Kingsley tilted his head. Only fearless audacity had ever gotten Søren’s attention in the past. It’s what had worked that day in their dorm room, when Kingsley had kissed him. Maybe it would work now.
“Does it bother you that I’m still in love with you?”
“Kingsley, really.” Søren crossed his ankle over his knee.
“I am. I am that I am.”
“Blasphemy will get you nowhere.”
“I have given up trying to get anywhere with you. Mais…c’est vrai.”
“Thirty years, Kingsley. We were lovers thirty years ago.”
“Non.” Kingsley leaned forward in his seat. He glanced to make sure the window between them and the chauffeur was completely closed. The last thing he needed was for his past with Søren to get out. The BDSM community gave great lip service to respecting the kinks of others, but he knew male submissives were often looked down upon by male Dominants. And female Dominants. And female submissives…
“No?”
“It wasn’t thirty years ago. It was fourteen years ago. That was the night—”
“I remember the night.” Søren cut him off coldly and Kingsley leaned back in the seat once more.
“Bon. I’m glad you remember. I’ve never forgotten that night even if you want to.”
Søren looked away once more and gazed out the car window. “I did not forget. And I did not want to forget that night.”
Kingsley’s heart rose a notch at Søren’s words. I did not want to forget that night.
That night…
Still a few minutes from the airport, Kingsley closed his eyes and let his thoughts fall away, fall into the past. That night…he would remember that night on his death bed.
He still recalled the icy chill that had passed through his body the day Søren confessed he’d fallen in love with a girl at his church. Kingsley had known things would be different between them once they’d reunited as adults, after ten years apart. Søren had come back from his exile with a white collar around his neck. Kingsley had returned from hell with healed bullet wounds on his body and unhealed holes in his heart. They’d been polite to each other after they’d reunited. At times even affectionate. But Kingsley’s dreams that he and Søren would take up where they’d left off at Saint Ignatius’s were dashed as night after night passed and Søren left him alone in his bed.
And then those words…those terrible words.
“Kingsley…I found her.”
Søren had seen Kingsley’s distress and reassured him that nothing would change. They had dreamed of such a girl as this, dreamed but never dared to hope she actually existed. The one girl wilder and more dangerous than the two of them put together…Søren had found her. And he would share her.
But the years passed and Søren left his Eleanor a virgin. Kingsley was driven nearly mad with longing, with hunger to be with this perfect wild creature Søren had found for them. His desire wasn’t really for Eleanor, although he’d never met a woman more exciting, more intoxicating. To share her meant he and Søren would be in the same bed once again. Even if Eleanor lay between them, Kingsley would have a chance to at least see him once again naked and beautiful and aroused.
Perhaps even touch him.
And touch him he had.
For a few months, Søren had kept Eleanor to himself. That didn’t surprise Kingsley. The girl needed training, needed taming. And for all Søren’s promises that she would belong to them, Kingsley knew that Eleanor would belong to the priest alone. Søren had wanted to own this girl.
He’d fallen in love with her instead. And whether she realized it or not, because of his love for her, she owned him as much as he owned her.
But then the night came that Søren brought Eleanor to the town house, to Kingsley’s bed. He’d had to talk to her first. She’d been so scared to let any man but her owner touch her that the heels of her shoes had vibrated audibly against the tile floors.
Alone in the music room of his town house, Kingsley had talked to her, teased her, promised her he wouldn’t harm her. And she’d finally relaxed, finally smiled. And the minute they’d entered his bedroom, she’d become the siren Søren had described to him.
“Which one of us first?” Søren had asked over Eleanor’s shoulder.
And Kingsley seized the opportunity to torture her as Søren had tortured him so many times.
“Lady’s choice, of course.”
The glare Eleanor gave him nearly burned a hole into Kingsley. And made him want her even more.
Still angry that her owner had decided to share her with another man, Eleanor had answered, “Kingsley.”
And the fun had begun.
Eleanor dropped to her knees in front of him and opened his pants. Once she took his c**k in her mouth, he immediately realized why Søren had fallen so hard for this girl. She would submit to anything. And although she protested, complained, fought back, in her soul she wanted to submit, loved to submit, needed to submit.
So Kingsley made her submit. First to his c**k and then to his crop.
After the beating, Søren had taken Eleanor to the bed and tied her hands over her head. Sitting in front of her, Kingsley slid a single finger inside her and pulled forward, opening her up. And when Søren began to push into her, Kingsley left his finger inside. She’d been so wet from the shared penetration of his finger and Søren’s that the fluid had dripped over his hand and stained the cuff of his shirt. He’d kept the shirt hanging in his closet…never worn again, never washed.
