Author: Tiffany Reisz

“Thank you.”

“And if you last ten minutes,” he said, and she turned her head and saw him glance at the clock on the fireplace mantel, “I’ll give you what you want.”

Ten minutes of pain? For a kiss from him? She would have traded an entire hour of pain for a kiss. Who was she kidding? She would have traded all night.

“Ready,” she said, and before she could prepare herself, the first blow landed on the center of her back. She gasped from the sudden shock of pain.

From behind her she heard Søren laughing.

“I told you so,” he taunted.

“I didn’t say ‘stop.’” Let him tease and taunt. She could do this.

“No. No, you did not.”

Grace braced herself but the second blow hurt even worse than first. The third came fast after that. She flinched with each strike but managed to do no more than gasp or wince. Not once did she cry out. Not once did she scream. After a few more strikes she found herself zoning out. The pain didn’t fade. On the contrary it built as the flogger landed again and again on her raw back. But she stopped caring about the pain, stopped counting the minutes until it would end. The most enigmatic man she’d ever met desired to give her this pain, needed to give her pain, and so she accepted the pain as a gift and offered him her body for his use as a gift in return.

When the flogging finally ceased, Grace sagged against the bedpost and swallowed large gulps of air.

Søren came to her and laid the flogger back on the bed. He reached up and took her by the wrist, turning her to face him.

He cupped her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes.

“Good girl,” he whispered. “I’m proud of you.”

“You are?”

He nodded. “For someone who has never done this before, you take pain beautifully.”

She beamed with pride. Praise from him was worth all the pain.

“Thank you. I want to please you.”

“You do.” He raised her hand to his lips and kissed the center of her palm. Still holding her hand he brought his mouth to hers. At first he kissed her so gently she barely felt it. Then she realized he was waiting, waiting for her to kiss him back, to take what she wanted, what she’d asked for, what she’d earned. And since she had earned it, she pressed her lips to his, opened her mouth and let him have at her. She tasted his tongue, the hint of wine, tasted his hunger or perhaps it was hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her naked body into him. An ache unlike any she’d ever felt before coalesced within her like a storm cloud forming. With each passing moment the storm intensified as her desire for him thundered through her.

Finally he pulled back and looked down at her with something akin to surprise in his eyes. Had the ferocity of the kiss shocked him as much as it shocked her?

“Tell me what you want, Grace,” he said again, this time slightly breathless. “And I’ll tell you how to earn it.”

“I want you to touch me...all of me.”

“It will cost you.”

“I’ll pay any price.”

“Stand in your place.”

She turned her back to him, crossed her arms and rested her forehead against her wrists. He didn’t pick up the flogger this time. He’d gone back into the bag for something else. She didn’t see it, but she heard it. When he whipped the air it made a whistling sound.

“You recall how much the flogger hurt?”

“Yes. A lot.”

“Good,” he said. “This is a cane. It will hurt worse.”

“Ten more minutes?”

“Oh, I won’t cane you for ten minutes. You’d end up in the hospital. I’ll cane you for one minute.”

“Thank God...”

“I’ll whip you for the other nine.”

The cane landed in the center of the backs of her thighs. The impact felt like a line of fire erupted on her skin. The next blow moved up higher. The third higher still. But the fourth moved lower so she quit guessing where the next would land. Her bottom, her upper thighs, her lower thighs...they burned with a pain she’d never experienced before. And as quickly as it started, it was over. But only the caning. Something bit at her back with tiny, tearing teeth. She heard a snap, something cutting the air, something stinging her skin. As before she lost herself after a few moments. The pain became a fact of life, as much a part of her as breathing. She didn’t seek to stop it. She didn’t even endure it. She received it, accepted it, even enjoyed it for the fact that the man who gave it to her needed to give it to her. The gods of old had demanded blood sacrifices from their people—a dove slain on an altar, a rook or a sheep. For some gods, even a person. The blood atoned for the sins of the people, bent the ears of god toward the supplicant. But Grace felt nothing like a dove laid out upon an altar. Giving herself to Søren for a night? This was no sacrifice.

When the pain stopped, Grace did nothing but stand and wait. When the pain stopped, Søren was at her back, turning her toward him again. His mouth found hers and she returned the kiss as ardently as he gave it. As they kissed he pushed her onto the bed and held himself over her. She lay underneath him as his hands traversed the full plane of her body, over her breasts and down her stomach, down her legs and across her hips. He had such graceful hands, such knowing fingers, and when she opened her thighs and he slipped his fingers into her, she accepted them like a gift. She gloried in every touch, every sensation, even the discomfort of her battered back on the sheets.

“Tell me what you want,” he ordered, and she knew the answer before he’d even asked.

“You,” she said. “All of you. Whatever the price.”

Søren brought his hand to her chest again.

“Grace...”

She met his eyes, gray and burning. She’d never seen gray fire before. She memorized the color because she knew she would never see it again for the rest of her life. But she saw it tonight and that would be enough.

“Please.”

He pressed his hand into her throat. The world turned white as the morning.

