The Original Sinners: The Red Years

“I only tease the ones who pay me to tease.” Nora came around the desk and sat on the top. Not even Kingsley had an Aston Martin. She liked to remind him of that. “Miss me?”

“I miss you. My bank account misses you.”

“Your bank account is bigger than the GDP of Luxembourg, King.”

“Oui, maîtresse.” He took a bigger swig of his drink. “But Luxembourg is such a small kingdom.”

“Cough it up,” she said. “I’ve got news.”

Sighing, Kingsley slowly rose out of his chair and strolled across the room. He picked up a small black briefcase and handed it to her. Nora tossed it aside and wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders.

“None of that,” Kingsley said as Nora nibbled delicately on his ear. She wanted him in a good mood for the bad news. Her hand wandered down his taut stomach. Damn beautiful Frenchman, she hated to see him pout. “And none of that, either. What’s this news of yours?”

“I quit,” she whispered.

Kingsley pulled back and raised his eyebrow at her.

“Quit?”

“Oui,” Nora said. “I adore you, Kingsley. You are annoying and frustrating, and I don’t know what I would have done without you. But my editor’s going to sign my contract. It’s time I started behaving like a real writer. Comprende?”

Kingsley sighed and kissed both of her cheeks.

“Notre prêtre will be thrilled to hear that. And God knows I’ll be happy to go a day without him threatening my life and manhood on your behalf. It wouldn’t be so troubling except—”

“Søren means it.”

“Bien sûr, ma chérie,” Kingsley said and kissed her on the lips. Nora tried not to enjoy it but it was Kingsley after all. The man was half-French but his tongue was all-French. “Now that you’re a free woman, care to spend a little free time avec moi? I’ll tip you for old time’s sake, oui?”

“Je suis désolée. But I’m seducing my editor this week. And besides, we both know you’re a terrible tipper.”

Nora pulled away and headed to the door.

“Elle?” Nora turned around to face him. Kingsley had changed her name to Nora Sutherlin four years ago. If he ever called her Elle anymore, it was because he wanted her complete attention. He sat on top of his desk with his cocktail again. “I tease you but your books… You make us all proud, chérie. La communauté. Bonne chance avec le roman, ma belle dame sans merci.”

Good luck with the novel, my beautiful lady without mercy. Nora smiled.

“La belle dame avec merci,” she replied with a curtsy, touched by his kind words. Usually Kingsley had nothing but disgust for the other job that often kept her from her clients. “Merci, monsieur.”

He was still laughing when she left him.

* * *

Nora drove to Zach’s building, parked in the garage and tipped the attendant a hundred dollars to keep an eye on her car. Tipping generously came easily with the ten thousand dollars in cash Kingsley had just given her.

She tipped Zach’s doorman with equal generosity and claimed she had something to drop off at his apartment. Good thing Zach had a male doorman or sweet-talking her way inside might not have worked.

Nora found number 1312 and knocked lightly, praying Zach wasn’t working from home today. She waited and heard nothing. Opening her bag, she pulled out her small lock pick set.

The lock took less than a minute to jimmy open. With a deft hand she turned the tumblers and felt it give way. She slipped inside the apartment and looked around.

The impressive neatness didn’t surprise her. Zach was quite fastidious when he wanted to be. The apartment was austerely furnished, everything dark wood, dark leather and sparse. On the side table next to the black sofa she found a stack of manuscripts and on top of them sat Zach’s silver-rimmed glasses that he wore only when line editing. She’d seen them on him only a couple of times and it was good for both of them he didn’t wear them more often. He looked so intellectual in them that it was all she could do not to bite him. Only Zachary Easton could make proofreading that sexy.

She glanced at his one bookshelf and saw his private reading was of astonishingly high quality—Stanley Fish and Noam Chomsky. The man read literary theory for fun.

“What a nerd,” she said to herself, grinning.

Nora poked her head in the bathroom, inhaling with pleasure the warm scent of his soap and shaving cream. Men simply had no idea how profound an effect their masculine scent could have on a woman. She already felt her pulse beginning to surge with every invasion of his privacy.

