Author: Tiffany Reisz

Kingsley grasped the bedpost with his left hand. With his right hand he grasped himself. He came hard onto the bed, wincing with the agony of the orgasm. Søren had left no part of him undamaged. Kingsley Edge, the King of the Underground, a man who hadn’t gone a day without sex in twenty years, would have to remain celibate for at least a week while he healed enough to be inside someone again. And it would be at least a week before Søren could be inside him. At least. Sadist. They left their notches not on their lovers’ bedposts but on the very bodies of those who braved their beds. Kingsley could count all night and still not reach the end of the number of lashes Søren had inflicted on those he loved. He could count until dawn and still not find the grand total.

Of course, Søren’s Little One had an even higher butcher’s bill to pay.

Carefully Kingsley started to climb naked into bed. Usually he adored his massive bed, draped in its red-and-black sheets. Bigger than a king-size, he joked that it was Kingsley-size, and all of the Underground spoke of it with respect. But now he hated its height. Every inch he had to move felt like a mile of agony.

Damn you, mon père.… Kingsley sighed with a smile. Damn you to hell.

As soon as his head hit the pillow, a knock sounded on his door.

“Arrête!” he called out tiredly. He had no strength for orders longer than one word.

“Monsieur? S’il vous plaît…” The voice of Sophia came through the door. Or was it Cassandra? They all blurred together now. No woman mattered to him but Juliette, and he’d sent her off to Haiti for her own safety, for reasons he refused to think about right now. “What is it?” he called out as he pulled a sheet over his body. Even lifting the light silk fabric hurt. Tomorrow…tomorrow he would take painkillers, many of them. Tonight he would accept the pain, revel in it. Søren had given it to him, this pain, and he would cherish the gift.

“Les chiens, monsieur.”

Kingsley’s eyes flew open. The dogs? The last time someone had come to him about his dogs was the night the thief had broken into the town house, drugged his infamous pack of rottweilers and stolen Nora’s file. If someone had drugged the dogs again…

Despite the pain, Kingsley rolled out of bed in an instant, pulled on his pants and a shirt, and headed for the door.

He opened it and found little redheaded Sophia, his night secretary, standing there, her face white as the moon.

“Quoi?”

She didn’t answer him.

“Mon Dieu…” he breathed, and followed her down the hallway. She raced down the stairs and Kingsley kept up as best he could. The last thing he needed was for his staff to see him weak, in pain. He swallowed the agony and kept moving.

At the bottom of the steps he saw Brutus, Dominic and Max pacing and whining. He reached for Max and touched his warm nose.

“Sadie?” he called out. Sophia turned to him with a tearstained face. She pointed.

In the darkness at the corner of the room, Kingsley saw a black shadow. As he approached it, the shadow took the form of a dog.

Sadie…his little girl lay unmoving on the white tile, blood seeping from a wound in her chest. He reached out and touched the blood. She’d been stabbed in the heart.

“Oh, ma fille…” he whispered, stroking her coat. On the wall behind her he saw five words scrawled in blood. Only five. And none of those five words was a name. Yet as soon as he read them he knew who’d killed his dog, who’d stolen Nora’s file, who’d sent the photograph and burned Søren’s bed.

“Sophia?”

“Oui, monseiur?”

“Call Griffin Fiske. And if he tries to tell you that he’s still on his honeymoon with his new true love, tell him he’ll be persona non grata in the Underground if he isn’t in my bedroom by noon tomorrow.”

“Oui. Bien sûr.”

Sophia raced off and left him alone with three rottweilers mourning their only sister. Kingsley knew how they felt.

He stared at the writing on the wall. Christian had been right…about everything.

All Søren wanted was for Kingsley to find out who was after them. And now Kingsley knew.

He knew and he would never tell.

SOUTH

Nora woke up on the pillow across from Wesley’s. Only a few inches of sheets and fourteen years separated them. But in the early morning light, Wesley seemed a stranger to her. Where had her boy gone? The boy that had followed her around her house in Connecticut like a puppy, ticking off everything she needed to do that week lest she be arrested for tax evasion, evicted for not paying her mortgage or hospitalized for not eating…where had he gone? Her Wes…her Brown Eyes…the kid she teased and tormented. Hell, she’d even called him Purity Ring half the time they were living together, until Wesley begged her on his hands and knees to stop.

As she watched him sleep she couldn’t help but think of all those nights she’d stood in the doorway to his bedroom and listened to the slow, rhythmic breathing that signaled he’d fallen into deepest sleep. She didn’t know quite why it comforted her so much, hearing Wesley breathe in his sleep, but she couldn’t get enough of it. After leaving Søren, she didn’t make much of a habit of sleeping with others. She’d get in, get what she wanted and get out. An 11:00 a.m. breakfast on her own worked just fine for her. Then, suddenly, she had this kid in her house who got up at 7:30 a.m…even on the damn weekends. And he cooked breakfast for her. And balanced her checkbook. And made sure the bills got paid on time. During that one summer they’d lived together, he’d even mowed the lawn once a week.

