The King

by Tiffany Reisz

  stoked his hair, his cheek, his lips.

  “Not my mouth.”

  Kingsley paused long enough for her to know he was following her orders with the most extreme reluctance. He reached out with one hand until he felt her bare foot, her bare toes. He dropped a kiss on to the top of each of her feet. “Ankles,” she said. Ankles he kissed.

  “Calves,” she said. Calves he kissed.

  Thighs. Hips. Stomach. Mistress Felicia was obviously naked, and he wasn’t complaining. Breasts. Nipples. Neck. He was so hard now it hurt. Left shoulder. Right shoulder. Left wrist. Right wrist. If she didn’t let him fuck her soon, he would not be held responsible for his actions.

  “One more kiss for now,” she said, and he felt something against his lips. The back of her hand. He pressed a kiss into her skin, and her hand shivered in his. Nice to know she was as eager for him as he was for her. He needed this day with Felicia. He needed her desire for him. He needed her attraction to him that she did nothing to hide. He adored Sam to the point it made his stomach hurt when he held her in his arms, but those nights in his bed holding her while they slept but doing nothing more were hard on his pride. And right now his pride was unbearably hard.

  “Now I’m going to hide,” Felicia explained. “And you’ll have two minutes to find me. If you find me in that time, you can do anything you want to me for the next hour. If you don’t find me in two minutes, I get to do whatever I want to you for the next hour. And you’re not going to like it.”

  Kingsley’s breath hitched in his throat. He had to have this woman—not two minutes from now, but two minutes ago.

  “I’ll start the countdown,” she said from what sounded like twenty feet away. “Three….” Her voice receded. “Two…” Her voice grew ever fainter.

  While waiting for the “one,” Kingsley focused on his hearing. She’d led him down the hallway to the entryway of her home. Felicia had rugs all over her hardwood f loors, but they still creaked ever so slightly when she walked. He searched for the sound of her movement. Left? At his left was her living room. Right? Right would take her either up the stairs or into a coat closet. Would she run to the closet? Hide in a bathroom? Slip behind a door?

  When she said “one” he barely heard it. He came to his feet immediately, took a single step forward and found her arms around him. She ripped off the blindfold and grinned.

  “I wanted you to win,” she whispered.

  Kingsley shoved her against the wall and devoured her mouth with kisses. She pushed her hips into his as his hands found her breasts. This was exactly what he wanted—this warm, beautiful woman wrapped all around him. He brought them both down to the rug. The front door stood five feet away. He almost hoped someone would walk in and see them coupling right on the f loor of her entryway.

  She made no protest as he pushed her thighs wide and opened her up with his fingers. He licked her, lapped at her, sucked her clitoris until she panted and squirmed underneath him. Nothing turned him on quite like making such a dominant and powerful woman lose control of herself in desire for him. She pumped her hips against his mouth and clutched his shoulders in need. Her dark hair spilled over the f loor. He’d rarely seen a sight so erotic as her naked body lost in lust writhing beneath him on the f loor.

  Since she’d made him wait, he would take his time, although it killed him not to slam into her right this second. Instead, he pushed a finger inside her. Then two. Then three. He rubbed circles into her g-spot until she arched off the f loor and groaned his name. He fucked her with his fingers, setting up a rhythm until Felicia panted in time to his movements. Then he turned his hand, pushed hard against the back wall of her vagina and was rewarded with her gasp of shock and pleasure. She said his name again, moaned it, breathed it, begged it. He needed to fuck her and fuck her now. She’d given him the entire hour to do whatever he liked to her and with her. He’d have her this second and then would take his time with her. She had a large vibrator in her bedroom he’d use on her to force her to climax until she begged him to stop. But now he needed to be inside her.

  He opened his pants, pulled off his shirt and put on a condom from his wallet in a matter of seconds. Then he grasped her by the knees, dragged her to him, letting the rug chafe her bare back. So what if it hurt her? Pain was their favorite toy.

  With one smooth thrust he entered her, and she welcomed all of him inside her. She dug her heels into the rug and pushed up as he pushed in, meeting at the middle with a shared grunt of need. She twined her arms around his neck, her long legs around his lower back, and took his every thrust. He grasped her hair and forced her head back. He kissed the hollow of her throat, bit her lips and told her in no uncertain terms what he planned to do to her as soon as he’d come.

  He pulled out and ordered her on to her hands and knees.

  “You should have expected this after making me crawl,” he said as he entered her from behind. She didn’t argue, didn’t protest. Instead, she reached one hand under her body and between her legs and let her fingertips caress him as he moved in and out of her. He grew slick with her wetness, and her body opened up until he could bottom out in her. Her fingers moved from him to her clitoris. As she stroked herself, he clutched her shoulders, riding her with growing urgency. When she came, he felt her muscles clamping around him, f luttering and shuddering. With a few more long slow strokes he came, too, a cry of triumph and release escaping his lips.

  For a few dozen breaths he stayed inside her as his heart calmed and her spasms subsided. He pulled out of her slowly, watching him leave her, knowing he’d be inside her again as soon as he was able.

