The King

by Tiffany Reisz

  Kingsley slumped forward on the seat. He rested on the edge of consciousness, falling back and forth between the darkness and the light. And in that twilight world between life and death, he sensed Søren’s arms coming around him, Søren’s mouth caressing his shoulder, Søren’s hands easing his pants down to his knees…and then he felt cold wet fingers on him and in him. Then Søren was filling him, holding Kingsley’s slack body back against his chest and moving in and out of him endlessly. And there were words then, beautiful words, but all in Danish, and Kingsley had no idea what Søren said to him, only that he needed to hear it.

  Søren came inside him, his hands over Kingsley’s hands, their fingers locked together as tightly as their bodies. Kingsley went limp in Søren’s arms, and they stayed there on the f loor of the Rolls Royce together until they both remembered how to breathe again.

  When it was all over and he was weak, drained and too tired to move, Søren helped him dress. Kingsley must have pleased him, for Søren allowed him the rare privilege of curling up at his feet and resting his head in his lap for the remainder of their trip back to school. Søren’s hands shook for thirty minutes afterward. When Kingsley asked him why, Søren answered, “I didn’t know if I would stop in time.”

  “You stopped. I’m fine. More than fine,” Kingsley said, drunk on happiness and contentment.

  “I could have killed you.”

  “Kill me if you want,” Kingsley said, smiling up at him. “I’d die happy.”

  Søren closed his eyes and laid his hand on top of Kingsley’s head. It felt like a blessing.

  “I’m going to do something for you someday.” Kingsley sighed.

  “You do everything for me.” Søren twined his fingers in Kingsley’s hair and tugged it.

  “I want to build you a castle.”

  Søren laughed, and Kingsley laughed, although he didn’t know what the joke was.

  “I’ve had my fill of castles, Kingsley,” Søren said. “What I need is a dungeon.”

  Sam laughed in Kingsley’s arms.

  “What are you laughing at?” he asked, pinching her nose. “So that’s what this is about?” Sam asked. “The club? Your

  kingdom? You’re building Søren the world’s biggest dungeon?” “He’s earned it,” Kingsley said. “His father was as rich as God, and Søren risked his wrath, risked getting cut off by telling the new wife what sort of monster she’d married. And he didn’t care. I’ve never met anyone like him in my life. I hope I never meet anyone like him again.”

  Sam laughed again and wrapped her arm over his chest. She took a ragged breath.

  Ragged?

  “I remember that day like yesterday. It should be opening night for our club. November thirtieth—we can finish it in time.”

  But Sam didn’t seem interested in talking about the club right now.

  “You and Søren fucking in the back of a Rolls Royce.” Sam sighed. “That might be the sexiest story I’ve ever heard in my life.”

  “I have better stories,” Kingsley said. “I’ll tell them to you someday.”

  “Is it still auto erotic asphyxiation if someone else chokes you, but they do it in the backseat of a car?”

  “Whatever you call it, it’s dangerous. That was the last time he choked me. When he married my sister, that put an end to our trysts. She didn’t know about us. But she’s gone now, and I thought when he came here… I hoped, I mean…”

  “You hoped you could pick up where you left off?”

  “I did. But he’s in love with someone else.”

  “Who?”

  “A girl at his church.”

  “The girl you bribed someone to help?”

  “Before you hate him anymore, you should know he hasn’t laid a hand on her.”

  “I don’t care if he lays a hand on her as long as he doesn’t ship her off to some kind of reorienting camp, if they get caught together, like that pastor’s wife did to Faith.”

  “If they get caught together, they’re moving to Denmark,” Kingsley said. “I think he’s already planned for it.”

  “Will you go with them?”

  “I tried to learn Danish once. Gave up trying. Russian was easier if that tells you anything.”

  “Good,” Sam said. “Then you should just stay here with me.”

  She pushed her hip into his leg, and he felt the heat radiating from her body.

  Heat?

  “I have to say, the thought of you playing with a little girl and her unicorn? So stinking cute. My ovaries want to hug you.”

  Kingsley laughed. “I like kids,” he said. Not that he would ever have them. Women tended to want marriage and commitment along with their children, something he didn’t think he could give anyone. Yet, the hope remained.

  “You’re amazing.” Sam ran her hand over his chest and kissed his shoulder. “I still can’t believe you were jealous because you saw me kissing someone you thought was a man. That’s adorable.”

