The Last Good Knight

by Tiffany Reisz

  one scandal away from excommunication. That he played only with consenting adult partners wouldn’t even factor into the equation. That Lance had zero desire to hurt any woman on earth didn’t factor into the equation, either. “Do you ever get to see her?”

  Lance nodded. “We get to talk on the phone once a week. Twice a year I get to see her. Amber lets me see her for a couple hours on Maya’s birthday and on Christmas Eve. I don’t get to take her anywhere. Amber hovers the entire time watching us. I brought her some cookies my mom had made the last time I saw her at Christmas. They had nuts in them so she refused to eat them. I didn’t know she hated nuts. What kind of father doesn’t know his daughter hates nuts in her cookies?”

  Lance finished his coffee and sat the cup down far more gently than Nora had.

  “I was thinking about this while I was in the kitchen with the judge’s wife. Your first client today was a family court judge. I lost custody of my daughter in family court because of kinky porn. And there’s a judge who sees a Dominatrix once a week. Funny, right?”

  “Hilarious,” she said entirely without mirth.

  “I can’t be mad.” Lance sat back in his chair. “It’s my own fault. I thought I was an honorable man. I’m the kind of man who believes that a woman should feel safer if there’s a man in the room, not scared that he might try something with her. The only fistfights I’ve ever gotten into have been because some asshole tried something with a woman at a bar and someone needed to stand up for her. I think men exist on this earth to protect women and children. That’s what we’re here for. We make money to protect women and children from the elements by putting a roof over their heads and food on the table. We’re supposed to be physically strong so we can stand up for a woman or a child who’s in danger. We walk women to their cars at night and don’t turn our backs until we see the cars start. That’s what men should be. And we should never ever lay a hand on a woman or a child for any reason other than protection or affection. That was always my code, and I fucked it up.”

  “How?” Nora could barely speak over the knot in her throat. “By watching some kinky porn instead of having an affair?”

  “By letting my daughter down. I should have put her needs over my own.”

  “No. That’s not how it works. Your sexuality is none of your kid’s business. It’s not your parents’ business. It’s not the court’s business. And when your wife cuts you off for no reason, it stopped being her business. I would have killed to have had a father like you, someone who would protect me and defend me and respect me and my mom. You’re kinky. So what? You can still be an amazing dad. Saying you can’t be a good father because of your sexuality is like saying gay men or lesbians can’t be good parents. That’s absurd.”

  “Absurd or not, that’s how the courts ruled. And until I can afford a killer attorney, that’s how it will be. Unless you have a better idea?”

  Nora couldn’t answer. The only ideas she had involved beating the shit out of Lance’s ex-wife and the attorney who dragged Lance’s private fantasies into the courtroom.

  “It’s not right,” Nora said. “It’s not fair.”

  “It is what it is.” Lance raised his hands. “I haven’t given up. I’m just regrouping before the next fight.”

  They finished their coffee and returned to her car.

  “So who’s up next?” Lance asked.

  “He’s the CFO of some big computer company. Pineapple, Crabapple, something fruity. I can’t remember the name.”

  “He’s kinky?”

  “No, he’s not actually. Not really. He’s a chronic pain sufferer.”

  “And he sees a Dominatrix? That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Submitting to pain causes the body to release endorphins and other natural pain-fighting hormones. I see several guys who medicinal floggings.”

  Lance waited outside the door as Nora gave the billionaire businessman the holistic flogging of his dreams. She poured her anger and frustration at the injustice of Lance’s situation out onto her client. She left the client a thousand dollars poorer but that did nothing to help Nora’s mood.

  Lance escorted her to the car and they headed back to Connecticut. Usually she spent her weekends playing at Kingsley’s townhouse. The most interesting kinksters of the city passed through his house on a regular basis. They’d drink, they’d talk, they’d play. One time Kingsley and Søren had even gotten into something of a Dominants’ duel as they put their flogging and whipping skills to the test. A little alcohol plus a lot of male ego plus far too many beautiful women watching and applauding had made for one hell of an entertaining evening. But she knew the atmosphere at Kingsley’s would be subdued while everyone waited for news about Mistress Natasha and the man who had attacked her. So much injustice in the world, so much suffering. On days like this Nora almost wished she could have been one of those vanilla types she usually so disdained. A nice husband, a house in the country, maybe some cats and dogs. She could write and go for long walks, maybe do volunteer work. She knew she’d be bored out of her mind after a week with a life like that. But every now and then she did see the appeal of a life lived outside the Underground.

  They reached her house and Lance escorted her all the way to the door.

  “You want to come in?” she asked. “I won’t jump you. I promise we can just eat dinner and talk.”

  “I don’t know if that’s a good idea. I can’t remember the last time I wanted someone as much as I want you. We both might forget to behave ourselves.”