“Tell me what you want,” he whispered once more in her ear.

She told him.

Then she earned it.

43

THE KNIGHT

Wesley moved carefully inside Laila. As much as he wanted to let go, he remembered her soft whimpers of pain, remembered she’d never done this before, remembered that, this time, he was the experienced one who had to take the lead.

“You okay?” He kissed her neck and shoulder.

“More than okay.” She moved her leg higher up his back. “Are you okay?”

He laughed as he nuzzled the side of her neck. She smelled so good, like a warm kitchen, vanilla and strawberries.

“Beyond okay.” He pushed in again, a little harder this time, a little deeper. Laila rewarded him with a moan of pleasure, low and hungry. “How’s that for okay?”

Closing his eyes tight, Wesley focused on his breathing and tried to ignore that wet heat wrapped tightly around him. Looking at Laila was also too much of a temptation. Her lips red with kisses, her pink-tipped nipples, her smooth skin he wanted to lick and nibble... And God, those long legs of hers. He could die with them wrapped around his back like that.

Wesley took slow, calming breaths. He knew where he wanted to go, but he refused to go there without her. Reaching out, he grabbed the bottom bar of the headboard and pushed himself up, putting room between him and Laila. Now only their hips met.

“Wes?” Laila’s confused tone brought him back to himself.

“I’m here. Changing position a little.” He pulled her down the bed a little as he rose up even more. Sliding a hand between their bodies, he found her clitoris and kneaded it. Laila gasped and clung to the sheets with desperate fingers.

He slowed his thrusts and concentrated instead on Laila’s pleasure. He could come any second now but he refused to do it until she did. He might never see her again after tonight, although his gut told him this was only the beginning of something, not the end. But whatever happened, nothing could change the fact that this was her first time and he’d make it good for her if it killed him.

And considering she was Søren’s niece, it might just kill him.

“Is that good?” He touched her the way she’d showed him she liked. And as swollen as her clitoris was, she clearly liked something he was doing to her.

“More than good,” she said, grinning and gasping for air.

Her breathing quickened even more and her hips moved in tight pulses against his hand. He took her by the wrist and brought her arm around his shoulder.

“Hold my neck,” he said, wanting her hands on him when she came, needing her touch as much as she needed his.

She dug her hands in the back of his hair and held tight to him. Her grip was nearly painful. He didn’t mind it at all.

He moved his fingers harder against her and her breaths stopped in the back of her throat. He felt her tightening around him, so tight even he winced from it. With a final near-silent whimper, Laila came, her inner muscles spasming around him. As much as he wanted to relish the victory of bringing her to climax, his body demanded its own release. He pushed back in, stretched out on top of her and rode her with long, full thrusts that left Laila writhing underneath him.

With a few short, sharp and final pushes into her he came, emptying himself out with more force than he’d ever felt in his life. The orgasm hit him behind his eyes and in the pit of his stomach. Even as he came, he knew he’d never come this hard in his entire life.

He collapsed on top of Laila and once more she wrapped herself around him—this time with both arms and both legs.

They breathed together and said nothing. He felt no guilt, no shame, no awkwardness. Carefully he pulled out of her and noted that Laila barely winced.

Rolling onto his side, he brought her with him, her back to his chest, his arms around her.

“Thank you,” she whispered, dropping her head to kiss the arm that encircled her.

“My pleasure. Literally.”

“And mine.”

“I was wrong,” Wes admitted. “That was a seriously good idea.”

Laila laughed and the sound filled the air like music.

“It will be a terrible idea if my uncle catches us,” she said, settling in against him. He kissed her shoulder, the back of her neck, kissed every part of her he could reach. “I hadn’t planned this far ahead.”

“It’s fine. He’ll only kill me. He’ll let you live.”

“And that’s fine with you?”

“Oh, yeah. Sex with you?” Wesley rolled her onto her back and covered her with his body again. “Worth dying for.”

44

THE KING

Kingsley stood shirtless in front of the cheval mirror in Daniel’s bedroom and examined the damage. After Nora had stabbed Marie-Laure in the thigh, his sister had pulled out the dagger and used it on him as he tried to take her down. He’d lied and said he’d shot Marie-Laure when she’d sliced his side open. He hadn’t needed to shoot her. Mistress Nora had paid attention during all those self-defense lessons he’d given her years ago. She went right for the femoral artery and had struck it clean. Marie-Laure had bled to death. He would never tell Nora that. She’d earned her clean hands. He would keep his bloody.

Luckily for him, Marie-Laure didn’t have the good aim Nora did. The blade left a flesh wound on his side, a deep one, but nothing fatal. Only painful and now...

“Fuck...” He sighed as he pulled off the gauze. The wound had opened again. No more denying the obvious. He needed real medical attention, not his own feeble field efforts.

“Oh, good,” came a voice from the doorway. “Someone in this house is in worse shape than I am.”

“I don’t know about that, Maîtresse,” he said as Nora came up to him and examined the damage on his side. “You look like merde yourself.”