The Angel
Page 94
“Wow…” he breathed. “Spike, it’s—”
“Motherfucking beautiful,” Griffin said, gently touching the skin around the edges of the raw and still-bleeding tattoos.
They were beautiful, his black wings that covered the insides of both wrists. Somehow Spike had managed to create the illusion of delicate feathered edges out of flesh and ink. And the scars…they were gone. The body of each tattoo completely covered the angry, raised remnants of Michael’s suicide attempt.
Griffin took both of Michael’s hands in his and pushed his freshly tattooed wrists together side by side, creating a wingspan.
“Gorgeous, Mick. They’re gorgeous.” Griffin squeezed Michael’s fingers. “Just like you.”
The pain from the two-hour tattoo session had already pulled Michael to the very edge of arousal. And Griffin’s hands on him, the hungry tone of his voice made Michael painfully aware of the one part of his body that ached more than his bleeding wrists.
“I’ll be right back,” Michael said and yanked his hands away from Griffin. He nearly ran from the room and into the bathroom down the hall. Standing at the sink he bent over, turned the taps on and splashed water on his fevered face.
He couldn’t do this anymore. For two months now, his lust for Griffin had been like the scars on his wrists—something he hid, something that shamed him, something he was afraid to look at. But tonight on that table, it wasn’t only the scars on his wrists that had been transformed.
Michael loved Griffin. He knew that now. And he had no f**king idea what to do about it.
“Angel?” The door to the bathroom opened and Nora stood staring at him with concerned eyes.
“Nora…” Michael stood up and raised his hands in a kind of surrender. “Nora…I…”
“I know, Angel,” she said. “I know.”
She shut the door behind her and reached for him, pulling him close. He nearly groaned at the human contact, the touch of her hand on his face, her lips on his cheek. She reached between them and unzipped his jeans as Michael raised her skirt.
He pulled her panties down and pushed inside her. Never before had he been this aggressive with Nora. But this wasn’t about sex or scening or S&M. This was survival. He thrust roughly as she gently ran her hands through his hair and down his back.
Michael came quick and hard, shuddering against Nora with his face buried in the crook of her neck.
“I don’t know what to do, Nora,” he whispered as he pulled out of her. “I don’t know what to say. He’ll kill me. My father will kill me. And my mom, she’ll never look at me again. I don’t know…”
“You have to tell Griffin,” Nora said. “You have to talk, Michael. You have to speak.”
“I can’t, I can’t.” Michael’s whole body seized up in the agony of his need and his love. His knees buckled and together he and Nora sunk to the floor of the bathroom.
“You can, Angel. You’ve been so brave this summer. You’ve faced so many demons. And I’m so proud of who you are and who you’re becoming… Just say it. Tell me what you want to tell Griffin. Just get it out. No one will hear but me. But you’ve got to say it to somebody. Just talk, Angel. Speak. What do you want? Tell me.”
“I…” Michael began and stopped. Even to Nora it seemed a Herculean task to say what he felt, what he wanted.
“Michael, this is an order from your mistress. Tell me what you want. Now.”
“I want Griffin.” The words came out immediately. She had trained him too well. “I want Griffin so much it hurts. I love him, Nora. I have never felt anything like this before. And it’s absolutely stupid because he’s rich and he’s perfect and amazing and I’m a nobody. I’m a nobody, and I’m in love with someone I can’t be with. He’s so beautiful. I can’t stop looking at him, I can’t stop thinking about him. I dream about him at night. And he’s the first thing I think about when I wake up. And I want to touch him so much. I want to touch his face and that f**king perfect hair of his. And his lips and his chest and his arms—and I think about those arms around me, and it’s humiliating how much I want that. And, God, I want to live in his bed. I want to spend the rest of my life underneath him. I want to feel him on top of me and inside me. And I want submit to him. I want to go down on my knees in front of him. I want to call him sir and wear his collar and kiss his f**king feet if he told me to. And I want to walk down the busiest street in New York with him holding hands so the entire world can see us together and know that I belong to him. I love Griffin, Nora. I’m in love with him. And I can’t be with him. But that’s…that’s it.” Michael turned his head and buried it a little deeper into the cleft of Nora’s neck and shoulder. He wanted to stay there so he wouldn’t have to look her or anyone in the eyes ever again. “You won’t tell him, will you?”
“She doesn’t have to.”
Griffin’s voice came from the doorway to the bathroom. Michael gasped and looked up. Nora pulled away enough to turn her head.
“Shit,” Michael breathed, his heart freezing, his stomach dropping, his whole body turning to ice.
“You meant all of that, didn’t you?” Griffin asked, looking down at where Michael sat in a pile of misery on the floor.
