The Angel

Shaking her head, her mother tapped her chin. “I can’t remember what it was called. Something Italian sounding. Du-something.”

“A Ducati?”

“That was it.”

Nora remembered her heart racing a little right then. A handsome Catholic priest who rode the finest, fastest, most wicked motorcycle money could buy? She’d have to see it to believe it.

“Fine,” she’d said, throwing off the covers. “I’m coming.”

Nora came hard and relaxed against the hood of her Aston Martin as Griffin made a few more spiraling thrusts inside her before pulling out of her and untying her hands.

“Good idea,” he said, dragging her back to him. With her hands now free, Nora tugged down her skirt and leaned back against Griffin. “Never fucked on an Aston Martin before. Something for the scrapbook,” he said.

“Neither have I. Or in it. Came close with Zach though. He had a major hard-on for this car.”

“Zach?” Griffin asked, peeling off the condom and zipping his pants up.

“Blue Eyes, remember? My insanely hot Jewish editor who left me for his wife?”

“Right. That guy. I think he had a hard-on for you. The car was just a bonus.”

“She is a very nice car,” Nora said, running her hands over the hood. The Aston Martin had been a gift from a lover three years ago—a member of a Middle Eastern dynasty who came to the States every few months to indulge his very top-secret obsession with female dominants. Gorgeous man. He loved painting Arabic poetry on her naked body after sex. After their first week together she’d found the Aston Martin in her garage as a thank-you. “She’s my baby.”

“Why did you have me drive her up here and put her on blocks then?” Griffin asked, making a circuit around the car.

Nora kissed her fingers and touched the hood in a little benediction. Noticing the smears on the paint, she grabbed a chamois. With care and elbow grease she buffed the Nora/Griffin smudges off the inferno-red finish.

“I was going to give it to Wes, my old roommate.”

“You had a roommate?”

“Live-in intern. Never told you. Gorgeous kid. You would have tried to fuck him.”

“That’s probably true. What happened to this gorgeous intern?”

Nora sighed heavily. “He fell in love with me. Bad situation. Had to let him go.” She tried to sound cold but she could tell Griffin wasn’t buying it.

“Sounds like he wasn’t the only one in love.” Griffin eyed her meaningfully.

“Griff, you’re too pretty to also be smart.”

Nora deserved the glower he leveled at her.

“Do you still talk to him?”

“He calls, but I don’t answer. All I know is that he withdrew from Yorke and went back to Kentucky.”

“You ever Google-stalk him? See what he’s up to on Facebook or Twitter?”

Nora shook her head. “I’ve been tempted, but I don’t know. What if he was still sad and lonely? It would break my heart.”

Griffin came around the car and stood in front of her. He cupped her chin and forced her to meet his eyes.

“What if he was happy? Dating somebody even?”

Nora exhaled heavily.

“It would break my heart.”

“Nora,” Griffin sighed. “You really need to—”

“Master Griffin? Mistress?” came an English-accented voice from the door to the garage.

“God, it turns me on when he calls me Master Griffin,” Griffin groaned as Nora laughed and straightened his clothes. He’d actually put on pants today—khakis with a white T-shirt that stretched across his powerful tattooed biceps. Pants and a shirt but no shoes or socks. Still, they were making progress.

“Your other guest has arrived,” Griffin’s stately white-haired butler said.

A grin spread across Nora’s face. “Junior kinkster’s here. Let’s go.”

Nora grabbed Griffin’s hand and raced past his butler.

“So tell me about this kid,” Griffin said. “You said he’s a seventeen-year-old submissive from your church. Anything else I need to know about him?”

“Like what? Food allergies?”

“Let’s just say I barely remember being seventeen. I think I spent half the year drunk and the other half of the year high.”

“You don’t have to worry about Michael. He’s very straight edge. Søren said he doesn’t even drink. But there’s three things you probably should know about him.”

“I’m ready,” Griffin said, opening the front door just as Kingsley’s silver Rolls Royce pulled up in front of the house. “Hit me.”

Nora slapped his arm.

“First, Michael doesn’t talk.”

“Is he a mute?” Griffin asked, sounding slightly horrified. Griffin only shut up when you put something in his mouth—preferably a body part.

“No, just really quiet. Nervous type. Quiet.”

“Submissive?”

“That,” Nora said as the door to the Rolls opened and Michael stepped out. He pushed his sunglasses onto his head and smiled up at her. Raising his hand, he gave her a nervous wave.

“Holy shit,” Griffin breathed, his dark eyes widening at the sight of Michael.

“Yeah,” Nora said, smiling back at Michael. “Number two—Michael is absolutely, completely, ridiculously beautiful.”

“Nora …” Griffin said in a distressed voice. “I think I’m in love.”