Author: Tiffany Reisz

Michael repressed the urge to do the Nora thing and growl at Griffin.

“It’s not finished,” Michael repeated, pulling his legs tight to his chest and wrapping his arms around his knees. Griffin looked at him, set the sketchbook aside and grasped Michael by the ankles.

“What the—?” Michael began as Griffin yanked Michael’s legs out straight in front of him.

“You are out of control with the fetal-position thing,” Griffin said with obvious exasperation. “You are allowed to take up space, Mick. Every time you get the least bit stressed out, you pull up into this tiny ball and practically disappear. An impressive feat considering how tall you are.”

“Sorry,” Michael said, trying to relax. “I get nervous and I…” He tried to explain further but words failed him.

“You turn into a hedgehog,” Griffin said. “Self-protective measure. But you’re with me right now. Put the spikes away and chill. You don’t have to protect yourself. I’m not going to hurt you. Not even in the fun way, okay?”

Michael’s heart contracted and then expanded hard enough he felt it at Griffin’s words. He couldn’t believe someone with Griffin’s sheer physical presence, not to mention all his money, would treat Michael with such… Michael tried to come up with a good word for it. With such care.

Slowly Michael smiled. “Okay.”

“Good. Now just sit there and look pretty while I nose through your book.”

Annoyed and embarrassed, Michael started to cross his arms but Griffin glared at him. Obediently Michael relaxed his arms and legs.

Griffin leafed slowly through the pages of Michael’s battered Moleskine sketchbook.

“Do you just do pencil sketches?” Griffin asked.

“Mostly. Pen and ink, pencil and pen.”

“Charcoals?”

“Love charcoal but it’s messy.”

“So?”

“Mom gets mad when it gets on my clothes,” Michael said and then cursed himself for saying something so idiotically childish.

“What’s with all the wings?” That particular sketchbook had nothing in it but variations on a theme—angel wings, bird wings, insect wings. Maybe next he’d try griffin wings.

“It’s my safe word Nora gave me. I’ve been doing wing drawings ever since.”

Turning his sketchbook around, Griffin flipped to the drawing Michael had been working on all day.

“This is incredible,” Griffin said, holding up the open book. “You’re like John Coulthart, but softer, more emotional.”

Michael’s blush deepened. “You know Coulthart’s stuff?” Michael asked, slightly stunned.

“I know I don’t look it,” Griffin said, “but I’ve got a geeky side. Plus I majored in art history at Brown.”

“You went to Brown?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t graduate. Long story,” Griffin said with a note of something Michael had never observed in him before—discomfort. “But I do know art. I’ve got two Picassos in my bedroom, there’s a Kandinsky in Nora’s room and there are a handful of Delaunays around. I dig orphic cubism. And since I know art, I know talent. And you have it, Mick. I love this.”

Griffin stared at the drawing Michael had been working on. Nothing very fancy, it was only a picture of slightly gothic-looking angel wings stretched out across the page. The huge hulking wings were attached to the back of a frail boy who sat on the ground with his legs pulled in tight to his chest. A personal drawing. Michael had never intended anyone to see it.

“Thanks. Nora ordered me to do something today to make myself relax before tonight. Drawing usually works.”

Griffin closed the sketchbook with obvious reluctance. Michael took it back from him and walked over to the bed where he slipped the book under his pillow.

“Usually? Nervous about tonight?” Griffin stood up and started strolling around his old room.

“A little.” Michael sat on the edge of the bed and tried not to stare at Griffin. Griffin cracked him up. He just walked around in his underwear as if he couldn’t begin to care what people thought about him. Of course, Griffin had a crazy-good body, so why not walk around almost naked?

“When’s the last time you fucked?” Griffin asked as he sat on the edge of Michael’s bed and rolled onto his back. Michael shifted nervously. An almost-naked guy was lying on his bed. He should have disliked that, wanted to dislike that…couldn’t quite bring himself to dislike that.

“Um,” Michael began as he turned to sit cross-legged, his back to the headboard. Personal questions—he hated them. His dad always grilled him with personal questions. “Nora asked me the same thing yesterday.”

Griffin raised his eyebrow at him.

“You know what that means, right?”

Michael shook his head.

“She’s getting your sexual history. Means fluid bonding.”

“Fluid bonding?”

“Sex without condoms.”

“Wow,” Michael said, his stomach tightening a little. “Is that safe?”

“She’s clean. Gets tested constantly. All the 8th Circle bigwigs do, myself included. And she’s got an IUD so I wouldn’t worry about knocking her up.”

“So do you and Nora, you know, fluid bond?”

Griffin sat back up and scooted to the top of the bed, leaning back against the headboard right next to Michael. Once again Michael breathed in Griffin’s scent. Michael decided to find out what kind of soap Griffin used just so he could buy some and smell it whenever he wanted.

“Nope. I don’t with anybody.”

“How come?” Michael asked, genuinely curious. Guys at school were always bitching about their girlfriends making them wear condoms.

