The Saint (The Original Sinners 5)

“Here? This house?”

“This house. I knew I would be gone for ten years. I didn’t want my father beguiling another young woman into marrying him. I …”

“What? Tell me. You can tell me anything.”

“I came here at night. I knocked my father unconscious and castrated him. I couldn’t bring myself to kill him, but I could prevent him from remarrying and having more children that he would damage. He never knew it was me. I was on my way to Europe by the time he woke up.”

“Why are you telling me this?” she asked.

“You wanted to know who I was. That I have the capacity to cause that sort of harm is part of who I am. To my everlasting shame, I don’t regret it.”

She laid both hands on each side of his face and looked him in the eyes.

“I’m proud of you,” she said. “If I were you, I would have done the same thing.”

“Thank you for loving me, Little One. You restore my faith.”

She pushed close to him again but she could sense him pulling back from her, and she wasn’t ready to let him go yet.

“Go to bed, Eleanor. You need sleep. So do I.”

“Can I sleep with you? Just sleep, I mean?”

“Not tonight. Not in this house.”

“But someday?”

He slapped her hard on the bottom, hard enough she yelped. The yelp turned into a laugh. He pulled her even tighter to him.

“If you choose, Little One, I can own you. You would be my property, mine alone.”

“Of course you can own me. You always have. You always will.” She made the pledge without thinking. She no more needed to think about her words than she did about breathing. Yes, he could own her. Breathe in. Breathe out. He always had.

“But not yet,” she said.

“I’ll leave first.” Søren released her from his arms. “Wait a few minutes and then go straight to bed.”

He kissed her quick on the lips and walked to the door.

At the door he paused with his hand on the knob.

“Little One, you should know something else.”

She sat back on the bed and pulled her knees to her chest.

“What is it?”

“What you know of me, what you’ve seen, this is only one small part of me. There are far less likable aspects to my character than what I’ve allowed you to see. If you don’t believe me, you can ask Kingsley.”

“What should I ask him?”

“Ask him to tell you why you should be afraid of me.”

“What will he tell me?”

“Nothing. But ask him anyway.”

She nodded although she didn’t understand.

“Try to sleep. I’d like you to come to the funeral tomorrow. You’ll meet Elizabeth, so prepare yourself.”

“Is she okay? I mean, after all that happened to her.”

Søren crossed his arms over his chest.

“She wants to have children,” he said. “More than anything. I doubt she’ll ever date or marry, but she does want to be a mother desperately. She was doing well until recently. Medical tests revealed she can’t have children. What our father did to her, it had consequences.”

“She can’t have kids?”

Søren shook his head.

“She did not take the news well,” he said and she heard a deeper meaning in his words. “But I have faith in her. Try to have compassion for her.”

“I do. I will.”

“Good girl. Go to sleep.”

“Yes, sir. Sir?”

“Yes, Little One?”

“Will you say it again? Please?”

He smiled at her. “In Danish or English?”

“You already said it in English. Let’s go for Danish.”

Søren walked back to where she sat on the bed. He took her face in his hands and kissed her long and deep.

“Jeg elsker dig, min lille en.”

He kissed her again, told her good-night and slipped into the hallway.

Eleanor collapsed back onto the bed. Staring up at the ceiling she ran her hands over her upper thighs, feeling the new tenderness in them. Touching the bruises left on her by Søren and lying in the bed where he’d penetrated her with his finger was like lying in a bed of fire. She slid her hand into her shorts and started to tease her clitoris again. Søren told her to wait a few minutes before returning to bed. Getting herself off while imagining Søren f**king her would certainly take a minute or two. She came again quickly, quietly, trying not to moan aloud as her cervix bucked inside her and her vaginal muscles contracted onto themselves.

She dragged herself off the bed and left the room as quietly as she could. In the doorway she glanced back at the bed and had a vision of it burning. That was what she’d felt lying on it—fire. She shut the door behind her and crept down the hallway.

Careful of the darkness, she headed toward her room. As she passed into the main hallway, she heard voices. Next to a window, she made out the outline of two people. Hiding in the shadows she moved in closer. She saw Søren and a woman speaking softly, their heads bowed as if in prayer.

“I’m not sorry,” the woman whispered. “I know that isn’t much of a confession, but I’m not. At most I’m sorry I’m not sorry.”

Søren crossed his arms over his chest as if wanting to hide behind them like a shield. He looked up into the woman’s eyes.

“I’m not sorry, either.”