The King

by Tiffany Reisz

  Kingsley groaned and pushed her off his lap. Laughing, Sam sat on his desk and picked up her ice cream again.

  “You asked. It’s why I’m craving chocolate. Seriously, I want chocolate more than pussy today. What I need is a pussy that I can put chocolate in. Sorry. I have thoughts like this when I’m on the rag.”

  “That’s not the sort of secret I need to know.”

  “What? You don’t swim the red river?”

  “I have swum the red river. Swam? Swum? I hate English. J’ai nagé la riviere rouge.”

  “Good. You get to keep your stud credentials. Only pussies are afraid of pussies.”

  “I am not afraid of pussies.” Kingsley stood up and opened his mouth. She fed him another spoonful of her ice cream. “Speaking of pussies, Blaise is in DC again. Felicia has an overnight with a client. You want to sleep with me tonight?”

  “Will you give me a back rub? I’m crampy today.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Then I formally accept your invitation.”

  “Good.” He snapped her suspenders, and she yelped. “I’ll see you tonight.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To seduce Lucy Fuller.”

  She pushed him back, hard.

  “Don’t you dare.”

  “I was kidding,” Kingsley said. “I’m reformed. These days I only fuck people I want to fuck. I don’t fuck fundamentalist preachers or their wives. Catholic clergy only.”

  “It’s good to have standards,” Sam said, obviously relieved. “So, no fucking the Fullers. What about the money? Did you look through the financials The Barber sent over, too?”

  “I did. Nothing there, either. The church is sitting on millions of dollars—most of it from the sale of merchandise and Lucy Fuller’s books on how to be a godly wife.”

  “Please, stop reading those books,” Sam said. “They’re making you weird.”

  “They are not.”

  “Yesterday you asked me if we’re spending enough quality time together.”

  “Are we?” Kingsley asked.

  “Oh, my Jesus.”

  “Admit it, Sam. Our marriage has never been better,” Kingsley said.

  ‘I’m burning those books,” Sam said.

  Kingsley sighed. “I’m only trying to find something on these people. They’re the Stepford Christians. No second homes, no secret islands, no lavish apartments for mistresses. The Fullers are rich, but so far that’s their only sin.” Kingsley sighed. “What about you? Did you find anything on your quest?”

  “No,” she said, not meeting his eyes. “Didn’t really pan out. Still looking, though.”

  “Keep looking. It’s there. We’ll find it.”

  “Where are you going now?”

  “An abortion clinic,” Kingsley said.

  “Is it mine?” Sam asked. “It’s mine, isn’t it? I knew I shouldn’t have let you come on me.”

  Kingsley glared at her. “It’s Fuller’s. His protest, I mean. I want to talk to some people who go to his church. And Lucy Fuller, if she’s there.”

  Kingsley tapped her under the chin and strode from the office. He heard footsteps behind him.

  “King?”

  He turned around and saw Sam wearing a rare expression of earnestness on her lovely face.

  “You promise you won’t go near Lucy Fuller?” she asked.

  Kingsley narrowed his eyes at her.

  “It bothers you, doesn’t it? The thought of me with her. Why?”

  “They run the camps that killed Faith. I know it was suicide, but she’d still be alive if it wasn’t for them. Just…don’t. Please?”

  “I promise,” Kingsley said. “But you owe me.” “Owe you what?” she demanded.

  Kingsley took her ice-cream bowl from her and Sam glared at him.

  “This will do.”

  The clinic was out in Brooklyn, so Kingsley took a cab. Before his driver had turned on to the street, Kingsley heard the shouting and the bullhorns. He got out at the end of the block and walked to the protest. As he approached the clinic, the sounds of shouting only grew louder and more shrill. He remembered something he’d read back at St. Ignatius, something C. S. Lewis had written. In heaven there is silence and music. In hell there is only noise.

  This was hell.

  Standing in the midst of two dozen people holding signs, marching and shouting, was the devil himself, Reverend Fuller, grasping a bullhorn and echoing their “Abortion is murder” chant. A bullhorn? Sam was right. This was a man who did not deserve to get fucked by him or anyone else. Seemed a veritable crime that Søren was supposed to be celibate, and yet this man could breed with impunity.

