And with that, Sutherlin took one step back. And another. Then she turned on her heel and walked out of the church.
Suzanne took a deep breath. She raised her hand and found it shaking. War zones, she reminded herself. She’d been in war zones. This woman shouldn’t terrify her.
Determined to get a shred of her dignity back, Suzanne ran from the sanctuary and saw Nora Sutherlin heading toward a Porsche that had pulled up to the curb.
“Wait!” Suzanne called out and Sutherlin turned around.
“Yes?”
“Just one more question…please.”
Sutherlin smirked.
“One more. But make it a good one.”
Suzanne nodded.
“What’s he like…you know, in bed? I have to know. I’ve never been so attracted to someone in my life. And I’ll never get to be with him. Can you just tell me that?”
Sutherlin looked positively shocked by the question.
“In bed? Me and Søren? We aren’t sleeping together,” Sutherlin said.
“But…but I asked you if you were. And you said not to ask questions I already knew the answer to.”
Sutherlin nodded.
“Exactly. Of course we aren’t lovers.” Sutherlin slid on a pair of chic black sunglasses. “He’s a priest. That’s gross.”
Once more Sutherlin turned on her heel and walked away. This time Suzanne let her go.
She watched as Sutherlin reached the Porsche. Two men got out of the car. No, not two men. One man and one teenage boy. The man was Griffin Fiske. And the teenage boy was… Suzanne narrowed her eyes at him. A beautiful young man, whoever he was. Almost angelic in appearance. Shoulder-length black hair, eyes so brightly silver she could see them shining from ten feet away, pale skin, thin but only in that teenage boy way…even his wrists still had that teenage boy delicateness to them. Suzanne looked more closely at his wrists and saw they bore gauze bandages. Bandages? She made the connection finally. Michael Dimir—the boy who’d slit his wrists in the sanctuary—he would be seventeen now. Griffin Fiske and Nora Sutherlin gave each other a quick kiss as the boy, Michael, unwrapped the gauze from his wrists. Sutherlin gave his wrists a thumbs-up before she kissed him quickly on the lips. The boy leaned back against Griffin Fiske’s chest as Fiske wrapped an arm possessively around him.
Michael Dimir…with Griffin Fiske? What the hell…
“Jesus, what kind of church is this?” Suzanne asked herself out loud.
“My church,” said a familiar voice from behind her.
Suzanne only smiled as Nora Sutherlin patted the boy, Michael Dimir, on the cheek. She looked back, raised her sunglasses, gave Suzanne an arrogant wink and headed toward a BMW in the parking lot.
“Do you ever just want to beat the hell out of the woman?” Suzanne asked.
Father Stearns released a heavy, much put-upon sigh.
“Every day of my life.”
Laughing, Suzanne turned around and faced him. She found him holding a small but exquisite bouquet of white roses.
“For me?” she teased.
“No.” The slight smile left his face and he gave her a look of the deepest compassion. “For Adam. I think it’s time you visited your brother’s grave.”
Suzanne fell silent. Her throat clenched. Tears welled in her eyes.
“I will go with you. You won’t be alone,” Father Stearns said as he handed her the flowers. Suzanne held them to her chest.
“Okay,” she whispered. She looked up at him and tried to smile through her tears. “He’s buried—”
“I know where he is. I also know where he’s buried. We’ll go now. I’ll meet you there.”
Suzanne couldn’t even speak to thank him. She merely headed to her car and drove to the city cemetery where the family had laid her brother to rest. Public ground. Unconsecrated ground. When she made it to the graveside, Father Stearns was already there with his perfectly blond head bowed in silent prayer.
“I still hate the Church for refusing him a Catholic burial,” Suzanne admitted as she laid the flowers on the grave. While on her knees she pulled some stray weeds off the tombstone.
Adam Gabriel Kanter. Born July 3, 1978, died November 1, 2006. The Lord hath given him rest from all his enemies. II Samuel 7:1
“I can’t blame you,” Father Stearns said. “But I can help there.”
Suzanne looked up and saw Father Stearns pull a vial of water out of his pocket. He opened it and sprinkled it over the ground.
Holy water.
Suzanne added her own tears to the holy water that he poured onto the ground.
“You’ll pray for him, won’t you?” Suzanne asked. “I can’t. I just can’t believe enough to pray. But it would mean something to me if you did.”
“I will pray for him and for you, Suzanne, every day.”
“I’ll never see you again, will I?”
Father Stearns didn’t smile.
“I think our paths were meant to cross. And perhaps it’s best they do not cross again. Not in this life anyway.”
Suzanne took the hint.
“Thank you…for everything. For Adam. For being a good priest, a good man.”
“I’m as human and as fallible as anyone. But thank you. Your faith in me is heartening. Maybe someday you’ll find your faith in Him again.”
“Maybe,” she said. “But don’t hold your breath.”
Father Stearns nodded. He reached out and caressed the arch of her cheekbone.
“Goodbye, Suzanne. If you ever truly need me, you know where to find me.”
