“I think you scared him, Nora,” Griffin said, giving Michael a searching look. Michael could barely meet Griffin’s eyes.

“Good,” she said. “I’m not the world’s scariest dominatrix, but I have my moments of evil genius. I’m horny, Michael, and Griffin’s half-hard already.” She reached out and cupped Griffin between the legs. Michael’s groin twitched with his own hunger and need. What he wouldn’t give to touch Griffin like that.... “So let’s get on with it. Pick a position. Trust me, no matter how acrobatic it is, we can do it.”

“No wall sex though, please,” Griffin requested as Nora continued to massage him through his pants. “Nora’s a lot heavier than she looks.”

“Is that something you really want to say to a woman who has your balls in her hands?” Nora batted her eyelashes at him.

“Good point. You’re as light as air.” Griffin smiled at Michael, a friendly smile but nothing else. “Pick, Mick, before I lose any more blood from my brain.”

Michael exhaled heavily and opened the book at a random page. He was fairly certain he didn’t want to see Nora and Griffin having sex in any position so he’d simply let fate decide.

Fate decided on doggy style.

The book lay open on his lap and Michael barely looked at the picture. But that didn’t stop Nora from grabbing the book and brandishing it in Griffin’s face.

“Woof,” Griffin said as he grabbed Nora by the ankle and started to drag her to him. “Wait. Anal or vaginal?”

Nora shrugged. “Pick an orifice. Any orifice. Angel?”

“What?” Michael pulled his legs into his chest.

“You decide.” Nora smiled at him over her shoulder.

“Oh, God…” Michael took a heavy breath. “I don’t… Vaginal.”

It might be easier to watch if it was the one act he and Griffin couldn’t do.

“Fantastic.” Griffin grabbed Nora by the wrists and turned her onto her stomach. Taking her hips in his hands, he brought her up to her hands and knees. “Foreplay, Nora?”

“Don’t bother,” she said, waving her hand dismissively. “This entire conversation has been all the foreplay I need. Go for it.”

“Weirdest. Woman. Ever.” Griffin shook his head as he came up on his knees behind her. “Come here, Mick. Time for some advanced instruction.”

Michael almost threw up on Nora’s sheets. He swallowed hard and tentatively crawled over to where Griffin knelt behind Nora. Griffin slid Nora’s panties off her hips and down her thighs but left them on her at her knees.

“Makeshift restraint,” Griffin explained. “Wide legs are good for deep penetration. If she keeps them closer together, however, it’s a tighter fit. Little tip there. Panties around knees equals poor man’s thigh stocks.”

“Should I be writing this down?” Michael asked.

Griffin laughed. “And don’t listen to the woman. No foreplay? Ridiculous.” Griffin gave Nora a good, hard slap on her shapely bottom. Nora yelped but made no other protest. “She might not need it, but I do. Give me your hand.”

Michael slowly raised his hand and gave it to Griffin.

“How are you doing, Nora?” Griffin asked as he bent Michael’s fingers down until only his index and middle finger of his right hand were extended.

“I am fine. Impatient but fine. Is there any fucking coming anytime soon? I ask out of mere curiosity. I could work on the edits Zach just sent me while you two chitchat.”

“Hush. I’ll fuck you soon enough. Now, Mick.” Griffin turned to him. “Science is divided on the existence of the G-spot. Some scientists say it exists. Some scientists don’t. Those scientists that don’t—” Griffin took Michael’s hand and guided it inside Nora “—are fucking idiots. See?”

Griffin led Michael’s fingertips to a spot a little over an inch inside Nora.

“Push down and in,” Griffin said. “Hard.”

Almost two months under Nora’s tutelage had made it nearly impossible for Michael to disobey any order. He pushed down as instructed. Hard.

Nora gasped and her inner muscles clenched around Michael’s fingers.

“Oh, God…” she panted.

“Love that G-spot,” Griffin said, pulling Michael’s fingers from Nora. “Don’t you?”

Before he could answer, Griffin lifted Michael’s fingers to his mouth and slowly, seductively licked the wetness off. Michael almost died the moment Griffin’s tongue touched his trembling fingertips. Michael’s fingers…inside Griffin’s mouth…

“Now excuse me.” Griffin let Michael’s hand go. “I need to fuck your mistress.”

“About damn time.”

Griffin whacked Nora one more time on her bottom and she let loose another yelp followed by a lusty giggle. Michael couldn’t look away as Griffin pulled his pajama pants down and rolled a condom onto his erection.

Slowly Griffin slid into Nora, who moaned as Griffin pushed deep with a sigh. As Griffin thrust forward, Nora pushed back against him. The sight of Nora’s and Griffin’s bodies joined together sent a thousand different feelings rushing through Michael’s body. He’d never been so turned on in his life watching Griffin’s hips moving in hard but graceful undulations, the muscles of his thighs and stomach thrown into high relief in the candlelight. But underneath the desire lurked longing and anguish, need and sorrow. He wanted this, wanted to be the one on his hands and knees with Griffin behind him and inside him. But he couldn’t have that. Not now. Not ever. Not with his father ready and willing to kill him for even thinking such thoughts. And Michael knew Griffin deserved better than him—than a stupid kid with no money, no fame, no nothing special about him. And Griffin deserved a hell of a lot better than somebody too pussy to even tell him how he felt.

