The Saint, p.31Part #5 of The Original Sinners series by Tiffany Reisz
percent American. Eleanor gaped at him.
“No, it’s horrible. Stop that. How do you do that?”
“My mother was American,” he said, reverting back to his natural voice, complete with sexy-as-hell French accent. “I can speak English without the accent. I have to concentrate, however, and it gives me a headache.”
“Plus it’s not nearly as sexy.”
“So what are these membership privileges I get? I mean, other than being picked up from school in a Rolls.”
“I’ll tell you, but first, let’s see the damage.”
Eleanor attempted to raise her eyebrow as high as he did. She gave up and used her finger to push it up like Kingsley did.
“You want to see my bruises?”
She pushed her eyebrow even higher.
“That’s French for ‘of course.’”
“I’d have to take my clothes off.”
“I’m not hearing an objection.”
She lowered her eyebrow. She wondered how Søren would feel about her showing off her bruises to Kingsley. Only one way to find out.
She threw her backpack on the floor and shrugged out of her coat.
“On the way back from the funeral, Søren told me you used to be in the French Foreign Legion.”
“I was a captain, oui.”
“So maybe you can answer a question for me.”
“What’s the question?”
She unlaced her boots and kicked them off. He wanted to see the bruises on her thighs, so she’d have to take her shoes and tights off under her skirt. Luckily the cold weather gave her an excuse to keep every bruise covered and then some. So if Kingsley wanted to see her bruises, she’d have to strip. She yanked off her tights and stuck her foot in Kingsley’s lap.
“Do I have trench foot?”
Kingsley grabbed her leg by the ankle and raised her foot off his lap. He ran a finger down the arch of her foot.
“You have one blister, not trench foot. Stop wearing combat boots without socks.”
“Thank you. I was worried we might have to amputate.”
She placed her bare feet back on the floor, grateful Kingsley kept the Rolls warm and toasty. He must be feeling overly warm in his suit as he, too, started to remove his jacket.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she said.
“Taking your clothes off for me in the back of my Rolls-Royce?”
“That.” She unbuttoned her shirt.
“Get used to it.”
She turned her back to him and lowered her shirt. Kingsley moved to sit behind her on her seat. His surprisingly gentle fingers traced the outline of the bruises that dotted her skin. His touch on her body made her feel treacherous sorts of things in her stomach and a little lower.
“Where else?” he asked.
She pulled her shirt back up and turned around. Feeling obnoxious, she threw her leg over his thighs and raised her skirt.
“Glad I shaved my legs this morning,” she said as she displayed the bruises on her upper thighs.
“So am I.”
“So you shaved your legs, too?” She pushed her skirt back down and put her feet on the floor once more.
He narrowed his eyes at her as she buttoned her shirt back up.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” She put her boots back on and left her tights off. She’d worry about her trench foot later.
“Intelligence is dangerous in a woman. Next thing we know you’ll say that marriage is a trap that tricks women into becoming unpaid cooks and housekeepers.”
“Even if I were stupid I’d be smart enough to know that.”
She turned to face him, pulling her legs into the seat cross-legged. She had a feeling he could see her underwear from this angle but for some reason she really didn’t care. If Søren trusted Kingsley, she would, too.
“You’re an interesting young woman. I thought he was out of his mind when he first told me about you.”
“What did he tell you about me?”
“Nothing I’ll tell you. What is important is that you’re here now, and there are things you should know.”
“I want to know everything.”
“As soon as you turn eighteen, I’ll take you to a club.”
“Because you have to be eighteen to enter BDSM clubs in this state.”
“Yes, I can see you’re a law-abiding citizen. I’ve been in your house, remember?”
“You came uninvited.”
“You were having an orgy that involved people betting money on sex.”
“A friendly gentleman’s wager. I never play, though.”
“No fun in it. I always win.”
“I heard some rumors you were good in bed.”
Kingsley plucked a nonexistent thread off his trousers and smiled at something out the window.
“If I were you, I would believe them.”
The casual confidence in Kingsley’s tone made something twitch inside Eleanor.
“I want to believe them.”
“I would take you to a club right now and prove it to you if I could. I am under orders at the moment. Je suis désolé.”
“Blondie won’t let me play yet?”
“Not at a club.”
She heard something in his voice—a hint.
“Søren said you weren’t allowed to take me a kink club.”
“He did. But he didn’t say I couldn’t take you to my house.”
Kingsley grinned and for a beautiful, terrifying moment Eleanor wanted to kiss Kingsley as much as she’d ever wanted to kiss Søren.
“What are we doing at your house?”
“A little demonstration of BDSM in action.”
“Bondage. Domination or discipline. Sadomasochism. Or what I like to call ‘my favorite hobbies.’”
“Can you pick me up from school every day?”
Kingsley laughed and pulled her into his lap. He gave her a quick kiss on both cheeks, going nowhere near her lips.
Then he sat her bodily onto the bench seat before moving to sit across from her.
“Enough playing,” he said with a more serious expression on his face. “I believe you have a question for me?”
Eleanor straightened her skirt, flattening it against her thighs.
“Søren told me to ask you why I should be afraid of him. Do I want the answer?”
“Only you can tell me that.”
Eleanor glanced down at her boots, her Goodwill combat boots.
“I want to know. But Søren said you wouldn’t answer.”
“I won’t answer. Not the truth anyway. But I can tell you a useful lie.”
“That’ll work, I guess.”
Kingsley shrugged, sat back in the seat and smiled at her.
“He’s a sadist, chérie. The most brutal sadist I’ve ever known. There are four women in the city who he plays with on a rotating basis. Once a week if he has time. It can take well over two weeks for them to heal entirely from a few hours with him.”