  Kingsley stood in the shadows of an alley and watched as Fuller worked the crowd, shaking hands, thanking the protesters for their dedication and inviting them to his church. Nearby a man with a camera recorded everything—Fuller with the bullhorn, the handshakes, the stomping feet and the waving signs.

  During all the glad-handing, a small car pulled into the clinic parking lot, a young patient inside. Kingsley wished he’d come armed. If any of these assholes tried anything with that poor girl in the car, he would shoot them.

  Perhaps it was for the best he’d left the gun at home.

  Before the woman could leave her car, a man emerged from the clinic carrying a blanket. He looked about Kingsley’s age—twenty-eight or twenty-nine—and had short dark hair and a heavily muscled build. Square-jawed, solid and handsome, even a few of the female protestors gave him appreciative glances. He walked swiftly to the car, unfolding the blanket as he went. August in Brooklyn. Why did he need the blanket? The woman got out of her car, and Kingsley discovered the answer. The blanket wasn’t to keep her warm, Kingsley discovered, but to keep her identity hidden from the protestors and the man with the video camera. The clinic escort held the blanket open and stayed at her left side, imposing himself between her and the protestors as he led her into the clinic. The volume of the shouts increased as did the level of venom in the insults. The theoretical “Abortion is murder” became “You’re a murderer.” For all they knew, the woman was there for free birth control, but that didn’t stop the abusive commentary.

  Kingsley waited and watched until Fuller left the protestors and got into a waiting black Lincoln Town Car that pulled up to whisk him away back to his church or his golf game. Once Fuller had gone, a strange thing happened. The cameraman packed up his equipment and the protestors wandered away. Fuller had staged a protest for the cameras to show his congregation and his television audience at home that he was already doing God’s work in New York City.

  Kingsley stopped one of the protestors, a girl in her twenties.

  “You look familiar,” Kingsley said to her. “Have I seen you in anything?”

  “I did a couple local commercials,” she said. “One for a mattress company.”

  “Was this extra work?” Kingsley asked.

  The girl shrugged. “Fund-raising video, they said. Gotta make a living, right? That preacher guy’s such a douche bag. Good thing he pays well.”

  “Right,” Kingsley said and let the girl go.

  But the clinic escort, he’d been interesting. Kingsley decided to wait and talk to him.

  Five minutes passed. Then ten. But his patience was rewarded when the man emerged from the clinic alone.

  “I hope they pay you well for what you do,” Kingsley said as the man walked past him.

  The man didn’t turn around. Instead, he walked backward until he stood in front of Kingsley.

  “Volunteer,” the man said. “Got a problem with that, mate?”

  “You’re Australian. I didn’t expect that. Mon ami.” He added the “mon ami” in retaliation for the “mate.”

  “Yeah, and what the fuck are you?”

  “French? American? Bisexual? Rich? Kinky? Pick one. Or all of them.”

  The man lifted his chin and cocked an eyebrow at Kingsley. The Aussie was sizing him up. The man was taller than him an
d had more overall muscle mass. But Kingsley was a trained killer and didn’t sense anything threatening in the Aussie’s posture.

  “Australian,” the man said. “Straight. Not rich. Not sure about kinky. It’s only kinky the first time, right?”

  “I had a feeling I would like you. What’s your name?”

  “Lachlan. Lockie, my friends call me. Not saying we’re friends.”

  “I wouldn’t dare presume.” Kingsley nodded his head in polite and feigned submission. “I was impressed earlier. It must not be easy, doing what you do.”

  “I don’t do it because it’s easy. I do it because it needs doing. I saw you earlier. You weren’t protesting and you don’t look pregnant. What do you want?”

  “You,” Kingsley said. “Not in a sexual way. You wouldn’t by any chance be interested in a job, would you?”

  “I have a job.”

  “A different job, then. I’m starting a club. Opens in November. I need someone to work as a bouncer of sorts.”

  “Of sorts? What the hell does that mean?”

  “I’ll have professional submissives in the club. They’ll need a watcher when they’re with a client. It would be a far more pleasant form of escort duty.”

  “I do important work here.”

  “You can still work here. The hours won’t conf lict, I promise.”

  Kingsley took out a silver case and passed his business card to the man.

  “Kingsley Edge. Edge Enterprises,” the man read aloud. “This is for real?”

  “As real as it gets. I need a strong intimidating man who will be able to stand in a corner, keep his mouth shut and intervene if and only if a client crosses a line. He needs to be calm under pressure and able to face, let’s call it…unpleasantness without getting unpleasant.”