“War zones,” she reminded him with a smile. “I can take care of myself.”
His fingers grazed her lips like the softest kiss.
“I know you can.”
He dropped his hand and started to walk off. At the edge of a cemetery she saw a Rolls Royce waiting.
“Your trust fund,” Suzanne called out suddenly remembering one last question. “Nora Sutherlin said you gave your trust fund away. Who did you give it to?”
Father Stearns kept walking.
“Rolls Royces don’t buy themselves, do they, Suzanne?” He stopped in his tracks, turned around and winked at her before walking off again toward the Rolls.
The wink seemed so familiar. Nora Sutherlin had winked at her just like that.
Just…like…that…
And Suzanne realized she’d been had.
She stared after him, after the Catholic priest who’d single-handedly bankrolled New York’s kink Underground. The story of the century walked on and walked off. With one phone call she could ruin him, ruin the diocese, bring more shame and infamy onto the Catholic Church than all the more horrible but less torrid sex scandals combined.
“Nora Sutherlin…” she sighed as she watched the erotica writer’s lover get into the backseat of the Rolls. “You lucky fucking bitch.”
Suzanne turned back to Adam’s grave and smiled.
“I miss you, big bro,” she said. She kissed her fingertips and touched the tombstone. She left it at that. Next time she came by the grave, she’d stay a little longer.
Suzanne pulled out her cell and hit the first number on her speed dial.
“Hey, you,” she said when Patrick answered.
“Hey, you okay?” Patrick asked.
“I’m actually amazing. Wrapped up the whole Father Stearns story once and for all.”
“Good. Done with that?”
“Completely. Wasn’t even the sister. You were right. He’d donated some money that raised the church’s eyebrow. He won’t be bishop although he probably should be. But whatever. Want to get some dinner?”
She tensed when Patrick didn’t answer immediately.
“I don’t know. Is this dinner? Or is this a date?”
Suzanne returned the pause with a pause before answering.
“It’s a date.”
* * *
Michael obediently closed his eyes and tried not to sneeze or flinch.
“This is ridiculous, Nora,” he said. “I feel like I’m getting married.”
Nora grinned.
“Nothing so formal or terrifying. Collaring ceremonies here at The 8th Circle are just an excuse to publicly humiliate a sub and razz a dominant for falling in love. Griffin is way overdue for much razzing.”
“Is the guyliner part of the humiliation?” Michael opened his eyes when Nora finished adorning them with eyeliner.
“I know Griffin. He’ll pee himself when he sees you in eyeliner. One of his weaknesses.”
“Awesome.” He took a quick breath. “I can’t believe this is real. It is real, right?”
Nora took a step back and angled his face into the low light. She nodded approval at her own handiwork.
“Yes. Very real. And it’ll feel very real when it stops being fun. The first time Griffin puts his foot down about something you don’t like…the whole collared thing really sinks in. But it’s worth it. You find the right dom, and it’s completely worth it. Just enjoy the honeymoon period while it lasts.”
Michael looked at Nora as she capped her eyeliner pencil and put it away. She looked so weird tonight wearing all white. White skirt, white blouse, white collar around her neck. He was in all white too—white pants, no shoes, white button-down shirt untucked with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows.
“He’s taking me to Key West for a week tomorrow. Speaking of honeymoons.”
Nora adjusted her collar.
“Good choice for same-sex couples. Have you two figured out the school/living situation in all this excitement?”
“Yeah. He’s getting a new place that’ll be easy to get to by the train. I’ll just be in the dorms during the week and be his on the weekends.”
“You going to tell everybody at school that you’re the bisexual collared submissive of the richest trust fund baby in New York?”
“Maybe not this semester.”
Nora grinned.
“Good call. Your mom handling everything okay?”
“Yeah. Better than I thought.”
“Mothers can surprise you sometimes.”
Michael went over to his backpack and pulled a photo folder out.
“Here. I better give this back to you. Griffin might snoop.”
“Thank you,” she said, taking the photo back. She opened the burgundy folder and smiled at the picture. “God, they were sexy as hell, weren’t they?”
“Seriously,” Michael agreed as he looked over Nora’s shoulder at the black-and-white photograph. In the picture he saw an eighteen-year-old Father S sitting casually in an armchair in a dark suit, tidy and pin neat. At his feet sat another boy, only a year younger, with longer dark hair and his Catholic school uniform artfully rumpled with the jacket abandoned, the tie loose and the collar open.
“Kingsley and Søren…I think this is the only picture ever taken of them as teenagers. Looks like they were studying, working on something. Wonder if anyone else other than us kinksters get it.”
Michael had gotten it. He understood. Young Kingsley’s neck bore two bruises that anyone without any kink experience would simply assume were hickeys or love bites. But Michael knew those marks, had borne them on his own skin. Lips hadn’t made them, nor teeth. A thumb and index finger pressing into the skin had left those bruises. Kingsley had been pinned down by his neck during sex with a young Father S.
