The Saint
Page 84
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.”
“Why eighteen?”
“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.”
“Why not?”
“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.”
“BDSM?”
“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?”
“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?”
“Something like this.” He grabbed her calf and yanked her so hard she ended up flat on her back. Before she realized what was happening, Kingsley hovered over her, his hands on her wrists, his body weight holding her immobile beneath him.
“Get off me,” she said, grunting at the shock of his weight on her. “You’re wrinkling my skirt.”
“It’s pleated.”
“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.
“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.”
“Why eighteen?”
“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.”
“Why not?”
“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.”
“BDSM?”
“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?”
“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?”
“Something like this.” He grabbed her calf and yanked her so hard she ended up flat on her back. Before she realized what was happening, Kingsley hovered over her, his hands on her wrists, his body weight holding her immobile beneath him.
“Get off me,” she said, grunting at the shock of his weight on her. “You’re wrinkling my skirt.”
“It’s pleated.”
“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.
