Title: The King
Author: Tiffany Reisz
Bouncing from bed to bed on the Upper East Side—handsomely paid in both bills and blackmail fodder—Kingsley Edge is brilliant, beautiful and utterly debauched. No carnal act or chemical compound can relieve his self-destructive apathy—only Søren, the one person he loves without limit or regret. A man he can never have, but in whose hands Kingsley is reborn to attain even greater heights of sin. He plans to open the ultimate BDSM club: a dungeon playground for New York's A-list that'll change the scene forever.
The club becomes Kingsley's obsession—and he's enlisted some tough-as-nails help. His new assistant Sam is smart, secretive and totally immune to seduction (by men, at least). She and Kingsley make a wicked team. Still, their combined—and considerable—expertise in domination can't subdue the man who would kill their dream. The enigmatic Reverend Fuller won't rest until King's dream is destroyed. It's one man's sacred mission against another's….
“How much trouble am I in for getting out of the car without permission?” Kingsley asked. “None,” Søren said, and Kingsley was wildly disappointed. “Let’s go. We can make it back to school by tonight.” Kingsley followed him back to the car. The driver opened the door for them. When they were alone again, Kingsley said, “Or…” “Or what?” Søren demanded. “Or we could find a hotel and fuck in a real bed for once.” “We’re not on a date. And here I was wondering where the real Kingsley had gone.” “What do you mean?” he asked as the driver opened the car door for them. He slipped inside and Søren followed. They were on the road again before Søren answered. “When you were with Claire—I wasn’t sure you were the same Kingsley I know and barely tolerate.” “Why? Because I like kids?” “You were good with her.” “Kids are fun,” he said. What else was there to say? “I never considered you would like children.” “Well…I do. So what?” “Nothing,” Søren said, laughing to himself. “Nothing at all.” “I know you see me as some kind of pervert,” Kingsley said. “But believe or not, I am a human being. Yes, I like kids. I might want kids someday. I don’t have much of a family anymore. If I want a family I’ll have to make my own. Sometimes I have thoughts that don’t have anything to do with sex. I’m not just your toy, you know. I have feelings and—” His impassioned “I have feelings” speech ended abruptly when Søren grabbed him hard by the back of the hair and brought his mouth down in a brutal kiss. Kingsley almost pulled away so he could finish his tirade before realizing he wanted the kiss so much more than the fight. Kingsley returned the kiss with equal and greater passion. Søren yanked Kingsley’s jacket off him and threw it on the floorboard. Kingsley pulled his own shirt off and rolled on to his back on the bench seat. He’d remember the sensation of leather on his bare back all his life. “Have you ever had sex in the back of a Rolls Royce?” Kingsley asked, trying not to rip Søren’s shirt in his rush to unbutton it. He needed Søren’s skin on his skin right now. “No,” Søren said. “But ask me that question again in an hour.” Before Kingsley could respond to that, Søren grabbed his wrists, pinned them over Kingsley’s head and kissed him again—deeper, slower, but no less punitive. Kingsley groaned, and Søren slapped a hand over his mouth. “Quiet,” Søren said into Kingsley’s ear. “We aren’t alone, and I’ll gag you until you choke if I have to. Understand?” Kingsley nodded against Søren’s hand. A curtain and partition separated them from the driver. He couldn’t see them, but if they were loud enough, he could hear them. He’d disobeyed Søren’s orders to stay in the car, he’d yelled at him and talked back. He was going to get it this time. Good. Søren kissed him again. Kingsley kept his sounds of pleasure to a minimum even when Søren reached between their bodies, unzipped Kingsley’s pants, and stroked him hard. Every muscle in Kingsley’s stomach tightened. He sucked in his breath sharply from the shock of pleasure. It took every bit of self-control not to moan audibly. “You like this?” Søren asked. “God, yes, so much,” Kingsley said, lifting his hips against Søren’s hand. He spoke in French and English. He was about to lose control of more than his language skills if Søren didn’t stop touching him like that. “I think you like it too much.” Søren rose up on his knees and looked down at Kingsley. “I don’t. I really don’t. I like it exactly as much as you want me to.” “You’re pathetic when you’re turned on.” “I am so pathetic right now.”
