The Original Sinners: The Red Years

“Nothing. How’s the book coming?”

“Okay, I guess.”

“Did Zach like the new chapters you sent him?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t talked to him in a couple of days.”

Wesley came into her office and sat down in her armchair. He studied her, and she hated the intelligence behind those brown eyes. She should have hired a stupid intern.

“Saturday night…something happened between you two, didn’t it?”

“We didn’t fuck, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I’m worried about you.”

“You worry too much. I’m fine. The book’s coming along fine.”

He stood up and looked at her. She met his eyes and smiled. She never had to lie to him as long as she could still smile. Poor kid bought it every time.

“All right, I’m going to Josh’s. I’ll see you later.”

“Study hard. Learn all those quadratics and isotopes and such.”

“You really were an English major, weren’t you?”

“And an English minor,” she reminded him as she shooed him out of the office. Standing up, she paced the floor, grateful for her solitude. She looked at her office phone. It hadn’t rung all day, or yesterday, or the day before. Zach hadn’t spoken to her since Sunday when he’d given her an awkward goodbye and climbed into a cab. She kept emailing him her pages. He’d send them back with comments and suggestions but no personal notes, no encouragements, no insults, nothing. She handed fistfuls of her heart while he circled her comma splices.

Nora turned away from her black office phone and found her red cell phone. She hit the number eight, the only number she had programmed into her speed dial.

“Oh là là,” Kingsley said in his usual seductive drawl, “clearly reports of your demise have been greatly exaggerated. Or am I talking to a ghost?”

“You’re talking to Mistress fucking Nora and I’m bored and pissed off.”

“Your usual sunny self then. How can I assist you?”

“Who’s on my waiting list?”

“Tout le monde, maîtresse. Absolutely everyone.”

“Pick somebody and set it up.”

“Mais bien sûr, ma chérie. I’ll call you back in five.”

In less than five minutes King called back with a name, a place and a time—one hour from now.

Nora ran to her bedroom and threw open her closet. She pulled out her client’s favorite costume—her tailored white Marlene Dietrich suit. She adjusted the pale blue suspenders, threw on the jacket and stood in front of the mirror tying her tie.

“Nor?”

“Shit.” Nora turned around to find Wesley in her bedroom looking pale and cold. “Thought you had study group.”

“I ran off without my notes,” he said with a tremor in his voice. “I came back for them. Nora—”

“Save it. I need a night off.”

She grabbed her matching white fedora but didn’t put it on. Finding her coat and her keys, she headed for the front door.

“Nora, you said everything was fine.”

“It is fine,” Nora said at the door.

“Please, please be safe.” His voice caught in his throat.

“Don’t worry, kid. She’s five-two and a hundred pounds. I can take her. And I will.” She rolled the hat up her arm and set it on her head. “Don’t wait up.”

Nora made good time to the club and parked in her usual spot. She checked her coat and took the secret entrance in the coat closet that led downstairs. At the last door on the left she paused and took a breath. She opened the door and couldn’t suppress a smile at the sight that greeted her.

“Sheridan…” Nora nearly purred the girl’s name as she entered her room at the club. Sheridan lay stretched out on Nora’s bed wearing nothing but a white lacy garter and a smile. Nora snapped her fingers and Sheridan came up on her knees at the edge of the bed.

In the beginning Kingsley had taught Nora the rules of being a paid Dominant. He was no pimp and never allowed his employees to have sex with clients on his time clock.

Rule number one, he’d intoned in his erotic French accent. Do not kiss your clients. They may kiss you…but only on the toe of your boot.

“Hello, Mistress.”

Nora cupped Sheridan’s face in her hand and gave her a long, thorough kiss. Sheridan tasted of strawberries and Nora breathed into her lips. Kingsley and his rules were powerless against the petite blonde beauty of Sheridan Stratford, star of Empire City, the number one drama on television. Only twenty-three, Sheridan had been a client of Nora’s for two years now. She’d come running to Kingsley after four years of being unable to have an orgasm during vanilla sex. In her first session with Nora, Sheridan had climaxed five times.

Sheridan held on to Nora’s suspenders as Nora ran her hands from Sheridan’s shoulders down to her hips. Right now Sheridan’s skin was a pristine porcelain canvas waiting for Nora to mark it. But first…

Nora pushed Sheridan down and onto her back. With her knees Nora wrenched Sheridan’s thighs apart. Out in the real world, Sheridan had earned the moniker “America’s Sweetheart” because of her innocent blue-eyed beauty and sweet smile. In nearly every role she played a virgin. Virgin? Sheridan hadn’t been a virgin since age fourteen when her father’s best friend had turned her over his knee, spanked her and fucked her right on her councilman father’s big oak desk. She’d developed an appetite for extreme sex, intense BDSM, and couldn’t orgasm unless submitting to a Dominant. Her father’s best friend had kept on his Armani business suit while deflowering Sheridan and now Sheridan had a delicious little fetish for men’s clothing.

With one hand Nora held Sheridan down by her throat while her mouth tasted the tips of Sheridan’s small but perfectly formed breasts. Nora’s other hand slipped down Sheridan’s flat stomach and teased her already swollen clitoris.

“You started without me.” Nora met Sheridan’s eyes as she pushed two fingers into Sheridan’s wet body.

“Am I in trouble, mistress?”

Nora laughed, low and throaty.

“Do you want to be in trouble, little miss?”

Sheridan nodded humbly and smiled so sweetly it took everything Nora had in her not to kiss the smile right off her face.

“Yes, mistress,” she whispered and the smile remained.

Nora raised her hand and slapped it off instead.

Sheridan gasped as Nora grabbed her by the back of the neck; her fingers tangled in the girl’s blond hair, and she dragged her to the head of the bed. From under the bed, Nora pulled her famous red riding crop.