“Human sexuality is as varied as the colors of the rainbow,” Søren said. “Sadly it’s not always a pot of gold at the end.”

“Sometimes it’s a pot of sh—”

“Eleanor, we’re eating.”

“Sorry, sir.” She took a huge bite of food to cover her giggles.

“You are an endlessly unusual woman.” Søren sat in a chair opposite her, his big bare feet up on the table next to her hip. “Whenever I think I’ve explored every corner of you, I turn another corner and find a new wing.”

“Says the Danish Catholic polyglot sadist priest. My weirdness has nothing on you.”

“You chose to be a dominatrix as an adult. My mother was Danish. I converted to Catholicism at age fourteen because I was sent, against my will, to a Catholic school and had a conversion experience. I learn languages because it helps my work as a priest and a translator of religious documents, and the sadism is, as you know, nothing I asked for.”

“If you could give it back, would you?”

“Yes.”

“Really?” She hadn’t expected him to answer so quickly and so easily.

“Would you choose to be what I am if you had a choice?” he asked.

“A sadist? I did choose it, remember? I beat up more people in one day than you do in one month.”

“It’s not the same. I can’t even become aroused without inflicting pain or humiliation. You don’t need it the way I do. Don’t confuse wanting with needing.”

“Why not? If I want it as much as you need it, isn’t it the same?”

“Very well then. Same question to you. If you could make yourself stop wanting it, would you?”

“I guess I have to say no. Being a sadist pays for my house.”

“And if money were no object?”

“You’re asking me if I would be vanilla if I could be vanilla?”

“I am.”

“I do think about it sometimes,” she said. “It might make life easier.”

“Easier isn’t necessarily more rewarding.”

“But infinitely less complicated.” She paused to eat and pull her thoughts together. “I had sex with a virgin last night.”

“You found one?” he asked.

“Right under my nose. Third one I’ve found. I even have a punch card—if I fuck two more virgins I get a free frozen yogurt on my birthday.”

“Virgins don’t seem your particular cup of tea. What’s the appeal?”

“I don’t know. Untapped potential maybe. Being someone’s first is a power trip, especially when you’re not just introducing them to sex but kink, too. And they’re not us,” she admitted.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, they’re not one of us. I don’t meet these guys at kink clubs. I meet them out in the real world. I met Noah at a coffee shop where I write.”

“You mean you meet them in your other life. Not the life you share with Kingsley and me and your clients.”

She nodded.

“Right. He’s a normal college kid. Sweet. Sexy. Nice. No baggage. I let him spend the night and this morning... I was glad he was still there. I felt very vanilla.”

“Juliette sleeps with Kingsley almost every night. Their relationship is anything but vanilla.”

“Juliette is fine sleeping with a man who routinely fucks other people. That’s harder to find for a woman. Noah doesn’t know I do kink for money. I didn’t tell him that today I got paid five hundred dollars from a judge to let him jack off on my feet. Or that I routinely stick a dildo in the ass of the mayor’s baby brother. Or that the bed he lost his virginity in was paid for by me carving my name with a needle into the dick of the man who owns the largest furniture store chain on the Eastern Seaboard. I mean, look at you. You’re a sadist. You’re practically worshipped in the Underground as a god of pain, and yet you don’t even like what I do for a living.”

“If I weren’t in love with you, I’d have no qualms whatsoever with your line of work.”

“I want to be in a relationship with someone who doesn’t have a problem with it and who is also in love with me. If a man as kinky as you can’t accept it...who can?”

She stabbed her fork into her food.

“You’re lonely,” Søren said.

She shrugged. “Just overworked.”

“You never say no to me when I tell you I need you. I have trouble believing you’re here out of pure concern for my well-being.”

“Why not?”

“You’re not that nice.” He pointed his fork at her before resuming his dinner.

Nora scowled at him. “This is why I can’t be vanilla,” Nora said. “I’m enjoying the fantasy of stabbing you in the neck with my fork too much. I’d miss being kinky.”

“You would miss me.”

“Yes,” she admitted. “And my riding crops. And being treated like a queen all the time. No vanilla guys for me.”

“For the best,” Søren said. “I was briefly married to someone who didn’t have any idea who or what she’d married. A fate best to be avoided.”

“That’s not going to happen. What vanilla guy would fall in love with a dominatrix anyway?”

“If we’re talking about you specifically?” Søren said, learning forward to offer her a bite of curry. Because he’d had such a rough couple of days, she let him feed her. “All of them.”

After dinner she washed the dishes and stored the leftovers in the refrigerator. When she finished, she found him in the living room in his big armchair with a book in his uninjured hand. She stood in front of him with her arms crossed over her chest.

“Don’t interrupt me,” Søren said, giving her the barest glance over the top of the book. “I’m reading.”

She plucked the book out of his hand.

The Red by Nora Sutherlin.

“You can’t read this book,” she said.

“Why ever not?”

“It’s pornographic.”

“I’m a grown man. I can read anything I like, and I like this book.” He took it back from her.

“You are also a Catholic priest. You fucking priests burned Sappho’s poetry in the third century and now we have almost nothing left of it. Catholic priests don’t deserve good porn,” she said, taking the book out of his hand.

“The Catholic Church also created the convent which was the sole sanctuary for lesbians and other women and girls who wanted to avoid marriage. It was also the only place women were allowed to live without men, and where they were allowed to learn how to read and write. The Western Canon exists because of the Catholic Church.” He attempted to pluck the book out of her hand. Nora pulled it out of reach.

“Fine,” he said and reached between the cushion of his chair and the arm. He pulled out another book. The Lotus-Eaters by Nora Sutherlin.

Nora laughed as she sunk to the floor and rested her chin on Søren’s knee.

“The Lotus-Eaters,” she said. “Of course you’d have a copy of my book about temple prostitution.”

“I’m thinking the Catholic Church should bring back sacred prostitution. It would improve attendance,” he said, flipping casually through the pages.

“Do I want to know how you keep getting copies of my books? You aren’t shoplifting from a bookstore, are you?”

“Juliette smuggles them to me. She’s quite a fan of your work. She thought I would like this one since it seems to be dedicated to me. Then again, they’re all dedicated to me.” He opened the book to the dedication page where the words “As Always, Beloved, Your Eleanor” were printed.

“It’s not dedicated to you. It’s an acrostic. Aabye was Søren Kierkegaard’s middle name.”

“I’m well aware of this, as are you.”

“Obviously, it’s dedicated to Søren Kierkegaard.”

“I didn’t realize you were such a fan of early nineteenth-century Protestant Danish theologians.”

“Christian existentialism makes me wet.”

“Speaking of...” He took The Red back from her and turned the pages. “Yes. Yes.” He flipped through a few more pages. “Yes. Twice.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m seeing which love scenes in your book I inspired.” He held the book open to a certain page, and Nora saw it was a scene that involved the enigmatic hero challenging his younger lover to a contest of sorts. She had to hold a full glass of wine in her hand while he fucked her and if she didn’t spill any, she won and if she did spill the wine, he won. And when he won, they both won.