“Griffin, I’m sorry.” Michael pulled his knees tight to his chest. “I’m so sorry. Forget I said all that. I’m just—”
“Motherfucking beautiful,” Griffin said, gently touching the skin around the edges of the raw and still-bleeding tattoos.
They were beautiful, his black wings that covered the insides of both wrists. Somehow Spike had managed to create the illusion of delicate feathered edges out of flesh and ink. And the scars…they were gone. The body of each tattoo completely covered the angry, raised remnants of Michael’s suicide attempt.
Griffin took both of Michael’s hands in his and pushed his freshly tattooed wrists together side by side, creating a wingspan.
“Gorgeous, Mick. They’re gorgeous.” Griffin squeezed Michael’s fingers. “Just like you.”
The pain from the two-hour tattoo session had already pulled Michael to the very edge of arousal. And Griffin’s hands on him, the hungry tone of his voice made Michael painfully aware of the one part of his body that ached more than his bleeding wrists.
“I’ll be right back,” Michael said and yanked his hands away from Griffin. He nearly ran from the room and into the bathroom down the hall. Standing at the sink he bent over, turned the taps on and splashed water on his fevered face.
He couldn’t do this anymore. For two months now, his lust for Griffin had been like the scars on his wrists—something he hid, something that shamed him, something he was afraid to look at. But tonight on that table, it wasn’t only the scars on his wrists that had been transformed.
Michael loved Griffin. He knew that now. And he had no f**king idea what to do about it.
“Angel?” The door to the bathroom opened and Nora stood staring at him with concerned eyes.
“Nora…” Michael stood up and raised his hands in a kind of surrender. “Nora…I…”
“I know, Angel,” she said. “I know.”
She shut the door behind her and reached for him, pulling him close. He nearly groaned at the human contact, the touch of her hand on his face, her lips on his cheek. She reached between them and unzipped his jeans as Michael raised her skirt.
He pulled her panties down and pushed inside her. Never before had he been this aggressive with Nora. But this wasn’t about sex or scening or S&M. This was survival. He thrust roughly as she gently ran her hands through his hair and down his back.
Michael came quick and hard, shuddering against Nora with his face buried in the crook of her neck.
“I don’t know what to do, Nora,” he whispered as he pulled out of her. “I don’t know what to say. He’ll kill me. My father will kill me. And my mom, she’ll never look at me again. I don’t know…”
“You have to tell Griffin,” Nora said. “You have to talk, Michael. You have to speak.”
“I can’t, I can’t.” Michael’s whole body seized up in the agony of his need and his love. His knees buckled and together he and Nora sunk to the floor of the bathroom.
“You can, Angel. You’ve been so brave this summer. You’ve faced so many demons. And I’m so proud of who you are and who you’re becoming… Just say it. Tell me what you want to tell Griffin. Just get it out. No one will hear but me. But you’ve got to say it to somebody. Just talk, Angel. Speak. What do you want? Tell me.”
“I…” Michael began and stopped. Even to Nora it seemed a Herculean task to say what he felt, what he wanted.
“Michael, this is an order from your mistress. Tell me what you want. Now.”
“I want Griffin.” The words came out immediately. She had trained him too well. “I want Griffin so much it hurts. I love him, Nora. I have never felt anything like this before. And it’s absolutely stupid because he’s rich and he’s perfect and amazing and I’m a nobody. I’m a nobody, and I’m in love with someone I can’t be with. He’s so beautiful. I can’t stop looking at him, I can’t stop thinking about him. I dream about him at night. And he’s the first thing I think about when I wake up. And I want to touch him so much. I want to touch his face and that f**king perfect hair of his. And his lips and his chest and his arms—and I think about those arms around me, and it’s humiliating how much I want that. And, God, I want to live in his bed. I want to spend the rest of my life underneath him. I want to feel him on top of me and inside me. And I want submit to him. I want to go down on my knees in front of him. I want to call him sir and wear his collar and kiss his f**king feet if he told me to. And I want to walk down the busiest street in New York with him holding hands so the entire world can see us together and know that I belong to him. I love Griffin, Nora. I’m in love with him. And I can’t be with him. But that’s…that’s it.” Michael turned his head and buried it a little deeper into the cleft of Nora’s neck and shoulder. He wanted to stay there so he wouldn’t have to look her or anyone in the eyes ever again. “You won’t tell him, will you?”
“She doesn’t have to.”
Griffin’s voice came from the doorway to the bathroom. Michael gasped and looked up. Nora pulled away enough to turn her head.
“Shit,” Michael breathed, his heart freezing, his stomach dropping, his whole body turning to ice.
“You meant all of that, didn’t you?” Griffin asked, looking down at where Michael sat in a pile of misery on the floor.
“Griffin, I’m sorry.” Michael pulled his knees tight to his chest. “I’m so sorry. Forget I said all that. I’m just—”
