“That. Anyway, we were talking, and then I did what you
said I should do and I took him up to the playroom—the one
with the Francis Bacon painting over the bed—and suddenly
I’m getting f logged and whipped, and then I had an orgasm
from the pain alone. Then I was down here with my skirt on
backward. I raided your fridge. You know kink makes me
hungry.”
She lifted her bowl of strawberries and offered him one.
Kingsley ignored them.
“Do you think you and your friend would tag-team me
someday?”
“No. Eat your strawberries. I need to talk to the god.” “Tell him I want to kiss his feet. Again.”
“I’ll pass that along.”
She waved her hand, shooing him from the room. “Søren?” Kingsley shouted as he ran up the stairs. “I’m in my room,” Søren called back. Kingsley had given
him his own guest room to stay in whenever he wished. So
far he hadn’t slept any nights in it.
“All rooms are my room.” Kingsley threw open the door to
the guest room. Søren stood on the opposite side of the bed,
an open silver suitcase in front of him.
“Very well, then. I’m in your room.”
“Can I ask you one question?”
“Ask.”
“What did you do to Blaise?”
Søren looked up at him.
“I’m not going to answer that.”
“Did you fuck her?”
“That’s two questions, and no, I didn’t. Are you upset we
played? She said she’s allowed to be with anyone she wants.” “I don’t care who she plays with. I want to know why she’s
lying on my couch in a stupor claiming you gave her the best
pain of her life?”
“The best? I’m sure that’s an exaggeration, but I’m pleased
she enjoyed herself.” Søren smiled as he dug through the suitcase of kink toys Kingsley kept under every bed in the house.
“I certainly enjoyed her.”
“So all that about not breaking your vows was, quoi?” “There was no sex, and I didn’t marry her. Nor did I take
money from her or refuse to obey a direct order from the
pope.”
“What about—” Kingsley made a specific hand gesture. “Well,” Søren said. “I did do that, of course.”
“Of course.”
“But we Jesuits aren’t nearly so hard-line or heavy-handed
as the Curia when it comes to masturbation. My God, there
are at least three puns in that last sentence. Entirely unintentional.”
“Stop joking. This is serious.”
“It’s not serious. Calm down, Kingsley.”
“I’m perfectly calm.”
“You’re speaking in tongues, Kingsley. I heard French and
English, and some Spanish mixed in, and you’re speaking them
all at the same time.”
“You’re a priest. A Jesuit priest. And I left the house for one
hour and come back, and I’ve got a girl with afterglow on my
couch eating strawberries claiming my ex-lover who is now
a Catholic priest gave her the best pain of her life. I can’t ever
leave my house again.”
“You know from personal experience it’s in the world’s
best interest I beat someone on a regular basis. I spoke to my
confessor, and he gave me leave to deal with this side of myself as long as I don’t break any vows. So there.”
“So there? No, not there. We’re not there yet. You—”
Kingsley pointed at Søren. “You’re in a good mood all the
time. And you talk. And you’re…nice. Well, nicer.” The word
nice hurt coming out. “You’ve changed.”
“Kingsley—”
“It’s the girl, isn’t it? The Virgin Queen. I should have
known.”
Søren eyed him with suspicion. “Kingsley, are you—” “Give me a second.” Kingsley paced the room. His mind
reeled. What had happened under his own roof? He reached
into his jacket pocket and pulled out tobacco and rolling papers.
“What are you doing?”
“I need a cigarette to calm my nerves. They’re frazzled.” “You’re not a dowager duchess. You shouldn’t have frazzled nerves at twenty-eight,” Søren said. “And you shouldn’t
be smoking, either.”
“My house, my rules. It’s a smoking house. Everyone has
to smoke in my house. I won’t quit smoking, and if you stay
here you have to start.” Kingsley quickly rolled a cigarette and
licked the rolling paper to seal it.
“Then I’ll go back to the rectory.”
Kingsley f licked his lighter, lit his cigarette, took a long
drag and glared at Søren.