  He left her on the f loor as he disposed of the condom, came back to her and offered his hand.

  She rose to her feet, and off her feet he lifted her. Once again she wrapped herself around him as he carried her up the short f light of stairs to the master bedroom on the second f loor. There he made good on his threat to make her come until she begged him to stop. Five orgasms later she claimed she could take no more. He wasn’t finished, however. So he put her on her back, entered into her wet depths with one powerful stroke and held her breasts in his hands while he fucked her. He thrust into her as slowly and as leisurely as he could while she lay beneath him, receiving him, taking him, enjoying him.

  He came again with a sigh before collapsing on to Felicia’s warm, welcoming body. She held him close, kissed his shoulders, neck and lips and told him how much she’d enjoyed that. But since the hour was up, he had to be on his very best behavior.

  Or else.

  “I am an angel,” he said, rolling on to his side. “A saint.”

  “And a liar,” she said, facing Kingsley. She tugged a lock of his hair. “Now go get us two glasses of wine. White. I’ll be waiting in bed.”

  “Oui, Maîtresse.”

  When Kingsley returned with the wine, Felicia’s two Russian blue cats had taken over his spot in her bed. He handed Felicia a glass before picking up one of the cats. It squeaked in protest.

  “Hush, Severin,” Kingsley said, scratching Severin under his chin. “You stole my pillow.”

  “That’s Venus, not Severin,” Felicia said.

  “My apologies, Maîtresse Venus. All cats look alike to me.” He winked at Felicia, and sat Venus-in-Fur down next to her twin. He got into bed, and the cats rearranged themselves into a yin-yang of thick gray fur.

  “Don’t tease my babies,” Felicia said. “I missed them so much when I was gone to the bad place. Even though it’s their fault I had to go away.”

  “The cats sent you to pris—”

  “Shh…” Felicia said and covered Venus’s twitching ears with her hands. “They don’t know where I went. Someone else had to feed them for two months, and that’s all they need to know.”

  Kingsley laughed. “How did your cats send you to…away?”

  “Usually the wife finds out about the affair from the lipstick on the collar or by finding a strand of long hair on her husband’s coat. Stephen gave m
e the kittens as a gift. He and his wife couldn’t have cats because she was allergic. After leaving me one night he went home…and his lovely wife sneezed. ‘The sneeze heard round the world,’ the newspapers called it. Or, if not the world, the entire city.”

  Kingsley stroked Severin as the cat purred and preened.

  “His wife found out about you, and you spent two months in prison, because Stephen Platt, a billionaire CEO, doesn’t know how to use a lint roller?”

  “Stephen is living proof that social Darwinism is a failed theory. You’d think a billionaire would be a little smarter.”

  “Men like him are arrogant,” Kingsley said. “People assume the rich are smarter and better. They’re just richer.”

  “They’re certainly not any better. Most of my clients are millionaires and then some.”

  “They’d have to be to afford you.”

  “Aren’t you glad I’m not charging you a cent?” Felicia leaned over the two cats and kissed him.

  “Since you don’t have sex with your clients, I’d say it was the best money I’ve never spent.”

  They kissed long and deep. He wanted her again already, but he would wait and recover so he could give her everything he had, not just everything he had left.

  When the kiss ended, Kingsley lay on his back again. Severin stepped on to his chest in that imperious way cats had of making everyone their footstools and curled up on Kingsley’s stomach.

  “So, what’s happened while I was gone?” Felicia asked. “Do you have my club ready for me yet?”

  “Not yet,” Kingsley said, sighing. Severin rose and fell with Kingsley’s breath. “I can’t find what Fuller’s hiding.”

  “Trust your instincts. Stephen’s wife knew that cat hair on his coat meant something more than Stephen stopped to pet a cat one day. She saw cat hair and looked for pussy.”

  “I’d look for pussy but Sam won’t let me. I was thinking of seducing Fuller’s wife, but Sam made me promise not to. She says Lucy Fuller isn’t worthy of me.”

  “Your little secretary likes you too much. Hard to be objective with affection getting in the way. If Sam hadn’t made you promise, would you go after the wife?”

  “Absolutely. She’s as bad or worse than Reverend Fuller anyway.”

  “Does he love his wife?”

  “I don’t know if he loves her, but he’s protective of her. He swore he’d stay away from the women in my life if I stayed away from the women in his.”

  “How chivalrous.”

  “Yes,” Kingsley said. “Uncharacteristically chivalrous. I saw him scream at a teenage girl through a bullhorn today.”

  “Maybe he isn’t protective of his wife. Maybe he’s protecting himself. Maybe he knows his wife would cheat with you. Maybe she’s done it before.”

  “Peut-être,” Kingsley said. “I did promise Sam I’d stay away from her.”

  “You promised me my club,” Felicia said. “I’m your domme. You follow my orders.”

  “What are your orders, Maîtresse?” Kingsley asked, eager to follow any order that would get him back inside her body.

  “Easy order,” Felicia said as she lifted Severin up and off of Kingsley’s chest. Then she put her foot against his hip, pushed hard, and shoved him out of bed on to the f loor.