Back in the living room Nora glanced at the stack of manuscripts again. Hers wasn’t among them. She picked up a small box lying next to his glasses on the stack of manuscripts. It still had some of the brown paper wrapping around it. It must be his latest gift from the office prankster who was anonymously torturing him for working with her. She opened the box and grinned—nipple clamps, she nodded her head appreciatively. She looked at them more closely and made a nervous discovery—they were handmade Eris brand, a kind not for sale anywhere. A local dungeon master gave them to his guests as party favors. They were two-ways—nipple clamps that doubled as clip-on earrings. She even had a pair somewhere. Whoever Zach’s office prankster was, he or she was an insider. Nora put the nipple clamps back in the box and set them on the top manuscript where she’d found them. Surely if the prankster knew she was on the underground payroll he would have already told Zach, she comforted herself.

A closed door beckoned and Nora passed from the living room into his bedroom.

There was nothing in his bedroom but the bed itself and a small table with his alarm clock. She appreciated his priorities—a bed was all they’d need. The bed was made, she noted. That wife of his had him so well-trained. She opened the closet and found a white shirt with French cuffs that Zach wore on occasion. She never told him how insanely attractive she found him when he wore it. Knowing him, he’d stop wearing it around her just out of spite.

Nora pulled it off the hanger and laid it on the bed. She tapped something with her foot, and bent and pulled the mysterious object from underneath Zach’s bed. It was a copy of her manuscript. Zach had apparently reserved her book for bedtime reading. She took that as a compliment.

Nora pulled off her boots and undressed quickly. It felt delicious standing naked and alone in Zach’s bedroom. She put the dress shirt on and buttoned only the two middle buttons. With a flourish she pulled the covers back from his bed and slid between the sheets. She reached for a pillow and placed it underneath her hips. As her legs fell open her mind found its way to Zach.

Zach…Zach knew her books and because of that she sometimes felt he might know her better than anyone. His body was long and lean and his lower back had the most exquisite arch and his fingers and hands were strong and it wouldn’t be long before they were on her and in her and he was inside her completely with nothing—not the book, not his wife, not his fears and his secrets—between them. What would it be like to look up into those ice-blue eyes and see them on fire?

Nora came hard on her hand and wiped her fingers on his pillowcase. She looked at the clock and saw it was still early. Zach wouldn’t be home for hours. She slipped her hands between her legs again. Time for at least one more.

Or maybe two.

* * *

Long after seven had passed, Zach trudged his way home, exhausted from a day at work. He’d felt miserable ever since Grace called. He’d snapped at Mary for no reason and hung up on J.P. in the middle of a call. He’d apologized to both of them and then wished he hadn’t. They were so damn sympathetic he felt he was wearing a scarlet D for dumped. As soon as he turned the key in his lock and opened his door, Zach perked up a bit. He inhaled Nora’s perfume, that unmistakable scent of hothouse flowers, and knew she’d been here.

“Nora?” he called out as he dropped his messenger bag by the door and shrugged off his coat. He saw nothing had been moved or altered. His books were all in place, his furniture, his glasses. Curious, Zach moved toward the bedroom and saw his normally closed door standing ajar. He peered around the door half expecting, half hoping to find Nora lying on his bed. But the room sat empty. Still it was clear she’d been in his bedroom. The bed was unmade, the covers pulled back and the imprint of her body still on the sheets. Zach started to inspect the bed, looking for any note she might have left. The moment his hands touched the sheets the phone rang. This time Zach knew it was Nora.

“Somebody’s been sleeping in my bed,” he said as he answered.

“And it was just right. How are you today, Zach?”

“Exhausted. But the excitement of thinking my flat had been broken into did wake me up a bit. You know, if someone caught you in the act, you might have been arrested.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time. Hope you don’t mind but I masturbated in your bed.”

Zach coughed in response.

“Did you?”

“Three times. I only planned on the one but your sheets smelled so good, just like you. And I couldn’t help but notice that you had my dirty little book by your bed. Can’t imagine why my book gets such a place of honor…can you?”

“I often read in bed.”

“Don’t be coy, darling. We both know you’ve masturbated to my scenes. Haven’t you?”

Zach considered lying or not answering at all. But what was the point of either? Nora would know. “Yes,” he admitted. “Once.”

