Author: Tiffany Reisz

“You’re really going to make me take a shower?”

“I can give you a bath if you prefer.”

“I wouldn’t prefer,” she said, not sure if she meant that.

Kingsley pushed open a set of intricately carved black double doors.

Never before had she seen a bedroom more erotic and inviting. She wished she knew more about architecture so she could properly describe it to her friends…if and when she ever made it out of here. She wanted to study the vaulted ceilings adorned with black-and-white paintings of lovers coupling in positions both pornographic and artistic. Or the hulking black marble fireplace on the lush oriental rugs that covered the black-and white-tile floor.

But in truth only the bed held her attention. A huge four-poster behemoth, it captured both her attention and her imagination. She’d never seen sheets so red, like the color of fresh blood, or pillows so thick she thought she could drown in them and die happy.

“Nice bed,” she said when Kingsley caught her staring. “It’s really…big. King-size, I guess.”

“Kingsley-sized.” He winked at her as he pointed at a door across the room. “Bathroom in there. There is a bathrobe you can use while I have your clothes sent out.”

Charlotte entered the bathroom and found it as luxurious as the bedroom. She locked the door behind her and looked in the mirror. Scuff marks had been only a slight exaggeration. A streak of black floor polish adorned her left cheek. It looked almost like a bruise. Her eyes were shaded with smudged and flaking eye makeup and her lipstick had worn halfway off from the alcohol and the paraffin. She turned on the steam shower and stepped inside. As she washed the club grime off she wondered what on earth Kingsley wanted with her before deciding she didn’t really care.

She turned off the water and wrapped herself in the plushest towel she’d ever felt in her life. Squeezing the water out of her hair she pulled on the black silk bathrobe. With nothing on but the robe she emerged into the bedroom. Kingsley reclined in a chair with his feet propped up on an ottoman. He’d discarded his suit jacket and put on a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. With a cocktail in his hand he perused the file folder in his hand.

“Hypocrite.” She nodded at his cocktail and tried to ignore how desirable he looked in his embroidered vest with his crisp white shirtsleeves rolled up to reveal muscular forearms and wrists.

“Everything in moderation, ma  chérie. Except orgasms. Have a seat.”

She didn’t see anywhere to sit other than the bed and not wanting to seem too eager she sat on the floor. Kingsley gave her a strange look as she waited at his feet—a look both hungry and self-congratulatory.

Kingsley pulled out a sleek black cell phone. In rapid French he poured out what sounded like instructions and hung up.

“Pancakes forthcoming. Now this is all very interesting.” He flipped another page in the file. “You had a four-point-oh at NYU before you dropped out your freshman year. Pourquoi?”

Charlotte sat up straighter.

“That file’s about me?” she demanded.

“Oui. While I was waiting for you emerge from your Amaretto-sour coma, I had my secretary cull your records. You are a fascinating woman, Charlie.”

“And you’re such an asshole. I can’t believe you’re digging around my past.”

“I intend to fuck you blind before you leave my home, Charlie. Is penetrating your past more intimate than penetrating your body?”

Charlotte closed her mouth and sat blushing on the floor as visions of Kingsley on top of her, inside her, raced through her mind.

“I think so,” she finally answered.

“So do I, actually.”

“That’s a pretty old-fashioned view of sex,” she said. “Especially for a pimp.”

“I am not a pimp. My employees do not sell sex. If I’m anything, it would be an agent. Or—”

“A talent scout,” she finished. “Yeah, Steele told me. So were you scouting for talent at the club last night?”

“I was. And found a fire-breather. Not a particularly useful talent but certainly interesting. As is this—your mother, she died when you were nineteen.”

Charlotte swallowed. “Car accident. That’s not interesting. Just horrible.”

“Horrible, très. But you dropped out of school to raise your younger brother—that is interesting.”

“Simon and my father do not get along. He was terrified at the prospect of living with my dad. We got a sympathetic judge, thank God.”

Kingsley smiled at her over the top of his glasses.

“Your father is not a good man?”

Charlotte pulled the robe tighter around her. “He’s strict, conservative. I stayed out an hour after curfew when I was sixteen. I was at the movies with a girlfriend and we got ice cream after. He assumed the worst and called me a slut, a whore, everything. He and mom divorced that year finally. I couldn’t let Simon move in with him. Especially since—”

“Your brother is gay.”

“Yeah, how did you know?”

“He interned with gay rights groups while in college and law school. You dropped out of university and started working so your gay brother wouldn’t have to live with your conservative father. That’s rather noble of you, Charlie.”

Charlotte stared at the floor.

“My dad would have destroyed Simon. It wasn’t noble. It was my only choice.”

“It wasn’t, but it’s quite telling that you think that. Let’s see,” he said and flipped a few more pages. “You worked as a receptionist at a salon after you quit school and apprenticed there. You were a cocktail waitress at Le Cirque de Nuit a few nights a week as well. Must have been before I bought the club. I would have remembered a fire-breather.”