So Michael merely watched in silent envy as Nora came hard and loud with Griffin’s hands on her waist. A few more thrusts and Griffin came with a soft gasp. Michael closed his eyes and tried to imprint the sound of Griffin’s orgasm forever into his mind. He might never hear it again and that little sigh that caught in Griffin’s throat for the barest second was easily the most beautiful and erotic sound Michael had ever heard in his life. He could hear it every day for the rest of his life and never get tired of it.

Griffin pulled out of Nora and she rolled onto her back. Reaching out she took Michael’s hand.

Michael didn’t have to ask. As he straddled Nora’s hips, she reached into his boxer shorts and guided him inside her. She felt so warm inside, so wet. Once deep in her, Nora twined her legs around his back and gently rolled herself until Michael lay flat on his back with Nora on top and over him. He closed his eyes and let himself get lost in the incredible heat of her. Her lips caressed his neck, his cheek.

“Tell him, Michael,” she whispered, the halo of her hair hiding her words from Griffin’s ears. “Just tell him.”

Michael shook his head.

“I can’t,” he whispered back.

Nora continued to move on him, taking him deep into her before sliding out to the tip and back down again. Michael groaned with physical pleasure even as a knife of agony cut into his chest.

Something brushed Michael’s hand and his eyes flew open. Turning his head, he saw Griffin stretched out on his side next to him and Nora. Griffin had taken Michael’s hand in his and twined their fingers together. Griffin said nothing. Michael said nothing. They only stared at each other until Michael had to close his eyes again as he came hard inside Nora.

Even as he shuddered in silence, Griffin held on to his hand so tightly it almost hurt.

And even in the middle of the climax that racked his entire body, Michael didn’t let go.

* * *

Suzanne arrived at the rectory at a few minutes before midnight. First she checked the church and found it locked tight and abandoned but for the small chapel of perpetual adoration that stayed open all hours of the day and night. But she didn’t find Father Stearns there. She walked the short distance to the rectory with her heart pounding so hard it felt as if it was outside her chest. In her career she’d confronted lying politicians powerful enough to destroy her and her family, foreign generals with firearms strapped to their sides. But never before had she experienced fear like this. She remembered her reaction to Father Stearns, to Søren, that night at the rectory when she’d begged for his body, begged to be with him.

But now she wanted to make him beg. And she would show him the same mercy he showed her. None.

She found the rectory dark and silent. She heard no footsteps inside, saw no lights burning through any windows. Where would he be if not at home at this time of night? Once she’d asked herself the question, she knew the answer. He could be anywhere. This priest did not play by the rules the Church imposed upon him. He could be with a prostitute right now, with a lover. Or worse, with another fifteen-year-old girl he’d seduced until she grew up and loved him enough to dedicate every last one of her books to him.

Just in case he was home and asleep with all the lights off, Suzanne knocked on the door. No answer. Then she pounded on it with the tip of her shoe. A minute passed. Still nothing. The rage welled within her. Father Stearns had no respect for the law obviously. Not if he’d slept with a teenage Eleanor Schreiber. Why show him any respect?

Suzanne turned the doorknob and found the rectory unlocked.

She stepped inside and called out a tentative, “Hello.” With every minute that passed, her blood throbbed heavier and harder in her veins. If she didn’t calm down, she’d pass out. What if he was here? Watching her? Waiting for her?

Calling upon all the instincts she’d learned working in war zones, Suzanne took slow, deep breaths and willed her heart to calm itself. She let the little bit of light from the moon flood her senses. She walked carefully, trying to avoid the creaking of the ancient hardwood beneath her feet.

If she was to find any evidence of his proclivities, she knew they’d most likely be in his bedroom. Her stomach recoiled at the thought of returning to that place, that room where she’d shamed herself so completely. Of course he’d turned her down, turned her away that night. She was a grown woman, not a fifteen-year-old girl. Not his type at all.

Up the stairs she crept, closing her eyes to allow her ears to hear without the distractions of sight. At the end of the hall she came to his bedroom and rested her hand on the doorknob. For the first time in what felt like a thousand years she said a prayer, a real prayer.

Please, God. Don’t let him be  inside.

God answered the prayer.

Suzanne found the room empty and the bed neatly made. Cursing herself for not bringing a flashlight, she reached out and turned on the small antique lamp on the table. Soft yellow light infused the room. Really Father Stearns’s bedroom was a thing of beauty—elegant and simple, clean and unassuming. And yet everything in it—the bed, the furniture, the white linens—spoke of refinement and taste. But she’d learned long ago how looks could be deceiving.

Making a circuit of the room, Suzanne eyed every possible hiding place. She had no idea what she was looking for. Young Eleanor Schreiber had grown up long ago and become a notorious erotica writer—famous for her prose, infamous for her personal life. She didn’t just write it. She lived it. But did she do it here? In this bedroom? Suzanne had read all the books. The kind of BDSM Nora Sutherlin practiced, or at least her characters, involved equipment and lots of it. Suzanne spied a trunk at the end of Father Stearns’s bed. An old-fashioned steamer trunk, it looked large enough to hold a body. Kneeling in front of it, Suzanne examined the lock. She had no idea how to pick it. She’d have to break it open. Maybe she could find something in Patrick’s car. A practical sort, Patrick would surely have a toolbox or something in his trunk. As she stood up she noticed a small box on the table next to the bed. No larger than a Bible, the box appeared to be rosewood. She held it in her hands and turned it over and over, tracing the intricately carved cross on the surface.