“I’m flattered. Can’t blame you, though. I’m pretty good on the page. Tell me something,” she said, her voice turning to warm honey. “What’s your favorite position?”

“I usually play winger.”

“Zach, I adore you, but you can’t make soccer jokes during phone sex. It just isn’t done.”

“We’re having phone sex, are we?”

“Yes, we are. We’ve both worked too hard this week. Playtime. This is an easy game.”

“No chance I could talk you into a hand or two of whist, could I?”

“Not a chance. I left you a present in your nightstand.”

Warily, Zach opened the drawer in his night table. Nora had left him a tube of lubricant. Why were people always giving him lube?

“How kind,” he said with a clenched jaw.

“Comfortable? I suggest lying back on your pillows. I wonder if you can guess which pillow I put under my hips when I masturbated.”

Zach’s heart fluttered at her brash words. He and Grace had been married two years before he could even talk her into performing in front of him. He would have given his right hand to have watched Nora in his bed. Well, maybe his left hand.

Zach ran his subtly trembling hands over his pillows. He flipped one over and saw a small watermark on one that hadn’t been there that morning. Grateful Nora wasn’t there to see him, he lifted the pillow to his face and inhaled. A thousand sensory memories returned with that one breath. The scent was the unmistakable mark of a woman’s arousal, utterly potent and completely erotic.

“My God,” he said and heard Nora giggling at the end of the line.

“Thank you. Comfortable yet?”

Zach kicked off his shoes and propped himself on his pillows as Nora had suggested. “Physically I’m comfortable. In other respects, however…no. Not even remotely.”

He expected a laugh but none came.

“Zach,” Nora began and her voice sounded oddly solemn. “Listen to me. You don’t have to be uncomfortable. It’s just me. There’s nothing that you can say or do that will shock me. You’ve been inside me, in case you’ve forgotten. We’re both grown-ups who are very attracted to each other. You are an insanely gorgeous, incredibly intelligent man and you have no reason to be embarrassed by this.”

“Just a bit out of practice,” Zach confessed.

“Practice makes perfect. I’ll go easy on you this time. Asking again, what’s your favorite position?”

“This is the easy version?”

“This is kindergarten, Zach. Now answer me and be honest.”

Zach exhaled and looked up at the ceiling. Better to just get it out.

“I prefer from behind positions.”

“Doggie style?”

“Sometimes. My favorite, though, is when she’s on her stomach and her leg is sort of pulled up.”

“Why do you like it? And don’t skimp on the details.”

“It’s…” Zach searched for the right word. “It’s intimate without being sentimental. I suppose that sounds like a load of rubbish to you.”

“No, it makes perfect sense. Missionary position is as vanilla as it gets. But from behind positions are fantastic. Some of my favorites, too. When was the first time you tried it?”

“I was seventeen, I think. I was seeing a university student a few years older than me.”

“Such a lady-killer. And she was more experienced than you?”

“Vastly. I’d had more than a few wild nights but nothing had prepared me for her. Second time we were together she rolled onto her stomach and made her will known.”

“I like this girl.”

“She was a beautiful half-crazy bint named Raine of all things, but I don’t regret the lessons.”

“Raine is making me wet. What do you remember from the first time, Zach?”

“Ah…” Zach closed his eyes and summoned the memory. It had been years since he’d even thought about her. “I remember having to move her hair off her neck. She had gorgeous dark hair like yours. And I’ll never forget taking a fistful of it and pushing it out of the way so I could kiss her back and shoulders.”

“Did you bite her?”

“Constantly,” Zach confessed. “And I remember bracing myself with my arms over her. My hands were on either side of her and she reached her hand out and wrapped her fingers around mine. I think that’s when it became my favorite.” He closed his eyes and remembered how often he’d taken Grace like that. She did the same thing, taking his hand while he was thrusting into her. When Raine had done it, it aroused him. When Grace did it, he was undone.

“Understandably. As a woman it’s very erotic to be taken like that. You feel, oh, what’s the word? Used, I guess. Used in a good way. From behind positions are fairly dominant. I think you have a Dom streak in you, Zach.”

“It didn’t feel like dominance. Just intimate. I mean…I can’t begin to fathom what I mean.”

