The King (The Original Sinners: White Years, #2)(23)
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 S?ren. “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.”
S?ren 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,” S?ren 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 S?ren.
“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 S?ren who held a bullwhip in his
hand. Casually S?ren coiled it.
Cigarette lit.
Bullwhip snap.
Cigarette not lit anymore.
He held the stub in his hand split in two.
“Any other questions?” S?ren asked with an arrogant lift
of his eyebrow.
Kingsley pointed at the whip, pointed at his hand, pointed
at S?ren…
“Can you teach me to do that?”
“I’ll answer your questions if you answer mine.” S?ren 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 S?ren 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.