Tiffany Reisz - The Angel

Nora emerged from Father S’s office and smiled at him.

“Good, I’m glad you waited. Want a ride home?”

Michael shrugged and stood up. He couldn’t believe this—over a year without saying a word to each other and now she was offering to drive him home?

“Sure. Thanks.”

The parking lot sat deserted but for a shiny two-seater silver convertible.

“Like it?” Nora clicked the button on her keys to unlock the car.

“Yeah. Awesome,” Michael said, walking around the car. He bit his lip with suppressed laughter when he saw Nora’s vanity license plate: it read NC-17.

Nora stood in front of her car and studied it.

“Decided to treat myself last month. Not as nice as my Aston Martin, but a BMW Z4 Roadster is nothing to sneeze at. I’m a fan of fine German engineering.”

Michael looked her trim but curvaceous body up and down—talk about fine German engineering. He started to say that out loud, knowing she’d laugh at the compliment and the reference to her German background. But as usual he couldn’t get the words out.

“Here, you drive.” She tossed him the keys.

Michael reached out and caught the keys with his fingertips.

“You want me to drive your brand-new BMW?”

“You’re old enough to drive, right?” She opened the passenger-side door and looked over the top of the car at him. “And considering I’ve let you inside my body, it’s not that big of a stretch to let you drive my car, right?”

She dropped into the seat and closed the door.

Michael’s knees buckled at her words. Taking a deep breath, he opened the driver-side door. He slid his skateboard behind the seat and sat down slowly behind the wheel.

“Let’s talk,” Nora began as he started the ignition and started to drive. “Well, you don’t talk so you can listen while I talk.”

“Just, please don’t—”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t say stuff like that again or I’ll get us into a wreck.”

Nora laughed and squeezed his knee.

“All right, Angel. I promise I won’t talk about the night I tied you down and took your virginity. If you insist.”

“Nora, please,” he begged. He loved that she still called him Angel. No one ever called him that except for Nora.

“Fine, I’ll behave. For now. Anyway, here’s the deal. Søren wants us gone for the summer so he can handle things in his own way. I think he knows that if someone started sniffing around me, I’d probably kick their ass, which, admittedly, might not help the situation.”

“Probably not.”

“And considering I sort of kind of committed statutory rape the night you and I were together, well, I think he’s trying to keep me out of this whole mess as much as possible. And you too.”

Michael put on the turn signal at a four-way stop. No cars were coming from any direction. As nervous as he was, he hoped they didn’t encounter another car the entire trip home.

“You didn’t rape me, Nora. I wanted it. I was fifteen, almost sixteen, not five.”

He couldn’t believe he was finally getting to talk to her about that night. He knew Nora and Father S were upset about this whole thing. But today might be the best day of his life.

“The courts have a funny way of not caring about the legal age of consent when underage boys and famous writers are involved. But hey, you aren’t jailbait anymore.”

“So what are we supposed to do?” Michael sent up a quick prayer that he hadn’t been hallucinating when Father S had said he and Nora needed to get out of town together.

“I have a friend named Griffin Fiske. He’s got a farm in upstate New York. I think we should go wait this catastrophe out with him this summer.”

“Griffin Fiske?”

“Yeah. He’s the son of John Fiske, Chairman of the Stock Exchange. Wall Street type. Griffin’s a trust fund baby. But he’s a sweetheart. Søren can’t stand him, but Søren has terrible taste obviously,” she said, pointing at herself.

“Is he—” Michael paused and tried to force the words out. “You know, one of us?”

Nora grinned. “Let’s just say that in the Underground, his nickname is Griffin Fist.”

Michael’s stomach clenched.

“Oh, God.”

“Tell me about it.” Nora patted his knee again. She really needed to stop touching his knee. “So the plan—we’ll go hide out at Griffin’s place for the summer.”

“Hide and do what?”

Michael pulled into the driveway of the small bungalow he lived in with his mother. Thank God his mom didn’t seem to be home.

“This is where you live?” Nora asked with nothing but curiosity in her voice.

“I know it’s not great. But it’s a nice neighborhood.”

“It’s a palace compared to the house I grew up in. Do you like it here?”

Michael shrugged. “Things aren’t great with Mom,” he said. “She’ll probably be glad when I start college.”

“Where are you going?”

“Yorke. Got a full ride. Faxed in my scholarship acceptance letter this morning.”

“Yorke? Good school. My old roommate used to go there. Anyway,” she said and seemed to brush off a sudden sadness, “Søren said this summer might be our last chance to help you. Help you—what did he mean by that?”

Michael didn’t answer at first. But everything within him told him Nora could be trusted. That not only could he trust her but he should trust her.

He leaned back in the seat and shut the car off.

“Two weeks ago … I almost hooked up with someone I met on the web.”

“A dominatrix?” Nora asked.

Michael nodded and said nothing.

“Michael, do you have any idea how dangerous that was?”

“I know, I know. Father S gave me hell for it too. I was just …”

“What, Angel?”

“Lonely. For you.”

Nora reached out and touched his face. His heart fluttered in his chest as her gentle fingers traced the line of his lips, the curve of his jaw.

“Now you don’t have to be lonely anymore. You’ll get me the whole summer. Søren thinks you’re ready to be trained. I think so too.”

“Trained?”

“To be a submissive.” Nora let her hand drop from his face. She got out of the car and Michael followed suit.

“I thought I was …” Michael glanced around to make sure none of his neighbors were out. He’d die if anybody found out what he was. “I thought I was a submissive.”

Nora leaned back against her car and crossed her shapely legs at the ankles.

“Søren trained me for two years before he ever hit me or fucked me the first time, kid. Subs have to be as well trained as dominants if you’re going to do it right and not get hurt.”

“I want to get hurt.”

“Different kind of hurt.”

Michael hazarded a smile.

“Michael,” Nora began and all the mirth had left her voice, “being a sub is hard. Being a male sub is even harder. A woman says she wants to be tied up, everybody thinks it’s sexy. A man says that and everybody thinks—”

“He’s a fag,” Michael finished for her. “At least that’s what my dad thinks. Says I need therapy for my fetish.”

“Forget what your dad thinks. I’ll teach you how to be the best damn sub in the Underground. And to quote the wise and powerful Kingsley on the subject of fetishes,” Nora began and then slipped into an exaggerated but sexy French accent, “‘Fetishes … they’re the pet you feed or the beast that eats you. We’ll feed your beast until it’s tamed. Oui?’”

Michael laughed. Feeding that beast sounded like a great idea to him.

“Oui.”

“Good. So you’re in?”

“I’ve been dreaming about this for … ever. If you and Father S think I’m ready—”

“That doesn’t matter. Do you think you’re ready?”