“We all have to start somewhere, right?” Nora asked, closing the folder and tucking the photograph away. “Søren and Kingsley have no shame at all that they were lovers when they were kids. Kingsley just doesn’t want anyone to know he’s a switch.”
“I won’t tell. I promise. Not even Griffin.”
“I know,” Nora said. “We better go. They’re waiting.”
Together they left Father S’s private dungeon at The 8th Circle, the club where he, Nora, Griffin and Kingsley did their hardest playing a couple of times a week.
A few doors down was Griffin’s private dungeon. Michael had already been warned he’d be spending a lot of time naked and tied up in this room. Even now as he entered it unfettered and fully clothed, he felt naked and bound. Nakedly vulnerable. Bound to Griffin.
Looking around as the entered the room, he saw Father S and Kingsley Edge talking to each other in hushed tones. Both of them wore all black apart from Father S’s white collar and a white handkerchief in Kingsley’s pocket. An incredibly beautiful woman with ebony skin wearing a jaw-dropping ivory dress sat on a black leather sofa. Kingsley snapped his fingers and the woman rose and came to his side. It must be Juliette. Nora had told him about her—Kingsley’s Haitian secretary who kept both Kingsley and all of his business interests in line outside the bedroom while Kingsley kept her in line inside. Juliette gave him a dazzling smile and Michael’s knees nearly buckled from the force of her beauty.
Nora guided Michael to the center of the room and stood next to him. Griffin entered, wearing black pants and a black silk shirt and no shoes. He took one look at Michael and made a beeline for him. Before they could meet, Nora interposed herself between them.
“Whoa, slow down, Fiske. You don’t get to kiss the sub yet. Down, boy,” Nora ordered and Griffin playfully bared his teeth at her.
“Then let’s get this over with. I need to kiss him. Now. Right now,” Griffin said, trying to step around Nora.
“Patience is a virtue, Griffin,” Father S said as they all formed a loose circle around Griffin and Michael.
“I haven’t seen him all day. That’s as much patience as you’ll get from me,” Griffin said.
“It’s a start,” Father S said. “Go ahead.”
Nora stepped to the side and Griffin pulled a black leather collar out of his pocket, clasped it around Michael’s neck, buckled it and locked it shut. Michael closed his eyes as Griffin’s arms came around him.
“I love you,” Griffin whispered as the tiny lock in the back of the collar clicked shut. “And you belong to me.”
“Yes, sir,” Michael said, smiling. He opened his eyes and Griffin kissed him deeply, passionately and without reservation.
“Gross,” Nora said. “Those two guys are kissing. That’s disgusting.”
“It’s quite unnatural,” Kingsley agreed. “I shudder at the very thought.”
“Is that so?” Juliette asked in her rich, melodic Haitian accent. “Then what were you doing with that young man last night?”
“Business meeting. We were discussing the ledgers at the Möbius.”
“While naked?” Juliette asked, batting her eyelashes.
“It was an informal meeting,” Kingsley said.
Michael had to stop kissing so he could laugh. At least here among these weirdos and perverts, he and Griffin would always find acceptance. And maybe if they were lucky, others would accept them too.
“Griffin Randolph Fiske,” Father S began, “you are now the proud owner of Michael Dimir. He is like a son to me. If you hurt hi
m in any way that he does not want, you will answer to me.”
“And me,” Nora said, stepping forward to give both Michael and Griffin quick kisses on the cheek.
“Et moi,” said Kingsley.
“Et moi aussi,” said Juliette.
Michael swallowed a lump in his throat. He knew Griffin would never do anything to harm him, but it moved him beyond words to know he had all these amazing people on his side if he did.
“Don’t worry. Not going to happen,” Griffin said, taking Michael by the hand. “But I would like to hurt him in the ways he likes right now. So unless you want to watch, scoot.”
Griffin made the shooing gesture that had worked so well on Michael’s father.
No one moved. Griffin glared at Nora.
“What?” she asked with feigned innocence. “We all want to watch.”
26
Nora couldn’t stop smiling. She took a sip of her white wine and set the glass back on the table. It tasted so good she wanted to chug the whole thing, but they were at The 8th Circle and the new bartender Kingsley had hired actually enforced the two-drink-maximum rule. Surely she and Søren would play later that night, so it was for the best she stay sober and alert. Søren had been acting strangely all night. He and Kingsley kept sneaking off to whisper to each other. It wasn’t like either of them to keep her this out of the loop. But she trusted Søren. He’d tell her what was up when it was time. From across the room he glanced at her, and Nora smiled. He didn’t smile back.
After a few minutes he made his way to her. She stood at the edge of the bar in the VIP section looking down on the horde below. Music pounded in the background, bodies writhed. She used to love to play in the pit at The Circle. Topping…subbing…didn’t matter. Public kink was so humiliating, so primal. She’d experienced her worst agonies in the pit, had her strongest orgasms. But tonight, it seemed like another world to her—alien, foreign, distant.
The Angel (The Original Sinners) Page 38