“Jesus. What does he do?”
“Flogging, whipping, caning, cutting, candle-wax burns, bastinado …” He ticked the terms off on his fingers. “I’m forgetting something. What is it?”
He tapped his forehead.
“Oh, humiliation.” Kingsley snapped his fingers. “I always forget that one. I don’t do humiliation play so I forget it.”
“What do you do?”
“Everything else. My specialty is rape.”
Eleanor gaped at him.
“Rape play. It’s a game. There are women who love to be overpowered and treated like sexual property. It’s their fantasy to be raped by a man they desire. I make the fantasy come true. It’s all in good fun. Want to try?”
“How does it work?”
“Get off me,” she said, grunting at the shock of his weight on her. “You’re wrinkling my skirt.”
“Oh. Good point. Then stay there.” Obviously he was trying to scare her. She grew up with a dad in the mob. She didn’t scare that easy.
“You take all the fun out of it.” He still held her down, his hands on her forearms. It hurt, but she refused to let him see her in pain.
“Why? Because I’m not scared of you, either?”
“I have you pinned underneath me, and you aren’t even nervous?”
“Sorry.” She smiled up at him and batted her eyelashes. In all honesty, fear was last on the list of feelings she was experiencing at the moment. Ahead of fear were the following: first, enjoyment; second, desire; followed by curiosity third with embarrassment coming in a close fourth. The embarrassment ranked fourth only because she felt feelings one through three.
“Have you ever had sex in the back of a Rolls-Royce?” he asked her as he pushed his hips meaningfully into hers. What she felt pressing against her caused fear to jump ahead a few places on her emotions-currently-experiencing list. Fear and desire both shot right up her list.
“I’ve never had sex, you know, ever.”
“Poor girl. Would you like me to take care of that little problem for you?”
“I’m Catholic, so I’m waiting.”
“No. I’m waiting for my priest to fuck me.”
“Are you tired of waiting?”
“Yes. There’s no reason to wait. He’s being overprotective.”
“He cares about you.”
“Wish he cared less and fucked more.”
Kingsley laughed as he sat up and let her go.
“He said you and I would be friends. I didn’t believe him at first. I think he might be right.”
Eleanor moved to the seat across from Kingsley and smoothed her skirt down over her knees. A little distance between her and him would be a good idea.
“I hope we can be friends. He said you and me, we were his nonnegotiables. Oh, and God. Can’t forget Him.”
“We will be, j’espère. I want you to trust me. There are things you need to hear that you would not hear if he said them to you.”
“What do you mean?”
“You have fallen in love with the king of all the mind-fuckers.”
“Mind-fucking? Is that when you stick it in her ear?”
“Not quite. It’s when I stick it in her brain. The mind-fuck is one of many games the dominant plays. I might tie up a girl, blindfold her and then run my fingers so lightly across her stomach …” He raised his hand and tickled the air. Something inside Eleanor clenched at the erotic image. She couldn’t help but imagine Kingsley doing such a thing to her. “And then casually mention the word snake or spider. Watch her tense. Hear her laugh nervously. She knows it’s my fingers on her. Not a snake. Not a spider. But now the doubt is there … one sliver of a doubt in her brain.”
“That is so evil.” Eleanor grinned broadly. “But you don’t ever actually put snakes and spiders on people, do you?”
“Non. Of course not. Unless …”
“Unless she asks for it.”
Eleanor’s eyes widened. Kingsley only smiled.
“You see, the mind-fuck is simply this—I take your mind, I play with it, I make you think things you didn’t think you would think and then suddenly … you’re thinking them.”
“You can’t pull that stuff on me.”
“Non? Le prêtre is pulling a mind-fuck on you.”
“By making you wait for him. You don’t want to wait for him, do you? You want to be his lover right now. Today even.”
“No. Not today. I wanted to be his lover yesterday. There’s no reason to wait.”
“I know the reason for it.”
“Oh, oui. He’s manipulating you. Here you are. So young. So beautiful. So ripe for the plucking. And yet you sit there … unplucked. This is how he proves he owns you like a dog on a leash. Heel. Sit. Roll over. Play dead. You’re not his lover. You’re his puppy and you follow him anywhere. He feeds you crumbs and you lap them out of his hand.”
Eleanor sat up straighter.
“He’s not manipulating me by making us wait, okay? I’m seventeen and he’s almost thirty-one. He’s a priest and I’m in high school. I’m not even on birth control yet, and if I was and my mom found it, I’d be dead. If he gets caught fooling around with a high school student, he’ll be dead. On top of all that, he’s a sadist. He cares about me so much he wants me to know what I’m getting into before I get into it. So fine. We’ll wait. I’ll learn what I need to learn. We’ll start having sex when he’s ready and he knows I’m ready. That’s not manipulation. That’s good sense. And you could learn a little something from him about good sense.”
“Moi?” Kingsley sounded positively scandalized at her insinuation.
“You. You picked me up from school in a Rolls-Royce? Do you know how much attention that’s going to get me? You and Søren are related—sort of. You have to be careful. We have to be careful. We can’t get him into trouble.”
“I’ll be more careful,” he pledged.
“I enjoyed your impassioned defense of your own lingering virginity.”
“I don’t want you thinking Søren is manipulating me when he’s not.”
“No, he isn’t.”
“But I am.” Kingsley put his feet in the seat next to her and smirked.
“You … you got me to argue why Søren and I should wait when I said five minutes ago I didn’t want to and there was no reason to.”
“It was almost too easy.”
The Saint by Tiffany Reisz / Romance & Love have rating 4 out of 5 / Based on40 votes