“How do you give someone the best pain of their life without touching them?”
Kingsley raised the cigarette to his lips again.
He heard a snapping sound, and the cigarette no longer
had a f lame.
For a long time he looked at his cigarette before slowly
turning his head toward Søren who held a bullwhip in his
hand. Casually Søren coiled it.
Cigarette lit.
Bullwhip snap.
Cigarette not lit anymore.
He held the stub in his hand split in two.
“Any other questions?” Søren asked with an arrogant lift
of his eyebrow.
Kingsley pointed at the whip, pointed at his hand, pointed
at Søren…
“Can you teach me to do that?”
“I’ll answer your questions if you answer mine.” Søren threw the whip down on the bed and came around
to Kingsley. He raised his hands to Kingsley’s face and lifted
his eyelids.
“What are your questions?” Kingsley asked, trying to blink. “Why do you smell like a brothel? Why do you have a gun
in your pants? And most importantly, what drugs are you on
right now?”
9
WHEN IN DOUBT, KINGSLEY FUCKED. And ever since Søren had caught him taking drugs, he’d been drowning in self-doubt. Now he was drowning in Blaise’s body, a vastly superior body to drown in. She’d made the mistake of looking much too attractive today when she stopped by his office to say good morning. But she hadn’t complained when he’d slipped his hand under her skirt, and she certainly wasn’t complaining now that he had her straddling him in his large leather desk chair.
“You’re in a good mood today,” Blaise said as she unbuttoned his collar. She dipped her head and kissed his lips, his neck.
“I have you on top of me. Of course I’m in a good mood.” He skimmed his fingers down her throat and into the V of her blouse.
“If you were inside me, you’d be in an even better mood.” “Are you sure about that?” Kingsley asked. He slid his hands under her skirt and massaged her soft thighs.
“Only one way to find out, isn’t there?” Blaise bit his earlobe and whispered. “S’il vous plait, monsieur.”
“Since you ask so nicely…”
Blaise laughed as Kingsley stood up without warning and sat her down hard on the edge of his desk. He hiked her skirt up to her hips, and Blaise tensed.
“Something wrong, chouchou?” he asked.
“I love this skirt. Just don’t tear it. Please?”
“If I did, I would replace it for you.”
“It belonged to Bette Davis.”
“You and your outfits…”
Kingsley dragged her off the desk and turned her back to him. Carefully, so as not to tear the vintage fabric, he pulled the tiny zipper down and slid the skirt down her legs. She stepped
out of it, and he laid it over the back of his chair.
“Are you wearing anything else that belongs to a dead actress?”
“Everything else on me or in me is fair game.”
“Good.” Kingsley tore her panties off but left her still wearing her stockings and garters. Then he spanked her hard on her bare bottom, hard enough she yelped. He did love that sound. He swatted her again even harder this time, then snapped her garter against the back of her thigh. Her skin pinked beautifully. But he preferred red, so he spanked her again.
“You’re evil,” Blaise said as she hung her head and panted in pain. “How do you make a spanking hurt that much?”
“Practice,” Kingsley said, and swatted her again. “You know you love it.”
“I hate it.”
“Are you sure about that?” Kingsley pressed her legs apart and pushed a finger inside her. “This doesn’t feel like hate to me.”
She was wet inside, very wet, and hot.
“My pussy loves you. Every other part of me hates you right now.”
“Every other part?” He brought his arm around her waist and found her swollen clitoris. He kneaded it gently. “Okay…maybe not every other part,” Blaise said breathlessly, her lips parting. She braced herself against his desk while he touched her, one hand inside, one outside. He pushed a third finger into her vagina and opened her up for him. Blaise let out a groan of pleasure that was likely heard by everyone in the entire house. Good. He hadn’t bothered to lock his office door. Blaise’s inability to stay quiet during sex worked better than any tie on a doorknob.
“Where’s my camera when I need it?” Kingsley asked as he pushed deeper into her body until her inner muscles f linched around him. “You make quite a picture right now.”
