33
KINGSLEY LEFT JUSTIN ALONE IN HIS BED. HE PULLED on his trousers, his shirt, and walked on bare feet to his office. In the bottom drawer of his desk, the only drawer he routinely locked, he pulled out Sam’s clipboard. For five weeks he’d cherished a fantasy that Sam would show up on his doorstep demanding the return of her beloved clipboard. He’d rarely seen her without it in the months she’d worked for him. Worked. Past tense. He still couldn’t get used to the past tense where Sam was concerned. In his fantasy she would show up and tell him she was wrong, that she shouldn’t have taken the Fullers’ money, but she needed it for something and she’d been too ashamed to tell him why. She’d beg him to forgive her and he would. He would forgive her and take her back. And everything would be okay again.
A stupid childish fantasy. It would never happen. He picked up a pen and f lipped to the checklist Sam had created for their club. In the little square beside the words “Male Submissive” Kingsley made a check mark. Justin needed a job that would let him afford NYC. Kingsley needed a male submissive for the club.
A match made in hell.
Today was September fifteenth. The club would open in seventy-six days, and he still had no location for it. He’d put a tail on Reverend Fuller and sent both male and female prostitutes to tempt him into a scandal. So far…nothing. He was missing something. Fuller had an ugly secret and he knew it. He’d seen it in Fuller’s eyes—the secret shame, the fear, the terror of discovery. It was there, but Kingsley didn’t know how to find it. And he had to find it—not because he wanted the building so much anymore. But he wanted to destroy Fuller because Fuller had destroyed his love for Sam. And that was an unforgiveable sin.
He f lipped through the notes she’d left on her clipboard. He loved her handwriting—loopy and playful even when writing out to-do lists for a BDSM club. But his Sam was always a creature of beautiful contradiction. She dressed like a man and yet was easily the most feminine woman he’d ever known, from her light and airy laugh to her pink-lipped smiles, her lithe, manicured fingers. And yet she had a teenage boy’s libido and the ability to charm any woman—straight or gay— right into bed with her. And although she’d never indicated that she wanted them to be lovers, nothing had made her happier than hopping into bed with him, pulling his arm around her tight and being his “bed bug” as she called herself. She’d bite him on the arm or on the neck and then fall fast asleep.
No matter how much Blaise cajoled him to hire a new secretary, he couldn’t bring himself to replace Sam. Not yet. Not while the wounds were still fresh and he could still conjure the scent of her in his mind, the sound of her voice and the memory of her sitting at his feet, pulling his boots on as if he was her king and she his valet.
Even looking at her notes hurt. And such banal notes they were. Mostly banal. Square footage…call the dungeon outfitter… schedule K’s massage…tell K you’re pregnant with Søren’s baby… stop reading my notes, King.
He laughed so hard he almost cried. He could see her smiling at herself as she wrote those words, knowing he would get nosy someday and read her clipboard. At the bottom of the page she’d drawn a heart with a K in the center and a crown around the K. She’d put an arrow next to the heart and the words Possible tattoo idea for left ass cheek.
“God damn you, Sam,” he said out loud. He threw the clipboard down on his desk and picked up his phone. But before he dialed her number, he hung the phone up again. She’d betrayed him and walked away with his heart in her teeth. She’d picked the Fullers’ money over him, even though he’d opened his heart up to her time and time again.
He picked up the phone again, and this time he dialed. “Kingsley, it’s three in the morning,” Søren said. He sounded more annoyed than sleepy.
“What are you wearing?”
“An angry scowl,” Søren said.
“It’s a good look for you.”
“To what do I owe the pleasure of this call?” Søren asked.
“I almost called Sam to tell her how much I hate her. So I called you instead.”
“Fine. Tell me how much you hate me.”
“I don’t hate you.”
“Then you should hang up on me,” Søren said.
“You’d like that too much. What are you doing still awake?”
“I’m reading.”
“In bed?”
“In bed.”
Kingsley couldn’t stop himself from picturing Søren in bed. White sheet pulled up to his hip, naked chest, hand behind his head as he read. Divinity in repose.
“What are you reading?” Kingsley asked, trying to distract himself from the mental images.
“It’s an erotic retelling of the Book of Esther.”
Kingsley groaned. “You have to start having sex again. Please. I don’t even care if it’s with me or her. Anyone.”