“Mick,” Griffin said, turning his head to stare into his eyes. “There is nothing, and I repeat, nothing I haven’t done. And I’m not talking just sexually. Every bad act on the face of the earth, minus murder and rape, I’ve done it. So there’s this part of me that wants to hold something back just in case I’m ever actually in a real relationship with somebody. Does that sound sappy and romantic? If so, don’t tell anybody. I’m supposedly l’enfant terrible of the Underground. I’d like to keep it that way.”

Michael grinned, not entirely sure what a  l’enfant terrible was but deciding he liked the term.

“A little sappy. But not in a bad way,” Michael said, surprised that Griffin would have this sort of softer side to him. Art? Saving part of himself for a real relationship? “So you never, you know—”

“Come inside anyone?” Griffin finished for him. “No. Never. Sex talk from Dad, age thirteen. ‘Son, we have more money than God. You get a girl pregnant, and she’ll take half of it. Condoms every time.’ And then he gave me a box of Trojans.”

Michael burst out laughing at Griffin’s impression of his father’s stern voice. Remembering something suddenly, Michael stopped laughing.

“Wait. Nora, she went—”

“Nora went down on me. If you stayed and watched until the end you would have seen me put on a condom before I finished up.”

Mentally Michael dug a hole and crawled inside it. Griffin had seen him watching two nights ago?

“Griffin.” He finally choked the words out. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean… I was just on the way to the kitchen and heard—”

“Mick, calm down,” Griffin said, smiling at him. “I’m not mad. This is me. I fuck in front of people all the time. I was only irritated you didn’t come in and join us.” Griffin gave him a wicked smile.

Michael’s toes went a little numb.

“I think Nora might have not liked that,” Michael said, not entirely sure if that was true. He’d fantasized about threesomes before. Last night in fact his mind had wandered a little too far and he’d imagined Nora dominating him while Griffin watched.

“Your mistress loves an audience. In fact, I’ve watched your priest fuck your mistress after King and I fucked her.”

Michael felt his eyes wanting to pop out of his head.

“You’ve seen Father S…”

“Fucking? Yes. Back when your mistress was still just a sub like you, he’d do all sorts of shit to humiliate her at our club. Which she totally got off on. You know why me and King and your priest all fucked her once in the same night?”

Michael shook his head. He couldn’t imagine.

Griffin leaned in close as though he was about to share a secret. Every muscle in Michael’s body stiffened as Griffin’s tattooed, muscular shoulder pressed against his. Michael tried not to notice the drop of water sliding from Griffin’s hair down his neck and coming to rest in the hollow of his collarbone.

“It was her birthday. And that’s what she asked for,” Griffin whispered.

“Oh, my God,” Michael breathed, pulling his legs to his chest again. Not out of self-protection but to hide his sudden erection.

“I know. Awesome night.” Griffin gave a little wistful sigh. “Things went to hell shortly after that though. Nora dumped your priest and then she just disappeared on us. When she came back, everything was different.”

“She came back and started working as a dominatrix, right?” Michael knew a little of Nora’s story. Father S had given him the basics. He’d met Nora when she was fifteen and still just Eleanor. Love at first sight. Training at eighteen. Consummation when she turned twenty. Seven blissful years together before she left him for reasons unknown. Then she came back and joined forces with Kingsley, who turned her into not just a domme, a female dominant, but a dominatrix—a female dominant who charged for her services. A lot.

Griffin lowered his voice as though he was telling a ghost story around a campfire. “When she was a sub, your priest kept her on a pretty short leash. She only ever wore white at the club. And he only let her wear her hair down in private. And almost no makeup, either. She wasn’t allowed to speak unless he gave her express permission.”

Michael tried and failed to picture Nora as Eleanor wearing all white, no makeup, her long, gorgeous wavy black hair pinned up and hidden away. And not talking? Nora silent? So weird.

“The first night she came to The 8th Circle as a dominatrix, I was there,” Griffin said. “You can’t even imagine the shock on everyone’s face when they realized this smoking-hot new dominatrix wearing red leather on Kingsley’s arm was Søren’s ex-submissive. Once they did, it got ugly.”

“Why?” Michael asked, trying to picture the scene.

“They only knew her as a submissive, and there she was all decked out like a domme, trying to be tough. Even the submissives laughed at her.”

“Poor Nora,” Michael said. “What did she do?”

A smile crossed Griffin’s face, a smile that sent a thrill of something down Michael’s spine.

“You know how they say if a guy gets sent to prison and he doesn’t want to become the new bitch, he’s gotta find the biggest guy in the place and beat the hell out of him?”

“Right.” He’d seen movies with that plotline.

“There was this masochist at The 8th Circle named Trent. He was to masochists what Søren is to sadists. His nickname was Unbreakable. Your priest probably could have broken him, but Trent only let women top him. Anyway, Nora goes right up to him and asks him if he wants to play. He said yes and then tried to spit in her face.”

“Holy shit. What happened?”

Griffin laughed, low and throaty, and Michael suddenly felt the need to excuse himself for a few minutes. Instead he grabbed a pillow and covered his lap with it.

“Nora ducked. That woman’s got killer reflexes. She came up and slapped him so hard his nose bled. Then things got really interesting. She broke him. In one night. He safed out, started crying. She sent that big masochistic motherfucker to the hospital. After that, she owned The 8th Circle. No one ever questioned her dominant credentials again.”