The Angel
Page 18
“Little one,” Søren said with thinly disguised disgust. “That was pointless.”
“Well, it wasn’t a step backward so we’ll consider it a step forward. Besides, I’m only playing chess with you to keep you awake longer,” she admitted. “I’m terrible at this game and you know it.”
“I do indeed.” Søren moved his queen. Checkmate.
“Fine. You win,” Nora conceded. “I’d kick your ass if we were playing Battleship though. That’s my game.”
“Battleship?”
Nora smiled. Søren had had such an unusual childhood that things she took for granted—silly board games, Saturday morning cartoons—Søren had no experience with. At age five he’d been sent to England to attend school. An unpleasant incident with a fellow student forced him back to America at age ten. A far more unpleasant incident at his home ended with him being shipped off to a Jesuit boarding school in rural Maine when he was only eleven. But it was there among the priests and monks that Søren found not only his salvation, but his calling. That and he met a certain young half-blood Frenchman who would change the course of his life forever.
“Battleship. It’s this stupid game Wes and I played when we were procrastinating from doing our work.”
“You so rarely speak of Wesley, Eleanor. And yet so many memories you have of him make you smile. Why don’t you talk about him more?”
Why didn’t she talk about him more? Nora shook her head and stared at the chessboard. Looking back she still wasn’t sure why she’d asked Wesley to move in with her, other than he’d intimated that he might have to move back home to Kentucky as Yorke was a prohibitively expensive liberal-arts college. But as soon as Wesley was in her home, she’d begun to wonder how she’d ever lived without him. Before Wesley, she’d practically lived at Kingsley’s Manhattan town house. She worked in the city so much that several days would pass before she’d return to her home in Connecticut. Once Wesley was there, however, she’d find herself racing back to her house after a job, throwing on normal clothes and curling up on the couch with him.
Nora would never forget the day she got tired of writing in her office and had taken her laptop to the kitchen just for a change of scenery. Wesley joined her in the kitchen and sat opposite her at the table. He opened his laptop and started working on a paper due in his European History class that week. Nora remembered casting furtive glances over the top of her computer at him. He had brown eyes with little flecks of gold in them and dark blond hair that fell over his forehead. Only eighteen then, he was utterly adorable, and sometimes she had to practically sit on her hands to keep from reaching out and grabbing him when he walked past her. They were just roommates, just friends, she always had to remind herself. And Wesley was a good Christian kid and a virgin. One night with her wouldn’t just take his virginity, it would steal his innocence too. But that day all she felt for him was affection. Affection and amusement.
“Wes, I’m going to say it,” she said, glancing at their back-to-back open laptops.
“Don’t say it, Nora,” Wesley said as he kept typing.
“I have to say it.”
“Do. Not. Say. It,” Wesley ordered, trying and failing to sound intimidating. His sexy hybrid Kentucky-Georgia accent made her toes curl but it did not lend itself to intimidation. “If you say it, I’m leaving.”
“Wesley…”
“Nora…”
Nora took a deep breath, pretended to type something and whispered, “Wes?”
“What?”
“You sunk my Battleship!”
At that Wesley stood up and left the kitchen. Nora dissolved into giggles as Wesley threw on his coat, grabbed his car keys and walked out of the house. She was still laughing half an hour later when Wesley returned carrying a just-purchased Battleship game with him. Nora closed their computers and they set up the game on the kitchen table. She beat him soundly, two to one. After that, every time one or both of them needed a break from work, they’d sneak up behind the other, yell, “You sunk my Battleship,” and the game would be on.
“Eleanor?” Søren’s voice pulled her out of the memory and back to the present.
Nora touched her face and held out her hand. In the light of the fireplace, the tears shimmered on the tips of her fingers.
“This is why I don’t talk about Wes,” she said, and Søren reached for her and pulled her into his arms.
He bent his head and kissed her as his hand crept under the shirt she wore—his shirt—and slipped two fingers into her. She wanted him to make love to her again, but the moment had passed. A true sadist, Søren could only become aroused by inflicting pain and humiliation. So instead it was his probing fingers that penetrated her. He spread his fingers wide within her, slipped in a third and pushed hard up against her pubic bone. Nora’s hips lifted as her inner muscles gripped him. She grew wet at his touch even as the cut on her labia still ached and burned.
“Come for me,” Søren ordered, “and then we’re sleeping.”
“I can hold off having an orgasm for a long time,” she teased. “Anything to keep you awake.”
Søren, as she knew he would, took that as a challenge. He pressed his thumb into her clitoris and made precision circles that left her panting. Still she breathed through the pleasure.
With his free hand, Søren unbuttoned her shirt and bared her br**sts. He kissed her ni**les and they hardened in his warm mouth. As his lips and tongue made languid circles on her br**sts, his fingers continued their gentle onslaught inside her. Nora flinched and clutched at the rug beneath her. Still she didn’t let herself come.