“Yes, you do. Tell me.” Nora’s voice was even softer now, coaxing him to close his eyes. He wondered if she was in her bedroom and what she was doing to put that purr in her voice. He didn’t want to ask, but he did want to imagine.

“The whispering,” he said.

“The whispering? What whispering?”

“In that position, his, my mouth is at her ear. It’s perfect for whispering…things.”

“So he does like dirty talk after all. What do you say when you’re on top of a woman and inside her?”

“Nora,” he protested. “I can’t just—”

“Yes, you can. Tell me. Close your eyes and pretend it’s me underneath you. Pretend your chest is pressed to my shoulders. Pretend your hands are locked over my wrists. Pretend your mouth is at my ear. Pretend you’re moving inside me. Is that such a horrible thought?”

“No, it’s amazing,” Zach said, suddenly breathless.

“Tell me, Zach. Tell me what you’d say. Whisper it in my ear…”

Zach took a deep breath, and remembered he was allowed to trust Nora and to trust himself. It was so damned hard to do, but he wanted to trust her, needed to trust her.

He rolled onto his side, unbuttoned his pants and whispered.

26

On Friday morning Zach was stuck in a staff meeting and finding it hard to concentrate for two reasons. Reason number one—the phone call from Grace that had left his heart aching. Reason number two—the phone call from Nora last night that had left his body aching.

“And as most of you know,” J.P. said, “in two weeks our Zach Easton will be going west to take over as chief managing editor at the L.A. offices. I’m sure all of you will miss his sunny presence. To quote the old Irish blessing, may the fog rise up to meet you or something like that.” A gentle murmur of laughter rippled through the room. Only that pompous arse Thomas Finley wasn’t laughing, merely smirking as usual.

Thomas he would not miss. But he would miss his assistant, Mary, and J.P. Of course it was Nora’s presence in his life he’d miss more than anything from his time in New York. She had become the embodiment of the city to him—reckless and wild, fascinating and beautiful, dark and dangerous, so spoiled and so very generous.

“So two weeks from now,” J.P. continued, “in the conference room we’ll have a going away party for Easton. I suggested all of us go out to the Four Seasons but someone vetoed that suggestion so blame Easton for his half-assed fare-thee-well.” A smattering of playful boos were thrown Zach’s way.

The meeting concluded and the staff started filing out. Mary gave him a hug on the way out and said, “Take me to California with you,” in a stage whisper in his ear. J.P., standing next to Zach, mouthed, “Not a chance” at her, and Mary departed wearing a faux pout on her face.

There were friendly shoulder pats and a few hearty handshakes from his fellow editors. Zach turned to ask J.P. something when he heard a smug laugh behind him.

“How’s Nora’s book coming, Zach?” Thomas Finley asked in his unctuous tone. “Coming hard and coming often?”

“The work is progressing very well, Thomas,” Zach replied, ignoring Thomas’s childish insinuations. “Thank you for asking.”

“Cracking the whip, are you?” he asked with a sneer. “Oh, wait, that’s her job.”

“Finley, that’s enough,” J.P. said, pointing an angry finger on his way out of the conference room. “Our writers deserve our respect.”

“Respect her?” Thomas snorted as soon as J.P. was gone. “If I paid her to put her boot on my back then maybe I’d respect her.”

Zach stuffed his papers in his messenger bag.

“I see Mary was right,” Zach said calmly.

“Right about what?” Finley demanded, his face reddening.

“About your professional jealousy. I’m sorry if you thought the position in L.A. should have been yours. The fact that you responded to my promotion with juvenile pranks is proof that you barely deserve this job, much less the chief managing editor position. Publishing is for adults, Thomas. It would help if you acted like one.”

“Zach, the only reason you got offered that job in L.A. was pure pity. J.P. got wind your wife was dumping you. After all, none of my writers have ever had to sleep their way to a six-figure advance.”

“None of your writers have ever earned a six-figure advance. And Nora will earn her advance like every other writer I’ve ever worked with—by writing her heart out. Nora and I are not sleeping together. The position is mine because I’m better at this job than you are. And this conversation,” Zach said emphatically, trying to shove past Thomas who stepped in front of the door to bar his way, “is over.”

“Not sleeping together? Really?” Thomas feigned shock. “Let me guess, she’s out of your price range.”

