For a long time he looked at his cigarette before slowly turning his head toward Søren who held a bullwhip in his hand. Casually Søren coiled it.

Cigarette lit.

Bullwhip snap.

Cigarette not lit anymore.

He held the stub in his hand split in two.

“Any other questions?” Søren asked with an arrogant lift of his eyebrow.

Kingsley pointed at the whip, pointed at his hand, pointed at Søren...

“Can you teach me to do that?”

“I’ll answer your questions if you answer mine.”

Søren 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 Søren 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.

“You’re evil,” Blaise said as she hung her head and panted in pain. “How do you make a spanking hurt that much?”

“Practice,” Kingsley said, and swatted her again. “You know you love it.”

“I hate it.”

“Are you sure about that?” Kingsley pressed her legs apart and pushed a finger inside her. “This doesn’t feel like hate to me.”

She was wet inside, very wet, and hot.

“My pussy loves you. Every other part of me hates you right now.”

“Every other part?” He brought his arm around her waist and found her swollen clitoris. He kneaded it gently.

“Okay...maybe not every other part,” Blaise said breathlessly, her lips parting. She braced herself against his desk while he touched her, one hand inside, one outside. He pushed a third finger into her vagina and opened her up for him. Blaise let out a groan of pleasure that was likely heard by everyone in the entire house. Good. He hadn’t bothered to lock his office door. Blaise’s inability to stay quiet during sex worked better than any tie on a doorknob.

“Where’s my camera when I need it?” Kingsley asked as he pushed deeper into her body until her inner muscles flinched around him. “You make quite a picture right now.”

“How’s this for a pose?” Blaise parted her legs even more, giving him a better look at all her assets.

“Très jolie,” he said with appreciation. “But this would make a better picture.”

“What would?”

Kingsley picked her up and sat her on top of his desk. He stripped her of her blouse and bra and pushed her thighs open. She had nothing on now but her stockings, her garters and a pair of high heels. Kingsley admired her body so open and ready for him.

“Parfait.”

Kingsley unzipped his pants and stroked himself to his full hardness. He let the wet tip of his cock rub against Blaise’s clitoris. She moaned and lifted her hips.

“You’re going to make me beg for it, aren’t you?” she asked.

“Don’t I always?”

“Always,” she said. “Please, fuck me.”

“Not good enough.”

Blaise sighed heavily. “Please, monsieur, fuck me. You’re the most beautiful man in New York City and maybe the entire tri-state area.”