Living with Wesley had given her the most horrible thoughts. One night she’d sat on the edge of his bed and read the first chapter of her new novel to him. Later, in her own bed, she’d wondered if being a mother would be that much fun—reading books by Dr. Seuss or Lewis Carroll to her own son. Then, a week later, Wesley would have to unclog her bathroom drain—too much of her damn hair had gotten caught in the U-bend again. And she’d watch him under the sink and think that maybe being married to a semi-normal guy wouldn’t be the soul-sucking nightmare she’d always imagined it would be. And when she’d written at her desk for too long, and every square inch of her body ached like it had been beaten in the not-fun way, and Wesley dragged her to her room, put her into bed and rubbed her back with his big, strong hands that knew how to make the pain go away inside and out, she’d think that not only might it be okay to be married to semi-normal guy, but she might even kind of like it.

Maybe more than just kind of.

Nora reached out and touched Wesley’s dark blond hair. Maybe she could get used to it being this long. Maybe. As long as it didn’t cover his eyes. Wesley stirred in his sleep and pushed closer to her. He settled back down again quickly and Nora smiled when he grunted softly and buried his face in the pillow. Gently, so as not to wake him, she lifted the sheets for a second. Naked. They were both completely naked and in Wesley’s bed together. After they’d made love on the dock, they’d straightened their clothes and returned to the guesthouse. Nora had assumed she and Wesley would get into bed and sleep, but sleep had been the last thing on his mind. As soon as they’d entered the house, the clothes had come flying off. They’d had sex twice before they’d even hit the bed—once in the entryway the minute they’d gotten in the door and once in the hallway only feet from the bedroom. Both times Nora had ended up on her back with her legs wide-open and Wesley on top and inside her. So strange…she never had sex like this, in basic missionary position. No pain, no bondage, no nothing but their two bodies joined together. Never had she imagined she could enjoy sex that simple. Wesley had been on top both times, but he certainly hadn’t been dominating her. With every initial penetration, he asked if it was okay, if he needed to do something different to make her feel better. She whispered words of instruction in his ear, words of encouragement. She’d never done anything like that with Søren. Sex with Søren was one of the rare times Nora shut up. He needed no instructions, required no encouragement. Had she tried either with him he would have gagged her in seconds and not let her speak again until he was done with her. And when inside her, he was always on top, while Nora ended up on her stomach or her hands and knees. They did have sex in missionary position on occasion. The last time, he’d sliced her open with a razor blade first.

All she ever said to Søren while he was inside her was, “yes, sir” or “no, sir” or more often simply, “I love you, sir.”

Once in Wesley’s bed, Nora put the boy on his back and climbed on top of him. Wesley seemed immediately uncomfortable with the position.

“What’s wrong?” she’d asked him as she came down onto her hands and let her nipples brush his chest.

“I…it feels weird.”

“Weird? How?”

“I don’t know. Just weird. My…it’s sort of a weird angle. Good view, though.” He caressed her breasts and Nora sighed.

“Okay, but I’ve got to get you into something other than missionary. Vanilla is bad enough,” she’d teased as she rolled off him and onto her side. Wesley spooned into her and she felt his erection pressing against her lower back. Moving up, she tossed her top leg over his, took him in her hand and slid him inside her. Wesley gasped as he moved deeper into her. “Better?”

Wesley covered her neck and shoulder with kisses.

“Definitely. This…good. Very.” The words were lost in a mumble of more kisses all over her shoulders and back.

“Missionary and spooning,” she said as Wesley nuzzled her hair. “The Underground must never hear of this.”

Wesley had stopped moving then.

“Is this bad? Do you not like it?”

“Don’t stop. Don’t stop...” Nora reached behind her and grabbed his hip.

Laughing, Wesley resumed moving as ordered.

“I will never stop again.”

Nora pulled a pillow to her chest and rested her head on it as he continued his slow, sensual thrusts.

“No…I like it. I do. It’s just different for me. I’m either really dominant in bed—on top, him under me, usually tied down. Or…”

“Or?”

“I’m really submissive. Like with—”

“Yeah, I know.” Wesley lightly touched the tips of her nipples. “So what’s so different about it? Just the positions?”

He pushed in a little harder and deeper and Nora’s vagina clenched around him. After a few seconds she’d caught her breath enough to speak again.

“Um…no. It’s hard to explain. When I’m being the Domme or the sub, I fall into this role... This other part of me takes over and I become the Nora Sutherlin if I’m on top. Or if I’m with Søren, I turn into his Little One.”

“Little One?”

Nora nodded. “That’s what he always calls me. It’s his pet name for me. He’s huge, you know.”

“We’ve met.”

Nora grinned at the disgust mixed with envy in Wesley’s voice.

“He’s six foot four. And I’m…not.”

“I can’t believe he calls you Little One. It’s so…”

“What?”

“Fatherly.”

Fatherly…Nora couldn’t really argue with that assessment. He was Father Stearns, after all. To the world, anyway. Within five minutes of meeting him, he’d told her his real name—Søren—and said she could and should call him that when no one else was around. Calling him Father Stearns had always seemed like an inside joke to her. Even after twenty years, she could hardly say it with a straight face.

And yet…he’d practically raised her. As soon as they’d met, her reliance on her parents, minimal to start with, had become nonexistent. She’d answered to him and him only. Even now…being here with Wesley had been Søren’s idea, Søren’s gift to her. But for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out why.