  Nora leaned back against her front door.

  “There are other jobs, you know, even if you lose this one,” she said.

  “This one pays better than anything I could get right now that isn’t a desk job.”

  “Money troubles?”

  “No. I’m just saving up to buy a really good lawyer and go another round with my ex-wife.”

  “I’d like to go a round with her. I have a vicious right cross I’d like her to meet.”

  “No violence against women,” he said, wagging his finger at her. “Not even ex-wives. But I would pay good money to see you walk up to her and tell her we had sex.”

  “Oh, I’d tell her. I’d tell her how good in bed you are and how she doesn’t even know what she’s missing. And that she can have fun being frigid while I’m riding her ex-husband’s amazing cock every night of my life...”

  “Got a tape recorder on you? I’d like you to say that again. Just for me, though. And maybe my voice mail message.”

  Nora reached out and grabbed Lance by his jacket lapels.

  “Please...” she said, pulling him a couple inches closer. “Stay with me tonight. King won’t know.”

  “But I’ll know. I made him a promise I would protect you without letting anything get in the way of that. And anyway, once they catch that bastard, I won’t be on guard duty anymore. We can pick up where we left off.”

  “Promise?” She raised her hand to his handsome face, stroked the stubble on his chin.

  “On my honor as a seaman,” he said, kissing the back of her hand.

  She tore herself away from him and went inside her house. She didn’t make it much farther than the front door, however. Once she’d closed it behind her, she waited. It took almost two whole minutes before she heard Lance’s boots heading down her front porch steps. Nice to know he was as reluctant to leave her as she was reluctant to let him go.

  Finally she heard the engine starting and Lance driving away. With a heavy heart Nora looked around her house and found its emptiness almost unbearable. No, not almost. Entirely unbearable. She needed something, someone, safety and comfort, and distraction. She needed an amazing distraction. She ran up to her bedroom and changed from her fetish-wear into more normal clothes—a plain black skirt, black sweater, stockings and low-heeled black boots. She threw on her coat and headed out again, knowing her destination before even admitting it to herself.

  Forty minutes later she arrived, parking her car whe
re no one would see it and its telltale SAY OUCH vanity plate.

  She prayed he would be home and her prayer was answered. She knocked and he opened the door, greeting her with only a raised eyebrow and not a word.

  She didn’t bother with a greeting, either. She merely stepped past him and walked into his house like she owned the place.

  If she couldn’t have Lance, she’d have the one and only man who she wanted more than him tonight.

  Søren.

  * * * * *

  The Last Good Knight

  Part III: The Games Destiny Plays

  Tiffany Reisz

  An Original Sinners Story

  Told in Five Parts

  The Last Good Knight: An Original Sinners novella told in five parts.

  Part III: The Games Destiny Plays

  Shocked to see Nora’s bruises, Lance is furious that she put herself in danger and demands to know where she got them. As Nora confesses her true nature, she’s equally shocked to learn that Lance has some secrets of his own, drawing them together despite Kingsley’s orders....

  Contents

  The Games Destiny Plays

  “Don’t look at me like that,” Nora said as she stepped into his kitchen.

  “How am I looking at you?” Søren closed the door behind her and locked it. She shucked off her coat and sat on the edge of the kitchen table.

  “Like you’ve been expecting me.”

  “I was expecting you. I knew you’d want to talk about Natasha. I saw it in your eyes last night at Kingsley’s.”

  “Ha,” she said as Søren came to her and stood in front of her. “Shows how much you know. I don’t want to talk about Natasha.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. Now late evening, he’d abandoned his clerics for normal clothes—black long-sleeved T-shirt, black jeans. Even off-duty he couldn’t get away from all black. She saw a glass of wine on the kitchen counter and smelled a fire burning in his fireplace. Briefly she wondered if she’d interrupted him entertaining someone. But no, it was one glass of wine—not two—on the counter. They were alone, and she was ashamed of her relief.

  “Is that so?” he asked. “Then what do you want to talk about, Eleanor?”

  “Nothing,” she said as she raised her mouth to him for a kiss. “Nothing at all.”

  Søren didn’t seem to care if they talked tonight or not. She kissed him first, but he kissed her harder, deeper, and with such desperate possessiveness she almost forgot she didn’t belong to him anymore—a dangerous sort of amnesia. Nora could have stopped him with a word but the only word that passed her lips came in the form of a question.

  “Bedroom?”

  “Now,” Søren ordered and in seconds they’d reached the top of his stairs. Once there he lifted her off the floor, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, her legs around his back. As a Dominatrix she had to be strong, all the time. Men submitted to her, feared her, knelt at her feet and worshipped her. Tonight she needed to be his, needed to submit, needed to be the one on her knees. So she’d come to Søren, the one man she gave up her power to, if only for the night.

  “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.