The King (The Original Sinners: White Years, #2)(71)

“To what do I owe the honor?” Kingsley asked.

“You wanted to speak to me about working in your new club, yes?” she asked.

“Yes. Is that why you’re here?” he asked. They could have had this conversation in his office. Why was Mistress Felicia in his bedroom?

“I’ll admit to an ulterior motive.”

“Ulterior motives. Care to enlighten me?”

“I saw you downstairs. And as soon as I saw you, I knew I wanted to beat you and f*ck you. How is that for an ulterior motive?”

Kingsley’s groin tightened at the sight of the beautiful woman and her riding crop. And everyone who knew anything about kink knew this woman was the most notorious sadist in the city. She could likely give S?ren a run for his money.

“Well?” Mistress Felicia asked.

The tape could wait.

His cock couldn’t.





22


“HOW DO YOU KNOW I WOULD LET YOU BEAT ME?” Kingsley asked. “You might not let me. You might be nothing but a dominant after all, and the thought of submitting to a woman may hold no appeal.” She strolled toward him, the riding crop swishing behind her like a tiger’s tail. “Then again, it might.”

“Did anyone see you come in here, Ma?tresse?”

“No one was in the hallway before I came in.” Kingsley sighed with relief. “Good,” he said. “Please, don’t be offended—”

“I have many clients who would prefer not to have their

proclivities announced to the world. You don’t have to explain. I am nothing if not discreet.”

“Your discretion is the stuff of legend, Ma?tresse.” She raised her eyebrow at him. “I was warned about your

accent. They were right.”

Kingsley desperately wanted this woman, but he’d rather

die than have the whole city know about the other side of his

sexual proclivities—the submissive masochistic side. Mistress Felicia walked to him, walked slowly, taking her

sweet time, making every step toward him a lesson in patience. “I compliment his accent and he stops speaking. Typical

switch. Can’t stop playing mind games for a second, can you?” “Tell me what to say, and I’ll say it,” Kingsley said. “Tell me you want me to beat you and f*ck you, Kingsley.” Yes. God, yes. Yes, he wanted her to do everything to

him. But…

“I would like that,” he said. “But, you see, I—” She laid her palm on his chest.

“Your heart is racing,” she said. “Are you scared?” “I have a problem,” he said.

“I can see you’re burdened by something. Tell me your

burdens. Tell me how I can ease them,” she said, touching

his face, his forehead, his lips. She smelled like roses, like an

English garden.

“I was shot,” he said, focusing on the delicious scent of her

instead of the memories. “Last year. I was with a dominant

recently. I had a f lashback.”

“What triggered it?” she asked, apparently not the least

bothered by his revelation.

“Someone touched my throat with a whip.”

“Your throat,” she repeated, looking at him but also into

him.

“I was choked once.”

“I see,” she said, her voice quiet and serene. “I won’t touch

your throat. And I’m not afraid of your f lashbacks. If you

have one, you have one. If you don’t, then…well, more time

to play then, isn’t it?”

Mistress Felicia ran a gloved hand through his hair. She

grabbed a fistful of it at the nape of his neck, forcing his head

back.

Kingsley didn’t speak.

“I will hurt you the way you like being hurt tonight,” Mistress Felicia said. “And in no other way. Tell me what

you like.”

“I will, Ma?tresse.”

“Do you like this?” she asked, tugging harder on his hair.

“Do you like being treated like property?”

“Oui, Ma?tresse,” he said.

“Do you like pain?”

“More than anything.”

“How much pain?”

“All the pain,” he said.

“You’re a masochist?”

“You could call me that.”

“What don’t you want?”

“I don’t want a collar,” he said. “I hate them.”

Mistress Felicia laughed and pulled harder on his hair. His

eyes watered from the pain. She was good, very good. “I won’t put a collar on you. Nothing on your throat. Nothing but my kisses.” She brought her lips to his neck and bit

the skin over his jugular vein. The bite turned into a kiss and

back into another bite. “Your neck is too delicious to cover it

up with anything but my mouth. And besides, there are other

ways to enslave men that don’t require collars.”

She tossed her riding crop onto the bed and took him by

the wrist, bringing his hand between her legs. She wore nothing beneath her leather skirt. He cupped her there, the base