“I’m the sub,” Michael said when Nora moved up to his back. “Shouldn’t I be giving you the massage?”
“You are the most stressed-out, tightly wound sub on the face of the earth,” Nora said, digging her strong fingers into the knot that was his back. “I can’t beat you up until you relax a little or you’ll pull every muscle in your body in our first session. Relax. That’s an order.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Michael said, tensing when she slid her hands into his boxers.
“Michael,” Nora said with obvious exasperation, “you just clenched your ass tighter than the second pair of Spanx on a drag queen. Did I forget to mention relax was an order?”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Michael said, laughing.
“What has gotten you so tense, Angel?” Nora pulled her hands away and stretched out on her side next to him.
Michael turned his head to face her.
“You’re my priest’s girlfriend. I’m in a stranger’s house. Both of my parents would freak out if they knew I was here.”
Nora reached out and caressed the arch of his cheek.
“Tell me the truth. Why are you really so stressed out?”
Swallowing hard, he rolled up and pulled his T-shirt back on.
He turned his face from her and stared out the window.
“There’s a huge swimming pool right out that window,” Michael said.
Nora smiled. “I know. You want to drain it and skate it, don’t you?”
“How did you know?” he asked, grinning sheepishly.
“I’m old. I’ve seen Gleaming the Cube about a million times. Christian Slater as a blond punk skateboarder? The movie’s probably the reason I’m so attracted to blond men.”
“Never seen it.”
“We’ll rent it. Now answer the question. Why are you so stressed?”
Sighing, Michael pulled his legs to his chest and rested his chin on his knees.
“I don’t belong here, Nora. With you, with Griffin, in this house…this is crazy.”
Nora said nothing at first. She stood up and switched on the small bedside lamp. When he was a kid he had an ugly plastic Power Rangers lamp. Young Griffin had a Tiffany lamp.
“Get into bed,” Nora ordered.
“It’s only 10:30 p.m.,” Michael protested.
“I’m getting in with you.”
Michael couldn’t scramble under the covers fast enough. In the low light he watched Nora strip out of her shoes, skirt and blouse. Wearing only her black bra and barely there panties, she slid into bed next to him.
“Clothes off,” she said and Michael awkwardly stripped out of his shirt and boxers. “Good boy. Spoon with me—your back to my chest.”
Nervously Michael pressed into Nora, nearly groaning aloud as his skin met hers. He did groan aloud when she reached down and wrapped her hand around him.
“You’re not just taller,” she said into his ear. “You’ve gained a couple inches in another area too, I see.”
Michael blushed and said nothing.
“Now I’m going to do two things,” Nora said. “I’m going to give you an orgasm and tell you a bedtime story. Which do you want first?”
“Ah…orgasm?” Michael answered tentatively. If he didn’t come first, he probably wouldn’t be able to concentrate on a word Nora said.
“Understandable.” Nora tightened her grip on him, bit his shoulder and gently stroked upward. His body tensed hard at Nora’s touch and he released with a silent shiver. “Feel better?”
Michael nodded. “And wetter.”
“Leave it,” Nora said. “This is Griffin’s old bed. Trust me. Yours is not the first cum to hit these sheets. Bedtime story now. Ready? Say ‘Yes, ma’am.’”
His own personal bedtime story by Nora Sutherlin?
“Yes, ma’am,” Michael said with the closest thing he had in his verbal repertoire to gusto.
“Once upon a time,” Nora said, as she fluttered a series of kisses over his shoulders that sent every nerve in his body reeling, “a very poor girl from a f**ked-up family became a famous writer with a wicked pen and an even more wicked tongue who made seven figures a year. And she went everywhere she wanted to and did everything she wanted to. And nobody ever tried to stop her. And she had her own pet Angel who needed to learn how to talk. So guess what she did?”
“What?” Michael asked. He laughed in surprise as Nora slammed him down onto his back and slid on top of him.
She brought her mouth onto his and forced his lips apart.
“She gave him her tongue.”
9
A gentle hand on her shoulder roused Nora from sleep. She turned over and saw Griffin standing next to Michael’s bed holding out her cell phone.
The Pope, he mouthed.
Nora nodded and took the phone. She turned and saw Michael curled up in the fetal position with his long lush eyelashes resting on his cheeks. For nearly an hour after sticking her tongue down his throat to make him laugh, they’d lain in his bed and talked. Well, she’d done most of the talking. But he’d listened and asked a few nervous questions about what would happen with them this summer, what she expected from him, what he needed. Finally he’d relaxed enough to fall asleep.
Carefully Nora slid out from under the covers. Griffin stood staring, obviously transfixed by the curve of Michael’s pale bare shoulder peeking out from under the sheets and glowing in the moonlight. Nora grabbed Griffin by the shirt and dragged him into the hall. She closed the door behind her and gave Griffin a stern stare.