“Really?”
“Yeah, Mick,” Griffin chimed in. “And not just in the g*y kink scene, either.”
“The number-one sexual fantasy reported by straight men is having sex with a beautiful woman.” Nora took a deep drink of her wine. “But number two?”
Griffin grinned and held up two fingers. “Number two,” he said, “is being tied up by a beautiful woman and then f**ked by her. Even I was fine with that.”
“More than fine, if I remember correctly…” Nora sighed wistfully and winked at Griffin.
“If there’s so many of us,” Michael asked, “then why—”
“Why do you feel so alone?” Nora gave him a long look.
Michael nodded silently.
“You aren’t alone,” she said and Griffin reached out and gave his knee a friendly squeeze. Unfortunately that friendly squeeze caused a very more-than-friendly reaction inside Michael’s boxers.
“Male subs paid for my house, Angel,” Nora continued. “They bought my cars. They made me a very wealthy woman. I had every walk of life in my dungeon—poets and artists, priests and rabbis, cops and robbers.”
“Cops?”
“Oh, yeah. The bigger and tougher they pretend to be, the more likely they are to want a woman to call them a slut and put her foot on the back of their neck.”
“Or another guy.” Griffin glanced at Michael as he said the words.
“Hey, hush, boys, act two is starting.”
Nyx had led her harem offstage. Within minutes they returned, but this time Nyx wore the robes of a Roman goddess. And she rode in on a chariot being pulled by her young men. They had bridles in their mouths and harnesses on their chests.
“Oh, my, pony play. How adorable. I love a pony.” Nora leaned forward and rested her chin on her hand. “They are fun to ride.”
“Whatever.” Griffin rolled his eyes. “Like you’ve ever been on a horse in your life.”
Nora sat up straighter. “I’ll have you know, Master Fiske, that I’ve been horseback riding on multiple occasions. Well, like three occasions. My old intern, Wes, was from Kentucky. Apparently everyone in Kentucky rides horses.”
Griffin shrugged. “Not exactly. Mostly just the Central Kentucky blue bloods. Horses are very expensive pets.”
Nora grinned. “Wes Railey? A blue blood? Kid couldn’t even afford a decent car. Drove a Bug. Poor thing.”
Michael looked at Nora, who was smiling. But her smile seemed strange, forced even. Nothing like her usual smiles.
“Railey?” Griffin cocked his head and stared at Nora. “Like the Kentucky Raileys?”
“Well, he’s a Railey and he’s from Kentucky,” Nora said.
“Know his parents’ names?” Griffin turned away from the pony show onstage and gave Nora his full attention. Nora seemed suddenly uncomfortable.
“Well, his mom’s name is Caroline. I used it in my book that just came out. And his dad’s name is—”
“Jackson.” Griffin finished the sentence for her. “Jackson Railey?”
Nora’s eyes widened.
“Griffin…how did you know that?”
Griffin chuckled and the chuckle turned into a laugh.
“Griffin…” Nora’s voice dropped to menacing levels. “Why are you laughing?”
With a heavy exhale, Griffin dug his iPhone out of his pocket, made some quick taps on it and then smiled at whatever it was he’d pulled up on-screen. He handed his phone over to Nora without a word.
“Son of a bitch,” she breathed. Slowly she handed the phone back to Griffin. Then she quickly got up from the table.
“Where are you going?” Griffin demanded.
“Make sure Michael gets home safe. I’ll meet you back at the house later. Gotta check on something.”
Nora disappeared into the crowd, and Michael found himself suddenly alone with Griffin. He didn’t like how much he liked that.
“Griffin?” Michael whispered. “What did you show Nora?”
Griffin slid Michael his phone. Michael picked it up and studied the screen. It took a minute to wrap his mind around what he was looking at.
Michael breathed one word in response.
“Fuck.”
14
Suzanne wandered around Father Stearns’s living room while he excused himself to change. Such a beautiful home…a stone fireplace, hundreds of leather-bound books and the most beautiful grand piano she’d ever seen. On top of the piano sat a book of John Donne poetry. Opening the book to a page marked by an ancient embroidered bookmark, she read:
Enter these armes, for since thou thoughtst it best,
Not to dreame all my dreame, let’s do the rest.
“I’m allowed to read John Donne,” came Father Stearns’s voice from behind her. “He was a priest.”
“An Anglican priest who wrote anti-Catholic screeds,” she reminded him.
“I don’t take it personally.”
Suzanne smiled nervously as Father Stearns took the book from her and sat it back on top of the piano. He’d showered, obviously—his blond hair looked darker wet—and wore his clericals once more. Damn. She really liked looking at his throat.
“You play?” She pointed at the piano.
“I could play piano before I even learned English. My mother taught me. “
“Your Danish mother?”
Father Stearns gestured to an armchair and he took one opposite her. The sun had set and only one small lamp cast its low light around the room.