“I’m fine,” Søren said, but Kingsley could tell he wasn’t fine. His “I’m fine” sounded bruised.
“Do you miss it?” Kingsley asked. Not the question he meant. He meant “Do you miss me?”
“I’m twenty-nine, male and breathing,” Søren said. “What do you think?”
“No one would judge you if you broke your vows. No one who matters.”
“It would matter to me,” Søren said. “I have reasons for doing what I do and not doing what I don’t do. Reasons that have nothing to do with the church or being a priest. And reasons that also have nothing to do with you or Eleanor.”
“I can call Blaise now. She’ll be there in an hour. Would you like that?”
Søren didn’t answer at first, didn’t say a word.
“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” Kingsley asked and knew Søren was.
“I should have known better than to make friends with the devil.”
Kingsley grinned. “Blaise is amazing in bed. You won’t regret it. She can do this thing when she’s going down on you where she takes your—”
“Kingsley.”
“And goes so deep she can lick your—”
“Kingsley.”
“It’s amazing. Gift from God.”
“Red.”
“Red?” Kingsley repeated.
“I was attempting to safe out of this conversation.”
Kingsley laughed softly.
“You’ll need a better safe word than that with me, mon ami.” “I’ll find a stronger word. A few stronger words have already leaped to mind.”
“If you don’t want Blaise, I could come over,” Kingsley said.
“I think you have more than enough lovers already,” Søren said.
“We’re not talking about what I need. We’re talking about what you need.”
“I need sleep and someone is keeping me from it.”
Kingsley was undeterred.
“You know, it wouldn’t have to mean anything. You can do whatever you want to me. Pain. Sex. More pain.”
Søren fell silent again. What was he thinking? Feeling? Was he tempted?
Of course he was tempted.
“Tell me something…how long has it been?” Kingsley asked into the silence.
Søren sighed. “What day is it?”
“Friday.”
“Then it’s been…oh…eleven years. You?”
“Eleven minutes.” More like an hour and eleven minutes, but why quibble? “You haven’t been with anyone since me? Not even once?”
“No one since you,” Søren said.
“And your Virgin Queen?”
“I made her a promise,” Søren said, the irritation gone from his voice now. But Kingsley still heard the bruise. “I promised her I would give her everything. I intend to keep that promise.”
“You made me a promise, too,” Kingsley reminded him. “You said you’d share her with me.”
“Another promise I intend to keep. I won’t be enough for her, God knows. But I get her first.”
“Why?” Kingsley demanded, smiling despite himself. “Because you saw her first?”
&nb
sp; “Because I haven’t had sex in eleven years.”
“Fuck somebody, then,” Kingsley said, half laughing, half yelling. “It offends me to know you’re in your bed right now all alone reading erotic retellings of Ruth.”
“Esther.”
“You know I have to have more sex to make up for all the sex you aren’t having. Someone has to restore the balance in the universe.”
“The universe thanks you for your sacrifice. Now, may I hang up?” Søren asked.
“Not yet. I’m considering killing the Fullers—both of them.”
“No, you aren’t.”
“It’s crossed my mind. A quick painful death. Payback for making Sam betray me.”
“No one made Sam betray you. If she did betray you, she did it of her own free will and for her own reasons. You started a war with the Fullers. They fought back. Now you know why I’m a pacifist.”
Kingsley closed his eyes tight and wished he could close his ears to Søren’s words, as well. All this time he’d been blind. He’d adored Sam so much he hadn’t for one second considered the possibility she would turn on him. Now he’d seen her for who she really was and he wished he could, like Oedipus, blind himself.
“You can’t win if you don’t fight,” Kingsley finally said.
“Tell me something, Kingsley. How did this fight start?”
“I wanted to buy The Renaissance Hotel from the Fullers.”
“Why?”
“Because that building is mine. I knew it the moment I saw it.”
“So you’re fighting for it?”
“Of course. That’s what you do when you want something.”
“Do you remember the story in the Bible known as the Judgment of Solomon?” Søren asked.
“Why can’t we have phone sex like normal perverts?” Kingsley asked.
“The story is found in 1 Kings, chapter three.”
“So that’s a no to phone sex?”