  “I’ve killed people. I’m not adorable.”

  “You are. And you’re very pretty, too,” she said, running her fingers through his hair.

  “Sam, you’re f lirting with me.”

  “I am, aren’t I? That’s a weird thing for a lesbian to do with a man.”

  “You are what you are,” Kingsley said. “And I would never try to change you. But if you ever want to play with me, it would be my honor.”

  Kingsley rolled onto his side. Sam lay inches from him. She had a full lush mouth, a bow to her bottom lip and her eyes were hooded with the unmistakable look of arousal. Whether it was him that had done it or the story he’d told her, he didn’t care. She was boyish and beautiful and brilliant and he had to touch her.

  So he touched her.

  Not wanting to scare her, he touched only her lips with his fingertips.

  “I’m not used to men wanting me,” she said. “Not men like you. Men who can have any woman they wanted.”

  “Get used to it.”

  “That story made me really turned on.”

  “Do you want to go play in my Rolls Royce?” he teased. “I’ll bring a belt.”

  Sam giggled—a beautiful sound, girlish and innocent. She took a fistful of sheet and raised it, covering the lower half of her face like a veil.

  “Don’t hide from me,” he said, pulling the cover down.

  “I’m hiding from me,” she said. “And from that.”

  She looked downward with a meaningful gleam in her eyes. Having Sam lying in his bed, wearing his shirt, draped across his chest, breathing his air and listening while he bared his soul to her had aroused him almost to the point of pain.

  “I won’t let it near you,” he said.

  “Promise,” she said, peeking over the edge of her veil again.

  “I promise. Does it make you nervous?”

  Sam dropped the veil of her blanket and the mask of her feigned modesty.

  “I have two brothers. Penises don’t scare me, and they don’t impress me. I have a whole collection of them back at my place. A couple of them even bigger than you.”

  “I can’t win with you.”

  “You can’t lose with me, either,” she said, serious now. “The reason I’m not scared of your big naked self… I trust you.”

  “What do you trust me to do?”

  “Will you touch me? Like he touched you in the car?”

  “I would love to touch you,” Kingsley said.

  “Hand only,” she said.

  “I’ll keep all other body parts to myself.”

  Sam paused before rolling on to her stomach. Kingsley slipped his hand under the back of her—his—shirt and tickled her.

  The light touching turned into a light massage. Sam moaned in pleasure.

  “You have such soft skin,” he said.

  “Thank you,” Sam said. “Good line, by the way. I use it on girls, too.”

  Kingsley pulled the covers down so he could properly give Sam a fearsome spank.

  “Shit,
that hurt,” she said, laughing. “I’m warning you, I know all the lines guys use to seduce women, because I use them, too.”

  “I don’t use lines. Ever.”

  “Have you ever had sex in the back of a Rolls Royce?” Sam repeated. “How is that not a line?”

  “It’s not a line. It’s a serious inquiry.”

  “Have you tried ‘You have the sexiest blank of any woman I’ve ever been with?’ Doesn’t matter what you put in the blank—they spread for that line every time.”

  “I wasn’t using a line on you. And what on earth are you wearing?” Her underwear was plain white cotton with writing on it.

  “Days of the week underwear. Today is Friday. These are my Fridays.”

  “It’s after midnight—it’s Saturday.”

  “This is a problem with Days of the Week undies. If I sleep in them, I never know if I should wear the day I go to bed, or the day I wake up.”

  “If you slept naked, you wouldn’t have that problem.”

  He traced the center of her back with his palm, grazed her shoulder blades and her neck… He couldn’t believe how slight she felt under his hand. Her personality filled up an entire room. Big treasure. Small package. He knew what they were doing was beyond foolish. She was his assistant. He was her boss. They had to work together. Wouldn’t it be awkward trying to work together if he and Sam had sex? Especially awkward considering she’d never had sex with a man before. And yet, nothing could stop him from wanting her, from wanting to be inside her. She wanted him, too. He knew what arousal looked like, and Sam was undeniably turned on. Her skin was hot, her breathing rapid and ragged, and she’d licked her lips—twice.

  He wanted nothing so much as to throw her Fridays on the f loor and stay inside her until next Thursday. When had he become the sort of man who wanted to make love to a woman who wore Days of the Week underwear?