  Why were his dominants always doing this to him?

  “Go after the wife,” Felicia ordered. “I need a club to play in.”

  With pleasure Kingsley answered, “Yes, ma’am.”

  31

  KINGSLEY TOOK A SHOWER AT FELICIA’S, DRESSED and drove to Stamford and the WTL headquarters. He’d timed his arrival to coincide with one of the twice-weekly tapings of Reverend Fuller’s television show—The Truth and Power Hour.

  The audience had already been admitted into the cavernous sanctuary that doubled as Fuller’s television studio, so Kingsley stood in the large foyer area and watched the taping on a monitor that played in the lobby.

  The music was abominable. Saccharine watered-down gospel music sung by an all-white choir. When it stopped— not soon enough—Reverend Fuller stepped to the pulpit and smiled straight into the camera.

  “Praise the Lord,” Fuller said, and the crowd cheered as if they were at a World Cup football match, not a church service. “I know you all aren’t here to see me. I know who you came for.” The crowd’s cheers turned to laughter. Kingsley was going to hurt himself if he didn’t stop rolling his eyes so hard.

  “It’s Wednesday night,” Fuller continued. “And that’s Ladies’ Night. So I’ll get out of the way now and let my beautiful wife, Lucy, take over. Lucy?”

  Lucy Fuller might have been a beautiful woman if she had anything behind her eyes other than religious zealotry. Her dark eyes burned with God’s fire, and the smile she aimed at the camera was fierce and f linty.

  She and her husband exchanged a chaste kiss as he handed the pulpit off to her. The crowd applauded the kiss, at her wave to the masses, at her shy laugh at herself while she got behind the microphone.

  “My handsome husband,” Lucy Fuller said into the camera. “He’s all mine, ladies. No one get any ideas.”

  Kingsley was getting ideas.

  “I want to talk about something very serious tonight,” Lucy Fuller began. “I want to talk to you all about something we don’t talk about enough in this world. And that is sin.”

  The crowd got very quiet.

  “We live in a dark world,” Lucy continued. “And it’s getting darker everyday. You only have to turn on the television to see it—pornography being sold to our children as music videos, movies that teach our kids it’s okay to have sex whenever they feel like. And homosexuality is becoming increasingly accepted by society every day as if it was just another way to be and that’s okay. Well, it’s not okay. Not okay at all.”

  And the crowd went wild.

  Lucy’s tirade went on for the next thirty minutes. Nothing escaped her censure—books being taught in public schools that encouraged godlessness, politicians at the highest levels of office who cheated on their wives while telling everyone else how to live, network television for showing teenagers having sex without consequences, stores selling pornography, explicit music lyrics, people getting divorced, women having abortions left and right, kids painting their fingernails black and worshipping Satan.

  This was a woman who needed to get laid.

  As much as he had to grit his teeth to do it, Kingsley stayed for the entire sermon. When Lucy Fuller was finished calling

  THE KING 347 out everything in the entire world that gave anyone the tiniest bit of pleasure or entertainment, she received a long, loving hug from her husband and a standing ovation from the crowd.

  She ran off the stage in tears, overcome by her own message. Kingsley slipped out the front and waited by the stage door in the back. He didn’t have to wait long.

  Ten minutes after the end of her sermon, Lucy Fuller stepped out the door into the alley. She’d changed from her navy blue power suit with its ankle-length skirt and white frilly blouse to a plain black skirt and blouse. She’d repaired her makeup from her crying jag and now looked calm and collected.

  He didn’t speak to her, didn’t let himself be seen. But he did follow her. She walked purposefully, her high heels clicking on the concrete in a quick staccato. Where was she going in such a hurry? Kingsley had to know. Once he noted the make and model of the car she walked to, Kingsley headed back to his own. When she pulled out of the parking lot, he tailed her. He kept several cars between them, made sure she never noticed he took the same turns she took. After a few minutes he realized they were heading back into the city, back toward Manhattan. She was alone and in a hurry. All good signs she was doing something she shouldn’t be doing.

  In twenty-five minutes, they were in familiar territory. In a few more minutes, they turned on to Riverside Drive. Kingsley fell back as far as he could without losing her entirely. She got away from him for a minute, but then he found her again. She’d pulled up in fro
nt of a house.

  His house.

  Kingsley parked his car against the curb and watched.

  He watched Sam walk out the front door carrying an envelope.

  He watched Lucy Fuller roll down her passenger-side window.

  He watched Sam toss something through the car window and walk back into the house.

  He watched Lucy Fuller drive away.

  Kingsley got out of his car and walked into his own house feeling as if he were entering the home of a stranger or an enemy.

  He found Sam in his office, f lipping through files.

  “Hey,” she said, giving him a smile. “I thought you’d be at Mistress Felicia’s all night.”

  “How much are they paying you?”

  “What?”

  “How much are the Fullers paying you?”

  Sam dropped the files she was holding on to Kingsley’s desk.

  “I asked you to stay away from Lucy Fuller,” she said. “You promised me—”