“God has asked Solomon what great gift he would most desire. Solomon answers ‘wisdom,’ and God grants him great wisdom. Shortly thereafter he’s asked to settle a dispute between two prostitutes who live in the same house. Both women had given birth to sons within three days of each other. One child had died. The other lived. One mother claimed the living son was hers. The other mother said her son had been stolen and replaced with the dead child.”
“I’d forgotten what a gruesome book the Old Testament is.”
“It gets better,” Søren continued. “The women demanded King Solomon make a judgment to determine to whom the living child belonged. Solomon declared ‘Bring me a sword’ and a sword was brought to him. He said he would cut the baby in half and give one part to one mother, another part to the other mother. Immediately one woman cried out ‘Please, my Lord, give her the living boy, do not kill him.’ And thus King Solomon knew the woman who was willing in an instant to give up the boy so that he might live was the true mother.”
Kingsley sighed. “And your point is…?”
“The true test of love is not always ‘Will you fight for it?’ The real test of true love is often ‘Are you willing to give it up?’”
Kingsley swallowed hard. “I can’t give it up. I’m not strong like you are. I can’t give up the things I want. I’ve lost too much in my life. I don’t want to lose any more.”
“The sacrifice is worth it,” Søren said. “Try it sometime. You’ll see.”
“Spoken like a man who hasn’t had sex in eleven years.”
“I’m hanging up on you,” Søren said.
“This is fun,” Kingsley said. “You and me on the phone at night talking about girls. We should do this more often.”
“Kingsley?”
“Oui?”
Click.
Kingsley laughed as he hung up the phone. He laughed until he couldn’t laugh anymore. He laughed until he didn’t feel like laughing anymore.
He stood up and took a steady breath. Right now a gorgeous blond boy who couldn’t get enough of him waited for him in his bed.
He would go fuck in the present. The past could go fuck itself.
34
KINGSLEY DIDN’T HAVE HIS CLUB YET, AND HE DIDN’T have his kingdom. But he did have Irina and the promise he’d made her. For months he and Mistress Felicia had been training her in the arts of sadism and dominance. The training had transformed her from a cold, silent scared presence in his home afraid to step a toe out of line, into a proud fierce goddess of pain.
And lucky Blaise got to be Mistress Irina’s very first victim. Not counting her soon-to-be ex-husband.
“Are you going to be a good girl for me?” he asked Blaise. They sat on the wooden throne in his playroom, she in his lap. “I need you to do everything I tell you to do.”
“I will be the best girl for you, monsieur,” Blaise said, putting her private-school French to good use. He lifted her chin and forced her to meet his eyes. She played the part of the scared little girl so well that it fooled even him sometimes. Or, more importantly, fooled his cock. She gave him her most innocent pouty face. Oh, yes, she would be the very best girl for him tonight.
“Wait here,” he said to Blaise. She curtsied, and he left her standing in his playroom by the St. Andrew’s cross. She’d worn her best tonight and looked like Rita Hayworth escaped from the silver screen and brought to modern Manhattan. She’d been pouting lately that Kingsley wasn’t paying enough attention to her. Well, she would get all the attention she wanted tonight.
Out in the hall he found Irina waiting for him, pacing the hallway in her black-and-purple leather boots.
“My little girl is growing up,” he said as he took Irina by the hands. She rolled her eyes.
“Can we get started?” she asked. Her Russian accent made everything she said sound vaguely menacing. Dominatrix was the rare profession where this trait gave her an advantage.
“In a hurry?”
“I’ve been waiting for this scene for months. Let me have her.” A sadistic gleam shone in her dark eyes.
“Don’t be too eager. Remember, your clients will be paying for your time. You are the one wanted, desired. You must be aloof. They should feel honored you are giving them your time and attention. They are beneath you. They want to be beneath you. Yes?”
“Yes.” She exhaled heavily.
“Good.” He kissed her quickly on both cheeks. “Now you may have her.”
He followed her into the playroom. Blaise still waited by the f logger rack.
“This is a couples’ session,” Kingsley began, addressing his comment to Irina. “You’ll have a few of these. What’s the first rule about couples’ sessions?”
“The woman books the session,” Irina said. “Not the man.”
“And why is that?”
“So we can cover our asses.”
Kingsley laughed at Irina’s answer.
“Technically that’s true,” he admitted as Blaise covered her mouth to stif le her own laugh. “I’d rather couch it in more chivalrous terms than litigious. Male dominants can be dangerously
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