“Does it bother you that I’m still in love with you?”
“Kingsley, really.” Søren crossed his ankle over his knee.
“I am. I am that I am.”
“Blasphemy will get you nowhere.”
“I have given up trying to get anywhere with you. Mais…c’est vrai.”
“Thirty years, Kingsley. We were lovers thirty years ago.”
“Non.” Kingsley leaned forward in his seat. He glanced to make sure the window between them and the chauffeur was completely closed. The last thing he needed was for his past with Søren to get out. The BDSM community gave great lip service to respecting the kinks of others, but he knew male submissives were often looked down upon by male Dominants. And female Dominants. And female submissives…
“No?”
“It wasn’t thirty years ago. It was fourteen years ago. That was the night—”
“I remember the night.” Søren cut him off coldly and Kingsley leaned back in the seat once more.
“Bon. I’m glad you remember. I’ve never forgotten that night even if you want to.”
Søren looked away once more and gazed out the car window. “I did not forget. And I did not want to forget that night.”
Kingsley’s heart rose a notch at Søren’s words. I did not want to forget that night.
That night…
Still a few minutes from the airport, Kingsley closed his eyes and let his thoughts fall away, fall into the past. That night…he would remember that night on his death bed.
He still recalled the icy chill that had passed through his body the day Søren confessed he’d fallen in love with a girl at his church. Kingsley had known things would be different between them once they’d reunited as adults, after ten years apart. Søren had come back from his exile with a white collar around his neck. Kingsley had returned from hell with healed bullet wounds on his body and unhealed holes in his heart. They’d been polite to each other after they’d reunited. At times even affectionate. But Kingsley’s dreams that he and Søren would take up where they’d left off at Saint Ignatius’s were dashed as night after night passed and Søren left him alone in his bed.
And then those words…those terrible words.
“Kingsley…I found her.”
Søren had seen Kingsley’s distress and reassured him that nothing would change. They had dreamed of such a girl as this, dreamed but never dared to hope she actually existed. The one girl wilder and more dangerous than the two of them put together…Søren had found her. And he would share her.
But the years passed and Søren left his Eleanor a virgin. Kingsley was driven nearly mad with longing, with hunger to be with this perfect wild creature Søren had found for them. His desire wasn’t really for Eleanor, although he’d never met a woman more exciting, more intoxicating. To share her meant he and Søren would be in the same bed once again. Even if Eleanor lay between them, Kingsley would have a chance to at least see him once again naked and beautiful and aroused.
Perhaps even touch him.
And touch him he had.
For a few months, Søren had kept Eleanor to himself. That didn’t surprise Kingsley. The girl needed training, needed taming. And for all Søren’s promises that she would belong to them, Kingsley knew that Eleanor would belong to the priest alone. Søren had wanted to own this girl.
He’d fallen in love with her instead. And whether she realized it or not, because of his love for her, she owned him as much as he owned her.
But then the night came that Søren brought Eleanor to the town house, to Kingsley’s bed. He’d had to talk to her first. She’d been so scared to let any man but her owner touch her that the heels of her shoes had vibrated audibly against the tile floors.
Alone in the music room of his town house, Kingsley had talked to her, teased her, promised her he wouldn’t harm her. And she’d finally relaxed, finally smiled. And the minute they’d entered his bedroom, she’d become the siren Søren had described to him.
“Which one of us first?” Søren had asked over Eleanor’s shoulder.
And Kingsley seized the opportunity to torture her as Søren had tortured him so many times.
“Lady’s choice, of course.”
The glare Eleanor gave him nearly burned a hole into Kingsley. And made him want her even more.
Still angry that her owner had decided to share her with another man, Eleanor had answered, “Kingsley.”
And the fun had begun.
Eleanor dropped to her knees in front of him and opened his pants. Once she took his c**k in her mouth, he immediately realized why Søren had fallen so hard for this girl. She would submit to anything. And although she protested, complained, fought back, in her soul she wanted to submit, loved to submit, needed to submit.
So Kingsley made her submit. First to his c**k and then to his crop.
After the beating, Søren had taken Eleanor to the bed and tied her hands over her head. Sitting in front of her, Kingsley slid a single finger inside her and pulled forward, opening her up. And when Søren began to push into her, Kingsley left his finger inside. She’d been so wet from the shared penetration of his finger and Søren’s that the fluid had dripped over his hand and stained the cuff of his shirt. He’d kept the shirt hanging in his closet…never worn again, never washed.