“King?” came a woman’s voice behind Kingsley. Without looking back he raised his hand and beckoned her inside. A beautiful young woman in a forties-style skirt and blouse stood next to his chair and waited. He wrapped an arm around her hips and dragged her down to his lap. “You’re interrupting,” he said to her. “Can’t you see how busy I am?” “Oh, forgive me. I didn’t mean to interrupt your,” she glanced down at the table and back into Kingsley’s eyes, “card game?” Kingsley pointed at Søren. “Blaise, I would like you to meet my oldest and dearest friend…” he paused and looked at Søren when he realized he didn’t know if he was allowed to tell anyone Søren’s name. Out in the world he’d gone by the name his father had given him—Marcus Stearns. Even now he was Father Marcus Stearns, SJ according to church records. Søren was the name his mother had given him and few called him that. “Who the hell are you again?” Søren stretched out his hand and took Blaise’s. “Søren. Kingsley and I went to school together.” “I’m Blaise,” she said and gave Søren her brightest smile and the most unapologetic bedroom eyes Kingsley had ever seen. So unfair. Why did Søren always turn every head in the room? Kingsley looked at Søren who today wore normal clothes. Normal? Black jeans, a fitted black long-sleeve t-shirt. They’d be normal clothes on anyone but Søren. In them, Søren looked like something out of a fever dream. He couldn’t blame Blaise for looking at Søren the way she did. But he did wonder why Søren looked at her the same way. “Blaise, might I inquire what you’re doing interrupting this incredibly important card game of mine?” “Against my better judgment, I answered the phone and took a message for you. But don’t get any ideas that I’m your new secretary although you need to get a new secretary-” “I will, chouchou. I promise.” “You said that last week.” “I got a new secretary last week.” “Where is she?” “She quit.” “Did you fuck her?” “I didn’t mean to. It was an accident.” Blaise turned her attention back to Søren. “Can you please tell your oldest and dearest friend to stop seducing his secretaries so they’ll stop quitting on him when they catch him fucking someone else?” “Kingsley,” Søren said, shuffling the cards again. “Stop seducing your secretaries so they’ll stop quitting on you.” “Thank you.” Blaise gave Søren a smile. “My pleasure,” Søren said. Kingsley mentally slapped them both. “Give me the message,” Kingsley said, running his hand up her thigh and caressing the bare skin above her flesh-tone stockings. Blaise reached into her nearly translucent pale pink blouse and produced a folded note from inside her lace-trimmed bra. Kingsley unfolded the note, still warm from her body and read. Tonight at nine. - Phoebe Kingsley tensed when he read the words and briefly considered lying his way out of the situation. She’d understand if he had to reschedule. He did have a guest after all. But no, he needed the leverage. He couldn’t risk losing this chance. “I have to go,” Kingsley said to Blaise and Søren. “I won’t be gone long—an hour or so. You’ll keep my guest company, won’t you?” he asked Blaise. “Happily.” Her thousand-watt smile brightened a few more watts. With her on his lap he could feel the heat emanating between her legs. “Good. You two have so much in common, so much to talk about. Blaise, tell Søren what you do.” “I run a non-profit,” she said, leaning forward on the table and resting her chin on her hand. The move allowed everyone in the room to get a much clearer view of her soft, ample cleavage. “A non-profit?” Søren continued shuffling the cards while never once looking away from Blaise. “Tell him what it does.” Kingsley pinched her on the thigh and she shuddered in pleasure. “Our Blaise is trés altruistic.” “It’s called Slut Pride. We’re a non-profit that helps educate people about women’s sexual freedom, especially in regards to women’s participation in BDSM activities. Some people like to tell us that it’s not feminist to like to get flogged. I say it’s not feminist to tell a woman what she can and can’t do. Enough about me. What do you do?” she asked Søren. “I’m a Catholic priest.” Blaise said nothing. She gawked at Søren with her full red-lipped mouth ajar. And then she laughed, a warm throaty laugh that filled the room. “You’re terrible. I almost believed you.” Søren winked at Kingsley. Kingsley had never guessed Søren had this flirtatious side to him. Back in their school days Søren had been feared and envied by all the other boys and Søren had almost never spoken to anyone but the other priests. Kingsley realized that other than his sister, he’d never seen Søren around a beautiful woman before. Interesting. The man was human after all. Even if he was a priest. “I must be off. You two chat, become friends. Blaise, peut-être you should explain BDSM to my friend. I’m sure he’ll find it fascinating.” “I’m sure I will,” Søren said. “We’ll be fine, Kingsley. Have a lovely evening.” Kingsley patted Blaise’s shapely bottom and she stood up and let him out. On his way from the dining room he heard Blaise asking Søren, “So what do you really do?” And Søren replied, “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
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She lives in Portland, Oregon. If she couldn't write, she would die.
http://www.tiffanyreisz.com/ https://twitter.com/tiffanyreisz https://www.facebook.com/littleredridingcrop
Q/A with Tiffany:
-Do you have a favorite book or author you like to recommend? Do you have a comfort read? I have a set of books I regularly recommend to people. Want to read amazing literature? Read my favorite novel of all time All the King’s Men by Kentucky author Robert Penn Warren. Want to read the most moving love story I’ve ever read? Read The Vintner’s Luck by Elizabeth Knox. My comfort reads are Sherlock Holmes short stories and Agatha Christie’s Poirot novels. -What is your guilty pleasure? I’d need to feel guilt to have a guilty pleasure. Buying office supplies I don’t need is probably the closest I get to a guilty pleasure. I buy them and think about all the people out there who don’t have awesome office supplies like I do and I feel bad for them. -Favorite Meal? Coffee and an ice cream sandwich is my version of a “Power Lunch.” The combination of tastes is glorious. -If you weren’t a writer, what would you be? My non-writer dream job is train engineer (what? I like trains). My realistic non-writer job would be working in a bookstore. That’s what I was doing when I started my writing career.