“Well, it wasn’t a step backward so we’ll consider it a step forward. Besides, I’m only playing chess with you to keep you awake longer,” she admitted. “I’m terrible at this game and you know it.”
“I do indeed.” Søren moved his queen. Checkmate.
“Fine. You win,” Nora conceded. “I’d kick your ass if we were playing Battleship though. That’s my game.”
“Battleship?”
Nora smiled. Søren had had such an unusual childhood that things she took for granted—silly board games, Saturday morning cartoons—Søren had no experience with. At age five he’d been sent to England to attend school. An unpleasant incident with a fellow student forced him back to America at age ten. A far more unpleasant incident at his home ended with him being shipped off to a Jesuit boarding school in rural Maine when he was only eleven. But it was there among the priests and monks that Søren found not only his salvation, but his calling. That and he met a certain young half-blood Frenchman who would change the course of his life forever.
“Battleship. It’s this stupid game Wes and I played when we were procrastinating from doing our work.”
“You so rarely speak of Wesley, Eleanor. And yet so many memories you have of him make you smile. Why don’t you talk about him more?”
Why didn’t she talk about him more? Nora shook her head and stared at the chessboard. Looking back she still wasn’t sure why she’d asked Wesley to move in with her, other than he’d intimated that he might have to move back home to Kentucky as Yorke was a prohibitively expensive liberal-arts college. But as soon as Wesley was in her home, she’d begun to wonder how she’d ever lived without him. Before Wesley, she’d practically lived at Kingsley’s Manhattan town house. She worked in the city so much that several days would pass before she’d return to her home in Connecticut. Once Wesley was there, however, she’d find herself racing back to her house after a job, throwing on normal clothes and curling up on the couch with him.
Nora would never forget the day she got tired of writing in her office and had taken her laptop to the kitchen just for a change of scenery. Wesley joined her in the kitchen and sat opposite her at the table. He opened his laptop and started working on a paper due in his European History class that week. Nora remembered casting furtive glances over the top of her computer at him. He had brown eyes with little flecks of gold in them and dark blond hair that fell over his forehead. Only eighteen then, he was utterly adorable, and sometimes she had to practically sit on her hands to keep from reaching out and grabbing him when he walked past her. They were just roommates, just friends, she always had to remind herself. And Wesley was a good Christian kid and a virgin. One night with her wouldn’t just take his virginity, it would steal his innocence too. But that day all she felt for him was affection. Affection and amusement.
“Wes, I’m going to say it,” she said, glancing at their back-to-back open laptops.
“Don’t say it, Nora,” Wesley said as he kept typing.
“I have to say it.”
“Do. Not. Say. It,” Wesley ordered, trying and failing to sound intimidating. His sexy hybrid Kentucky-Georgia accent made her toes curl but it did not lend itself to intimidation. “If you say it, I’m leaving.”
“Wesley…”
“Nora…”
Nora took a deep breath, pretended to type something and whispered, “Wes?”
“What?”
“You sunk my Battleship!”
At that Wesley stood up and left the kitchen. Nora dissolved into giggles as Wesley threw on his coat, grabbed his car keys and walked out of the house. She was still laughing half an hour later when Wesley returned carrying a just-purchased Battleship game with him. Nora closed their computers and they set up the game on the kitchen table. She beat him soundly, two to one. After that, every time one or both of them needed a break from work, they’d sneak up behind the other, yell, “You sunk my Battleship,” and the game would be on.
“Eleanor?” Søren’s voice pulled her out of the memory and back to the present.
Nora touched her face and held out her hand. In the light of the fireplace, the tears shimmered on the tips of her fingers.
“This is why I don’t talk about Wes,” she said, and Søren reached for her and pulled her into his arms.
He bent his head and kissed her as his hand crept under the shirt she wore—his shirt—and slipped two fingers into her. She wanted him to make love to her again, but the moment had passed. A true sadist, Søren could only become aroused by inflicting pain and humiliation. So instead it was his probing fingers that penetrated her. He spread his fingers wide within her, slipped in a third and pushed hard up against her pubic bone. Nora’s hips lifted as her inner muscles gripped him. She grew wet at his touch even as the cut on her labia still ached and burned.
“Come for me,” Søren ordered, “and then we’re sleeping.”
“I can hold off having an orgasm for a long time,” she teased. “Anything to keep you awake.”
Søren, as she knew he would, took that as a challenge. He pressed his thumb into her clitoris and made precision circles that left her panting. Still she breathed through the pleasure.
With his free hand, Søren unbuttoned her shirt and bared her br**sts. He kissed her ni**les and they hardened in his warm mouth. As his lips and tongue made languid circles on her br**sts, his fingers continued their gentle onslaught inside her. Nora flinched and clutched at the rug beneath her. Still she didn’t let herself come.
