The Original Sinners: The Red Years
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‘Tiffany Reisz is a smart, artful and masterful new voice
in erotic fiction. An erotica star on the rise!’
—Award-winning author Lacey Alexander
‘Daring, sophisticated and literary … exactly what good
erotica should be.’
—Kitty Thomas, author of Tender Mercies
‘Dazzling, devastating and sinfully erotic, Reisz writes
unforgettable characters you’ll either want to know or want
to be. The Siren is an alluring book-within-a-book, a story that will leave you breathless and bruised, aching for another chapter with Nora Sutherlin and her men.’ —Miranda Baker, author of Bottoms Up and Soloplay
‘You will most definitely feel strongly for these characters …
this was an amazing story and I’m so happy that it’s not over.
I can’t wait to jump back into Nora’s world.’
—http://ladysbookstuff.blogspot.co.uk
About the Author
TIFFANY REISZ lives in Lexington, Kentucky. She graduated with a BA in English from Centre College and is making her parents and her professors proud by writing erotica under her real name. She has five piercings, one tattoo and has been arrested twice. When not under arrest, Tiffany enjoys Latin dance, Latin men and Latin verbs. She dropped out of a conservative seminary in order to pursue her dream of becoming a smut peddler. If she couldn’t write, she would die.
Also by Tiffany Reisz:
SEVEN-DAY LOAN
(part of 12 Shades of Surrender: Bound)
THE SIREN
(Original Sinners 1)
Watch out for the third book in
The Original Sinners series
THE PRINCE
Available in December from
Mills & Boon® SPICE
To Gina Scalera, my Angel. I miss you.
To Eve, the original Original Sinner.
And to Andrew Shaffer, many waters …
Part I
1
“Fudge.”
Mostly upside down with her head hanging off the bed, Nora saw the ominous slant of sunlight sliding through the window and across the floor. Soren pushed into her again, and she flinched with pleasure.
“Eleanor, are you thinking about food at a time like this?” Soren thrust hard once more and came with a controlled shudder.
Laughing from her recent orgasm and the absurdity of having this conversation in her current position, Nora finished her thought. “You’re the one who told me I wasn’t allowed to swear on Sundays anymore. So, fudge, I’m going to be late for Mass, sir.”
Soren dipped his head and kissed her neck.
“I have it on good authority that your priest would be quite displeased if you were late,” he whispered into her ear.
“Then my priest needs to untie my leg from his bedpost.”
Soren raised up and glared down at her; she innocently batted her eyelashes at him.
“Beg,” he ordered, and Nora started to growl. Arrogant son of a bitch.
He never said anything about not swearing in her mind. Just that she could never curse out loud.
Soren put a finger over her lips.
“No growling. Begging.”
Clenching and unclenching her jaw, Nora took a deep breath.
“Please, sir, will you let me go so I can drive my as—bottom home, take a shower, eat breakfast for once this week, throw on some clothes and drive back to church so I can sit in my pew looking prim and proper all the while imagining you naked as you’re giving some homily on sin and how, shockingly, God’s against it? Pretty please with you on top?”
Soren slapped the back of her thigh hard enough she yelped. But still he reached up and unknotted the black silk rope from her ankle. With obvious reluctance, he withdrew from her and rolled onto his side.
Now free, Nora started to crawl out of his bed.
Soren propped his head on his hand and stretched languidly across his white sheets. She wasn’t going to look at him. If she looked at Soren, she’d crawl right back to him.
“In a hurry, little one?”
“To leave you? No. To not be late for Mass and earn yet another beating this week? Yes.” Soren caressed the back of her calf and Nora turned back to stare daggers at him. “Are you trying to make me late … sir?”
Sighing, Soren pulled his hand away from her. It wasn’t fair. The rectory stood all of two minutes’ walk from the church; being male and not having to worry about what outfit to wear, Soren could get ready in ten minutes.
“A vicious accusation, Eleanor. Of course I would never try to make you late. You are a role model for the young people in the church after all.”
Snorting a laugh, Nora started picking up her clothes. She pulled her shirt off the top of the bedpost she been tied to last night while Soren had flogged her senseless. Her skirt lay in a crumpled heap on the floor where it had landed after Soren unzipped it and let it fall before bending her over his bed and strapping her ankles to a spreader bar. Somewhere under his bed she found her bra, and her underwear was at home in a drawer. She rarely bothered with underwear around Soren—counterproductive really.
“A role model? Nora Sutherlin—erotica writer, ex-dominatrix. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She held out her hand to shake. Soren only looked at it and raised his eyebrow at her.
“You’re a role model to Michael. He adores you.”
“But Michael’s one of us, sir.” She smiled at the memory of Soren’s anniversary gift to her last year: the virginity of possibly the prettiest teenage boy in the known world. Pretty, kinky and unfortunately deeply troubled. “Of course he’s got a soft spot for me. Or a wet spot. Anyway, none of those vanilla twerps at church need to look up to me.”
Nora shoved her feet into her shoes as Soren got out of bed. Her heart pounded at the sight of all six feet four inches of his perfectly sculpted, unashamedly naked body coming toward her. No one watching him now would ever believe Soren was forty-seven years old. And no one seeing them last night and this morning as he beat her and fucked her repeatedly in a variety of delightfully degrading positions would have dreamed he was one of the most respected Catholic priests in all of New England.