The Hole in my Soul
There's a hole in the… soul in the shape of a shot glass, one that has a cracked bottom and can never be filled no matter how much whiskey is poured into it.
– Brian McDonald, My Father's Gun
Kingsley
I'm at the Eighth Circle, on my knees and in the middle of a blowjob for one fucking hot Dom when I smell King's boots nearby. My kitty Kat bell suddenly makes its familiar jingle, causing me to smile around the cock in my mouth. It's Monsieur K—he can't resist ringing my bell whenever he sees it. It's his little way of reminding the man whose cock is in my mouth that while I may be serving him for the moment, my body, heart and soul belong to Kingsley Edge alone.
Dissatisfied with my reaction, Monsieur K grabs my hair to get my undivided attention. He knows how much I love it when he does that. Lifting me to my feet, he leans over and whispers into my ear.
"Your bell rang, Kitty Kat. An Angel just got his wings."
He uses my hair to yank my head in the direction of his gaze.
No.
It can't be.
But that sleek, long black hair, those haunting silver eyes—I'd know them anywhere. A smile blooms on my face as I make the realization.
It's Michael Dimir. I never forget a face, especially not one as beautiful as that.
He's grown considerably and he's even prettier than he was when we met in less happy times. In fact, we didn't really meet. He doesn't even know who I am, but he was once my patient, back when he was only 14.
Dressed in white and with a healthy dose of guyliner, he's still the most beautiful boy I've ever seen. Boy is an apt description of him, for while he's certainly taller than he was, he hasn't yet lost that lovely gawkiness so many teenage boys have. The difference now is that he looks completely beside himself with happiness, and that fills my heart more than anything has in a long time. If anyone deserves to be this happy, it's Michael.
Michael is wearing a collar and there's a hand clamped tightly around it in a very possessive show of ownership. I follow the hand up to its owner's face—Griffin Fiske. Griffin's body language makes it clear that he's positively smitten with Michael. It's far more than pride; it looks like pure, unabiding love. Almost like he couldn't let go of Michael even if he wanted to, and he certainly doesn't want to.
As I take in Michael's beaming smile, I'm flooded with a sense of incredible gratitude to our Søren for saving this boy in particular. It's clear that Michael and Master Griffin have found an absolution of sorts in one another.
Seeing Michael again brings me back to the moment when I first met him, under decidedly less happy conditions. In fact, it was a day that both of our fates would change significantly—Kingsley Edge and Father Søren Stearns came into our lives.