  “You’re laughing at me.” Sam stretched out underneath his hand as if wanting more of him.

  “I am not.”

  “I like it when you laugh at me.” Sam turned over on to her back and Kingsley let his hand rest on her stomach.

  “I’m smiling at you. It’s a different thing.”

  “I like your smile.”

  “You do?”

  “Of course. You have the sexiest smile of any man I’ve ever seen.” She winked at him.

  “You’re going to get it now,” he said.

  “Oh, shit,” she said, laughing and trying to pull away from him.

  Sam squealed when he grabbed both her wrists and slammed them into the bed over her head.

  “You’re always the one in charge, aren’t you? You top with women, don’t you?”

  “Every time,” she said, a little breathless.

  “How does it feel being with someone more dominant than you are?”

  “Terr if ying.”

  “Good terrifying or bad?”

  “Both,” she admitted, and Kingsley smiled down at her. He released her wrists but didn’t move from his position over her. No part of him now touched any part of her. But if he lowered himself from his push-up position, he’d be on top of her.

  “You look good in my shirt,” he said. “And that’s not a line.”

  “What do I have to do to keep it?”

  “Pay for it,” he said.

  Her eyes widened hugely, and he felt an instant stab of regret.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, releasing her wrists. “I forgot—”

  “Don’t apologize,” she said. “It’s okay. You’re a man in bed with a woman. I’m not complaining.”

  “You aren’t?”

  “I’m having fun,” she said. “Promise. I like being in bed with you. How many women in this city wish they were here?”

  “Most of them,” Kingsley said.

  “I’d tell you, you were arrogant, but that’s probably true. I am the envy of the city tonight being here in your bed.”

  “I don’t know,” Kingsley said, caressing her stomach again. He could feel it quivering under his fingers. “Women who want to be in my bed aren’t usually interested in hearing a story and going to sleep.”

  “I’m not, either,” Sam said.

  Kingsley arched his eyebrow at her.

  “What do you want to do?” he asked.

  “I get to decide?”

  “I’ve been submitting to Felicia for a month now. I’ve gotten good at it.” He tickled her rib cage with his fingertips. “You tell me.”

  “I want to pay for my shirt,” she said. “That’s what I want to do.”

  “You want me to come on you. You’re a lesbian. Isn’t this against the rules?”

  “I don’t care about the rules.”

  “You really want me to do this?”

  “Yes, but not my back,” she said. “Do it where it counts. You showed me your scars and let me touch them. You should see mine.”

  She raised her hand and unbuttoned her shirt…his shirt. She pulled it open and bared herself to him. Kingsley gazed down at her naked breasts with longing and desire coursing through his body. Lovely full breasts but not perfect. Both breasts were marred with old healed semicircle burn marks.

  “I told you I had ugly secrets. These are souvenirs from that camp,” Sam said, blushing pink. “I don’t get naked very often with women. Do they look bad?”

  He shook his head.

  “Your breasts are beautiful,” he said. “Do my scars make me look bad?”

  “Your scars are sexy.”

  “So are yours.”

  “Thank you. Even if you’re lying to me, thank you for being a good liar,” she said.

  “Not lying,” he promised. He dropped his head and kissed one pale pink nipple. Then he moved his mouth and kissed the scar. He ached to touch her breasts, but he needed to touch himself more. Lowering himself, he positioned his knees on either side of Sam’s hips. She didn’t seem the least troubled by his nakedness, not even when he took himself in his hand.

  Sam lifted her head and kissed the inside of his forearm before sliding her hand down her stomach and into her Fridays. She touched herself while he stroked himself. Sooner than he expected, she was moving beneath him, panting, her breaths hitching in her throat. Her pleasure stoked his, especially watching her nipples harden with her arousal and her skin f lush. She took a sharp breath in and went silent. As she came he held back, although it pained him to do so. When her quiet shuddering was spent, she opened her hazel eyes and gazed up at him with undisguised desire. He stroked once more, twice more and then came onto her, covering her chest and breasts. He loved this, loved that she allowed him to do this to her, loved seeing his semen on her skin.

  Sam closed her eyes and arched her back into his touch as he massaged his f luid into her breasts. Why was he doing this, marking her like this? He didn’t know why. Who cared? He loved touching her. He took his time as her breasts felt so right in his hand. He rolled her nipples between his forefinger and thumb, traced circles around her aureoles.