“You’re a child, Thomas.”

“And she’s a prostitute, Easton.”

Zach blanched and opened his mouth to protest but something stopped him.

A wide and vicious grin spread across Thomas’s face.

“Zach, Zach, Zach…you really didn’t know? Nora Sutherlin’s the most famous Dominatrix in this city. I guess she just hasn’t sent you the invoice for her services rendered yet.”

“I know what she is, what she does in her free time. Her private life is not my concern.”

“Private life? Easton—it’s not private if you have to pay taxes on it. She does it for money. She is a hooker. Friend of mine shelled out 5K just to watch him tie up and fuck his girlfriend. Do I need to put this in writing for you?”

Zach pushed Thomas out of the way. Finley’s cackle followed him all the way down the hall.

Zach stopped in J.P.’s office. J.P. looked up at him with wary eyes.

“Give me your car keys, J.P.”

J.P. dug in his pocket.

“What did he say?”

“Nothing I’ll repeat until I hear it from her.”

Zach took the keys and headed to the door.

“Easton—you’re my only new critic, remember? It’s not supposed to be about the author, just the book.”

“It’s never just about the book,” Zach said and slammed J.P.’s door behind him.

* * *

Nora glanced at her handwritten notes and started typing again. She wanted to quit for the day but knew she had to push through her tiredness. She was getting close to the big crisis in the story and while she looked forward to rewriting the intensely dramatic scene, she also dreaded having to begin the process of ending the book. More than any of her previous books, this one had become her baby, hers and Zach’s, and she loved it more than she ever knew she could love something her own hands had made.

Nora started to flip a page in her notes but stopped when she heard someone knocking on her door. The insistent knock came again.

She smiled as she opened the door and saw Zach standing on her porch.

“You’re making a habit of this, Zach,” she said, quietly thrilled to see him.

But Zach didn’t smile back. He stared at her and raised his chin.

“How much do I owe you?” he asked.

Nora’s heart dropped through her body and into her feet.

“Shit.”

“That’s all you have to say?” Zach said, coming through the open door.

“What do you want me to say? I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I was going to. At the club. Then Søren showed up. I chickened out, I’m sorry. It doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t matter that you’re a prostitute?”

“A prostitute? Is that what you think I am?” she demanded. “Prostitutes would kill to be me. I’m a Dominatrix. People submit to me for money. But they never ever get to fuck me.”

“I thought you were this sexy, wild writer, a free spirit. But you aren’t a free spirit. You’re just a very expensive cheap trick.”

“I told you, Zach—my tricks are anything but cheap.” She heard the iciness in her voice and Zach gave her a dark look.

“You lied to me,” he said with cold, quiet anger.

Nora took a deep breath and forced herself to stay calm.

“Zach, I know you’re upset. I know this is a huge shock to you—”

“Are you sick?”

Nora blinked at him.

“Some might say so. I can’t say I disagree.”

Zach tore from the living room and came back seconds later with a pill bottle in his hand.

“These,” he said, shoving her beta-blockers nearly in her face. “My father takes these for his heart trouble that could kill him at any moment. And your M.D. appointments in your date book—are you ill?”

“First of all, you had no right to dig through my medicine cabinet or my date book, but considering I broke into your apartment, we’ll let that slide. And no, I’m perfectly healthy. M.D. just means ‘My Dungeon’ which you’ve seen. And these are the same pills that a lot of performers take for stage fright and performance anxiety. They reduce hand tremors. My work isn’t easy sometimes. They help me get through some of the rougher scenes.”

Zach collapsed into a chair and buried his head in his hands. He sat back and threw the bottle of pills across the room. They hit the wall and clattered to the floor.

“I’ve been quietly terrified for weeks that there was something wrong with you. I thought that was the secret you were keeping from me. I never dreamed you…”

Nora bent down in front of him and reached out to touch his knee. He stood up and brushed past her.

“I can’t believe the first woman I allow near me since Grace…” Zach paused and shook his head in disgust. “I thought you were a writer.”

“I am a writer,” she said, more hurt and angry than she’d been in years. “You know that better than anyone.”

“You have sex—”

“I only fuck the women,” she admitted. “The men I just beat the shit out of.”