  “I’m supposed to stand in a corner and watch someone beat up a woman without intervening?”

  “Yes.”

  “She’s getting paid for it?”

  “Well paid. And she’s consenting. And she enjoys it. All my employees enjoy their work. I see to that.”

  “And you’re going to pay me to watch?”

  “Good job, oui?”

  “I can think of worse ways to make a living.”

  Kingsley smiled. “The club doesn’t open until the end of November. You call that number if you’re interested. My secretary will bring you in for a more formal interview.”

  “I might be interested.”

  “There is one thing that might dampen your interest.”

  “What?” Lachlan asked, eyeing him.

  “We’ll have male submissives, too,” Kingsley said, knowing most straight men wouldn’t be comfortable watching two men engage in kink. “Male submissives with male or female dominants. They’ll also need a watcher, a protector. That bother you?”

  “I protect whoever needs protecting. I’m in this fucking city ten thousand miles from home because my sister married the world’s biggest wanker. I’m not leaving until I can take her back to Sydney with me.”

  “Introduce her to me. I have a way of getting women to leave their husbands.”

  The man shook his head and laughed. The laugh transformed his expression from one of stony suspicion into boyish amusement.

  “I might call your secretary. I might not. I might hunt down that arse with the bullhorn and shove it down his throat.”

  “Then this might induce you to come work for me,” Kingsley said. “That arse with the bullhorn? I’m buying a building from him to turn into my club. Whether he likes it or not. And I promise, he doesn’t.”

  “Then I’ve only got one question for you.”

  “Ask it,” Kingsley said.

  “When do I start?”

  Kingsley shook hands with Lachlan and found a pay phone.

  “Do you have your clipboard?” Kingsley asked Sam when she answered.

  “Aye, aye, Captain? Who do we have now?”

  He filled her in.

  “You found a bouncer at an abortion clinic?” Sam asked. “He’s very cute.”

  “Speaking of cute, you have a message.”

  “What is it?”

  “Mistress Felicia’s home. And you’ve been summoned.”

  30

  KINGSLEY LEFT THE CITY AT ONE O’CLOCK AND AR rived at Felicia’s shortly before two. She’d given him his own key, and he used it to enter through the patio door per her instructions.

  Felicia had a perfect retreat from the city out here in Bedford—a classic New England cottage. He entered through the side door into her dining room, a small intimate setting with a table for two and a candelabrum in the center. The first night he’d stayed with her, he’d made love to her on this table, and she’d doused him with the candlewax after as a thank-you. But it appeared they weren’t to be dining today. He locked the door behind him. On the table he found a box with a white card on top. The card said two words—Wear me.

  Inside the box, Kingsley found a black silk blindfold. Felicia was in a mood to play games today.

  He tied the blindfold on and waited. He wasn’t going to take a step farther without instructions. Luckily he didn’t have to wait long for step two.

  “It’s a good look for you.” Felicia’s elegantly accented voice came from the right where a doorway opened into the hallway. “You should wear a blindfold more often.”

  “It makes it difficult to find my way to you.”

  “You don’t need your eyes today. Only your ears. Turn toward the sound of my voice.”

  Kingsley turned right.

  “Good,” she said. “Now two steps forward.”

  He took the two steps with surety, knowing her house as well as his own by now.

  “What game are we playing?” he asked, knowing he was close to her because he could smell the heat of her body mingling with her perfume.

  “The game where I blindfold you and make you do everything I tell you to do.”

  “Good game,” he said. “What’s my first order?”

  “Kiss,” she said. He felt her mouth on his mouth, and he kissed her with shameless hunger. Her mouth tasted sweet and warm, and he had to reach for her body. Before he could touch her, she pulled away. “I said ‘kiss.’ I didn’t say ‘touch.’”

  “I changed my mind. Terrible game.”

  “Glad you like it. Now…” Her voice grew fainter, and he could hear she’d moved away from him. “Hands and knees. Crawl to me.”

  His pride rebelled at the order, but his erection gave into it immediately. He went down on his hands and knees and crawled toward the direction of Felicia’s voice. He reached her quickly.

  “Mistress?” he asked.

  “Kiss again.”

  He started to stand but felt Felicia’s hand on his head. She