendan.” No longer knitting, she still sat before the fire, this time with a sherry glass filled with the amber liquid. He smelled alcohol from half a room away. Turned out, this was the perfect morning for drinking.
“Tipton told me a great deal I didn’t know about my own family. I feel foolish and ashamed about my father. But if he’s telling the truth, you’ve topped even dear old Dad.”
“He told you that I killed the bitch, and I did. I took your father’s pistol and I went there to shoot her, but she made my life so much easier by backing away from me in the direction of the cliff. I used only one finger to push her backward and over the fence. My middle finger.”
Jordan covered his face and then scrubbed his cheeks with his palms. He’d stepped through the rabbit hole.
“Who else knows about this?”
She looked up at him. “Brendan, you, and me. Brendan won’t do anything about it. I’m sure as hell not going to run to the sheriff. So that puts the burden squarely on you, Jordan. Are you going to turn in your mama for killing a slut who captured your father’s attention for two and a half decades of my time?”
“Mother, you killed a woman. I’m an officer of the court. I have to say something.”
She shrugged as though he’d just told her he needed to do laundry. “You can’t prove a thing, so go ahead and make a fool of yourself if you want to. I’m glad I did it. She stole my husband from me.” She sipped her sherry, nonchalance evident in every lazy gesture and comfortable pose. “The interesting thing is, no one in town even knows Robert and she were fucking.”
Jordan wanted to cover his ears and run away. His mother had always exuded the attitude of a lady, not a murderer who used fuck offhandedly.
“He covered his tracks well for as long as he was screwing her. Remarkable, isn’t it?”
“What’s fucking remarkable is that all these years I thought we were the perfect loving family. The perfect fucking loving family. I used to feel sorry for kids whose dads didn’t c
ome to Little League practice or whose mothers baked terrible cupcakes. Nothing compared to my family.”
“Your father came to Little League games so he could look good when you hit a home run. He didn’t go for you. He spent the games making contacts, blessing people with the joy of his presence. He even met her there at a few games. Oh, they didn’t act like lovers, just bare acquaintances, but he had no right. That was my time.” She finished the sherry in her glass and got up to pour another. “And I never baked a cupcake in my life. Mandy did all that.”
“It was perfect to me.” He dropped his hands and wondered what he should do next. “The other night when you were forgetting Dad was dead, I felt sorry for you. I thought you loved him.”
Turning, she stared at him. She looked old but younger than she had a week ago. Her eyes were brighter and her posture more regal—more like the mother he remembered before his father’s death. Maybe the Catholics had it right and confession was good for the body, if not—in this case—the soul.
“Did Dad really have a heart attack?”
“Yes.”
“A natural heart attack. Without any help.”
She laughed. “Are you suggesting I helped him along?”
“Did you?”
She ran her finger around the edge of the glass and swayed her head left and right. “There are natural substances that can bring about heart attacks. Some grow wild right here in Oregon. Did you know that?”
His stomach clenched. He didn’t want to ask anything else, he didn’t want to know anything else. But he had to know one more thing.
“Based on what Tipton said, Dad didn’t love Emma Jacobsen. Why would he ask for a divorce?”
“Why do you think? He found another little chippie down in California. He said he was in love. I didn’t give a shit.” She sighed. “Look, Jordan, I loved the life your father gave me. It wasn’t fair of him to try to take it away. It was bad enough putting up with a whore living in my own town, but a divorce? I’d rather see him dead.”
Seducing Their Nun [Unlikely Bedfellows 1] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Page 18