“How’s this for a pose?” Blaise parted her legs even more, giving him a better look at all her assets.
“Très jolie,” he said with appreciation. “But this would make a better picture.”
“What would?”
Kingsley picked her up and sat her on top of his desk. He stripped her of her blouse and bra and pushed her thighs open. She had nothing on now but her stockings, her garters and a pair of high heels. Kingsley admired her body so open and ready for him.
“Parfait.”
Kingsley unzipped his pants and stroked himself to his full hardness. He let the wet tip of his cock rub against Blaise’s clitoris. She moaned and lifted her hips.
“You’re going to make me beg for it, aren’t you?” she asked.
“Don’t I always?”
“Always,” she said. “Please, fuck me.”
“Not good enough.”
Blaise sighed heavily. “Please, monsieur, fuck me. You’re the most beautiful man in New York City and maybe the entire tri-state area.”
“That’s a new one.”
“I love your hair, how soft it is, and your dark eyes. And you have the sexiest hands on any man ever.”
“Hands?”
“I like hands,” Blaise said. “It’s a girl thing.”
“Anything else?” he asked.
“Um…I love your accent, and your cock is magnificent, and if you don’t put it in me soon I will cry and it’ll ruin my makeup and it’ll be all your fault, so please fuck me now, right now, this second, or I swear to God I will forget I’m the submissive in this relationship.”
Kingsley penetrated her with one hard stroke. Blaise’s head fell back, and she lifted her hips off the desk taking him all the way into her. With a jerk of his hips he pulled out and slammed into her again. He grasped her breasts in his hands and squeezed them, lightly pinching her nipples as she writhed beneath him. She was burning up on the inside and wet enough he could hear it as he moved in her. He watched himself fucking her. With the pad of his thumb he rubbed her where their bodies joined. Blaise stiffened with pleasure and grasped the edge of his desk to steady herself. Her skin f lushed red, and her nipples hardened. Inside her and all around him she pulsed with her building climax.
He was nothing now but a body. Nothing now but sex. He didn’t think, didn’t remember, didn’t need, didn’t doubt himself because he didn’t exist—not when he was fucking. He’d fuck constantly if he could. Anything to keep the memoire at bay. Anything to keep the world at bay.
With a quick yank of his hands, Kingsley dragged Blaise closer to the edge of the desk. He pushed her thighs back, wider and closer to her chest. When she was as open for him as she could be and he as deep inside her as possible, he ordered her to come for him. She grabbed his wrists and squeezed them to the point of pain the way he liked, and she came hard, her shoulders rising off the desk, her hips moving wildly against him, her voice nothing but a series of sharp desperate breaths. When she was done, Kingsley wrapped his arms around her, pulled up and pressed her chest against his. She kissed him and he kissed back, a desperate hungry kiss between lovers who knew exactly what the other one wanted. He fucked her as he kissed her, fucked her without mercy, and she took every thrust like his good girl should. He had to come, but he didn’t want to, not yet. He wanted to stay inside her hot wet hole all day and all night and until he’d died fucking her, and then he’d never have to think or remember or feel anything but the welcoming inside of a woman’s body again.
So much pressure…he could barely breathe… His thighs were shaking from the endless thrusting, his cock so sensitive it ached… In his ear Blaise whispered erotic encouragements. Come inside me, my King…I want it dripping down my thighs all day…as hard as you want…as hard as you can…
As hard as he could was hard enough that his eyes watered from the force of his own orgasm. He came with a rush, with a fierce deep spasm, and a rush of hot f luid inside her. In the back of his mind somewhere he heard Blaise crying out in what sounded like pain.
Far too quickly he came down from the high of his climax. He rested his head on Blaise’s shoulder. She wrapped her arms around him and laughed.
“You’re laughing at me?” Kingsley asked, slowly disentangling himself from her arms.
“I am. Look.” She raised her shoulder to show the bite mark on it. “You vampire.”
“I don’t remember doing that. My sincerest apologies.” He
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