“You got much better tips if you could do a stunt. The bartender there before Steele taught me the fire-breathing thing.”

“Your brother is in law school now. Full scholarship, I see. There’s no reason you can’t go back to school.”

“I’m a little too old. Besides, I like working. I’ve been out in the real world taking care of myself and Simon since I was nineteen. Don’t think I can go back.”

Kingsley closed the file and leaned forward. He started to open his mouth but a knock on the door interrupted.

“Entréz,” he called out. The butler entered carrying a breakfast tray. He sat it on the floor in front of Charlotte and quickly departed.

“So now you’ve had your shower and you are currently having your breakfast. Let’s discuss the business opportunity you’ve already said no to.”

“Discuss away,” she said after her first delicious bite of pancake. “But it’s still a no.”

“Understandable.” Kingsley stood up and removed his wire-rim glasses. “I’ll talk. You eat.”

“Happily.”

Kingsley strolled leisurely about his bedroom.

“I told you I was no pimp and that’s true. There is a sexual aspect to the work my employees do, but none of them have sexual intercourse for money. At least not on my time clock. The clients we serve are an unusual lot with unusual desires. If they wanted mere sex, they could get that from their husbands and wives, boyfriends and girlfriends. What they want from us is more complicated.”

“You’re talking about kink, right?”

Kingsley nodded. “Oui. Kink. Bondage, domination and sadomasochism. I said I was a talent agent. It wouldn’t be far off the mark to also call myself a matchmaker. I have clients with specific desires, and I try to find a good match for those desires among my coterie. I have a client now—a wealthy businessman, not unattractive—who has found himself longing for a deeper connection than what he has experienced in his recent short-lived relationships. He prefers a beautiful woman somewhere between the age of twenty-five and thirty-five. No preference on race, height, or religion. Strong preference on intelligence—i.e. she must have it. And she must be very brave.”

At his last word he turned around and looked down at her.

“A woman who breathes fire while drunk and comes to my home while sober is about as brave as this town has to offer. Wouldn’t you agree, Charlie?”

Charlotte stared at him. She couldn’t believe what he was asking her.

“Okay…I’m not saying yes or anything. I’m only asking out of curiosity—what exactly would this whole arrangement entail?”

“This particular client enjoys S and M on occasion but is more interested in absolute sexual dominance. He is particularly aroused by fear.”

“So he’s a rapist?”

“Hardly. Dominants in the lifestyle, as we call it, find submission erotic. Overpowering a woman and taking her by force is an act of assault and violence. A dominant desires his submissive trust him enough to allow him to take her even when she is afraid. Yes, he takes but she gives as well. And you, ma chérie, have all the makings of a world-class submissive.”

“This is bizarre.”

“Is it? Tell me, Charlie, those two blond Barbie dolls you were with last night—that was Sasha Walsh and London Faber, yes?”

“Yes. We met at the salon. I cut their hair.”

“Their parents are worth roughly the state budget of Vermont. They are vapid and dull and spoiled. They are your opposites. Why do you spend time with them?”

“Rich people are easy to hang out with. They have all the money. They make all the decisions.”

“And they left you alone passed out on the floor of my club. Anything could have happened to you—you could have been robbed, assaulted, raped…they are not your friends.”

“I know. That’s why I like hanging out with them. It’s easier that way.”

“Easier to be with people who don’t care about you?”

“Easier to be with people I don’t have to care about. I know—it’s stupid.”

“Pas du tout. It’s understandable. Your mother died, you raised your brother and kept him safe from your father….”

Charlotte toyed with the pancake left on her plate.

“Oui,” she agreed.

“At a young age you had to take on enormous responsibilities. What you must understand is that submissive women are not weak. They are often much stronger than the men who dominate them. They have to be strong and brave to submit without losing themselves. I believe you are both. And,” he said, squatting down in front of her, “I think there’s a part of you that would very much enjoy not being in control of everything for once.”

Charlotte looked up at him. No one that handsome should also be that insightful.

“I’ve never done kink before,” she finally said.

“I can teach you everything you need to know.”

“You would teach me?”

Kingsley tapped her under her chin and grinned at her. Something in his smile made her stomach clench. “Is that such a terrible prospect?”

Charlotte stared at him. Never before had she seen a more viscerally attractive man in her life. He seemed to read her reaction to him in her eyes.

The sane rational part of Charlotte’s brain told her to get up and get out. Unfortunately every other part of her body and mind overruled her.

“Stand up,” Kingsley ordered and Charlotte came to her feet.

He looked her up and down once before flashing her a dangerous smile. Raising his hand, he caressed her lips with the soft pad of his thumb while he reached out with his free hand and opened a drawer on the bedside table. From it he pulled a pair of handcuffs.

“Hey, no way in Hell.” Charlotte took a quick step back.

Kingsley said nothing as he slapped the cuffs onto his own left wrist.

“S’il vous plaît,” he said and turned around, indicating he wanted her to cuff his hands behind his back.