The Angel. Tiffany ReiszЧитать онлайн книгу.
“I promise you he does not,” Nora said as she strolled slowly back to the bed. “Why do you and Søren loathe each other so much?”
“Ask him,” Griffin said, reaching out to unbutton her shirt.
“I did. He won’t tell me.”
“Let’s just say we have an ongoing difference of opinion. My opinion is that he’s a pretentious arrogant prick, and he disagrees with that.”
Nora stared Griffin down. He couldn’t quite meet her eyes.
“I know that’s not true. I tell him he’s a pretentious arrogant prick all the time and he’s in full agreement. I could beat it out of you.”
“Not a chance. You don’t get to top me anymore. This summer you’re my bitch, switch.”
“You used to let me top you all the time.” Nora recalled the dozens of time she’d tied Griffin down and used and abused his poor willing self.
“Only because it was the only way you’d let me fuck you. And even then you never got to beat me.”
“Too bad. I think a good hard beating would be good for your soul. Fine, you can top me. But no beating me, either. Only dominance and bondage, alas. Søren’s rules.”
“I know. He called and read me the riot act yesterday,” Griffin said as he unbuttoned her top button with a deft flick of his fingers.
“He’s very protective of his property.”
“I can’t say I blame him.” Griffin leaned back on the bed and stared her up and down. “Strip for me, beautiful.”
At thirty-four, Nora would take all the erotic appreciation she could get from younger men. She let her shirt drop to the floor and peeled slowly out of her camisole.
“Jesus,” Griffin said and took her by the arm; gently he pulled her to him. The grin vanished as he stared at her stomach and chest. “He did give you one helluva goodbye, didn’t he?”
“Oops. Sorry. Should have warned you.”
“You two did blood-play?” Griffin asked in horrified awe.
Nora shrugged.
“A little. Just seven cuts. Speaking of, we should probably stick to anal for the next couple of days. The last cut was in a pretty sensitive area.”
She expected Griffin to laugh—if they weren’t fucking, they were laughing. But Griffin only stared at her a moment while he studied her skin. He gently ran a finger around her wounds—the cut on her collarbone, on her rib cage, under her breast.
“We don’t have to play if you aren’t up for it,” he said.
“Griff, I’ve had papercuts worse than this. And also on my crotch. This is what happens when you fall asleep while working on your edits naked. I’m up for it. Seriously.”
“Okay. We’ll fuck if you make me,” he said, smiling at her again. “We’ll just go vanilla until you’re healed.”
Vehemently Nora shook her head. “Not a chance. No vanilla. The one time I even attempted vanilla sex I nearly passed out.”
“Nora Sutherlin tried vanilla sex? This I have to hear about.”
Griffin stretched out on his side and playfully patted the bed next to him. Rolling her eyes Nora crawled onto his sheets.
“It’s not a big deal. Tried it. Didn’t like it. Stopped.”
“Why’d you stop? Vanilla sex is boring but it’s not hard. You’re the chick. You just lie there and pretend to like it.”
Pretend to like it … that was the problem. She didn’t have to pretend…. Nora closed her eyes. For a second she wasn’t in Griffin’s bed anymore … she was on her bed back home with Wesley on top of her. They were kissing, their bare chests pressed to each other’s. Wesley’s hands stroked her hair and caressed her arms. She kissed his neck and muscular shoulders. He was so young, only nineteen then, and still a virgin. And there he was, as brave as he was beautiful, ready and willing to give her his virginity. And she wanted it, wanted him … and not for his body and not for the pleasure and not for the sex. For something else so much deeper and scarier that instead of letting him make love to her, she let him go.
“It’s hard to explain,” she said, opening her eyes. “Vanilla just doesn’t work for me.”
“Not that hard to explain—vanilla blows,” Griffin said. “So what? Celibacy?”
“Don’t even joke about that. Just tie me down, fuck me up the ass, call me a slut and just watch the cuts.”
Griffin grinned at her. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Ha,” she said. “I’m still the top.”
Griffin raised his eyebrow at her and she knew she was in trouble—the good kind.
In a second she found herself flat on her stomach with Griffin peeling her clothes off. From behind the corner of his bed, Griffin pulled out a leather strap. He grabbed two sets of bondage cuffs from the bedside table. With practiced expertise, Griffin buckled the cuffs around her wrists and ankles, bound her hands to the bedpost and strapped her legs wide-open to a spreader bar.
Nora groaned with pleasure as Griffin prepared her body for him—she was going to have to ask him what kind of lube he was using because it felt amazing—and then pushed carefully inside her. She felt the brush of wool as his kilt rubbed against her naked skin. Nora decided there and then to take her next vacation in Scotland.
This is who she was, she reminded herself. She was a switch. All summer long Griffin would top her. All summer long, she would top Michael. She’d have the best of both worlds and no vanilla sex at all. No staring into big brown eyes with flecks of gold in them and saying “Wesley” instead of “sir.” No holding each other while they made love with only sweat wet between them and not blood. Sex was sex. Pain was pain. And Wesley and that part of her was in the past.
Griffin continued to move inside her. Nora buried her head against her arm and whispered Wesley’s name into the sheets.
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