The Last Good Knight

The Last Good Knight

Part I: Scars and Stripes

The Last Good Knight

Part II: Sore Spots

The Last Good Knight

Part III: The Games Destiny Plays

The Last Good Knight

Part IV: Fit to Be Tied

The Last Good Knight

Part V: The Last Good Night

Tiffany Reisz

An Original Sinners Story

Told in Five Parts

www.spice-books.co.uk

Dedication

Dedicated to the brave men and women who serve in the U.S. Navy.

You all are my knights in occasionally wet armor.

And to Tommy and Elizabeth.

About the Author

Tiffany Reisz’s books inhabit a sexy, shadowy world where erotica, romance and gothic literature meet and do immoral and possibly illegal things to each other. The first book in her international bestselling series The Original Sinners was named the RT Reviewers’ Choice Award for Best Erotic Romance. She is a very bad Catholic. Visit her website, www.tiffanyreisz.com, for news, gossip and wholly inappropriate bedtime stories.

The Last Good Knight

Part I: Scars and Stripes

Tiffany Reisz

An Original Sinners Story

Told in Five Parts

The Last Good Knight: An Original Sinners novella told in five parts.

Part I: Scars and Stripes

It’s lust at first sight when Mistress Nora encounters a sexy newcomer to The 8th Circle. She’s happy for the distraction, since she left her lover, Søren, but her session with Lance is cut short when her boss, Kingsley Edge, reveals they’re all in danger....

Contents

Scars and Stripes

This story takes place three years before The Siren.

“I can do it. Try it again.” Nora took a deep breath followed by a deeper drink of her vodka and tonic.

“Mistress, this is the fourth time.” Simone gave her a pleading look. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. I got it this time. I’m ready. Do it, sub. Go.”

“Okay, okay.” Simone ran a hand through her rainbow-colored hair and looked Nora in the eyes. “How old are you?”

Nora stared at Simone without blinking. “I am...”

“You can do it, Mistress.”

The ice in Nora’s glass rattled in her hand.

“Thirty.”

“Holy shit!” Simone applauded. She threw her arms around Nora and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Good job!”

“Oh, my God, that was hard.” Nora rubbed her temples. “I hate being thirty. I swear I was in my twenties a week ago.”

“You were in your twenties a week ago.”

“That explains it. Thank you, Rainbow Slut. I needed a little help getting to stage five in the grieving process.”

“Stage five?”

“Acceptance.”

“Happy to help you find acceptance anytime, Mistress.” Simone leaned against Nora’s shoulder, and Nora kissed her on top of her multicolored hair. With or without rainbow-striped hair, Simone would have been attractive, but no one could miss that mass of soft, flowing hair that fell down her back in an array of five different bright colors.

“What the hell do you use on your hair, anyway? Kool-Aid?”

Simone giggled and Nora decided she had probably earned a beating tonight. Simone looked up at her with eager eyes and the Mistress pressed a long kiss onto her carmine-colored lips. Maybe the rainbow-hued sub had earned more than a beating.

“If you ask nicely, I might beat you and fuck you,” Nora said against Simone’s lips. Simone groaned, but not in an erotic way.

“I can’t, Mistress. I’m booked.” Simone looked heartbroken, devastated and miserable. And utterly adorable.

“Who booked you? I’ll kill him.”

Simone shrugged and shook her head. “I don’t know. Mr. King told me I was needed in the bar at ten, which is—”

“Now,” came a familiar voice from behind Nora. She didn’t turn around. She didn’t need to. She’d know that cold, pretentious, overeducated voice anywhere. “Simone, shall we?”

“Yes, Mr. S.,” Simone said, and Nora could tell she was trying not to smile—not in front of the Mistress anyway. The only person Simone enjoyed subbing for more than Nora was Søren, and Søren was her ten o’clock. Well, wasn’t that just peachy.

“Eleanor...” Søren said and Nora refused to turn around and look at him.

“Søren. Have a lovely evening.”

“I certainly plan to. Excuse us.”

Simone shot Nora a final apologetic glance as she took Søren’s proffered arm like a lady with her squire. No one could play the part of the gentleman better than Søren, but it was all an act. She and Simone knew that from personal experience. When he shut the dungeon door behind him, the gentleman turned into a sadist and all pretense of chivalry died. Thank God. Søren was no gentleman and she was no lady. And that’s how it should be down here.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Simone disappear from The 8TH Circle’s VIP bar. She kept her eyes lowered respectfully, her posture submissive, but Nora saw the pleasure of anticipation gleaming in her eyes. By day, Simone worked on her Ph.D. in International Relations. She paid for that expensive education with money earned on the floor and in the dungeons of Kingsley’s S&M clubs. But Simone never charged Søren a penny for his hour with her. With Søren it was always pleasure, never business. Nora knew that Simone and almost every other submissive at the Circle would pay him for the privilege of a beating. And to think once upon a time, Nora belonged to him—heart, body and soul. And she’d given it up for this. For freedom.

And it was worth it. At least that’s what Nora told herself.

Nora spun on the barstool and gazed round the club. A quiet night, as weeknights usually were. Quieter, anyway. Only two hundred or so deviants floating about instead of the usual five hundred on Friday and Saturday nights. But this was a school night. Half the members of the club were married and had kids. At least 90 percent of her clientele were married men who’d rather lie to their wives and come to Nora to explore their fetishes than tell the truth to the women they’d pledged to love and honor. It was a good thing, too. If the wives of the world were a little more open-minded about male submission and fetishes, where would she be?

Out of a job.

Feeling frustrated by Simone’s abrupt departure, Nora took another drink of her vodka. Maybe she should call it a night, go home, get some sleep. She might even get up early tomorrow and work on her new book. Kingsley didn’t let her have much in the way of free time these days, now that her career as a Dominatrix had taken off. In two years she’d become the go-to gal for all things kink. The money poured in. The pain poured out. Days off were few and far between.

As she hopped off her stool, the elevator at the end of the bar rose. Maybe Kingsley had decided to come up for air finally. She hoped so. She wanted to chew him out for sending Simone to Søren when Nora had already decided that Simone would belong to her tonight. Not that Kingsley had known that, but Nora never missed any opportunity to drive Kingsley halfway up the wall. Maybe she’d make him take Simone’s place on her St. Andrew’s Cross tonight.

But no, it wasn’t Kingsley who stepped out of the elevator. It was a different man—one she’d never seen before. He wore black jeans and black boots, a red T-shirt stretched over his broad chest. He had a good tan, short dark hair and a handsome face—handsome in a rugged sort of way with half a day’s stubble and troubled eyes. Troubled? Interesting. Nervous she might have expected, especially since he seemed to be new. But troubled? That was a mystery she had to solve.

The man came up to the bar and ordered a boring American beer. With nonexistent effort he popped the top off and drank it in a few easy swallows. She noticed a handkerchief tucked in his back pocket—black on white: a submissive looking for a Dominant. This evening was starting to look up.

“Military,” she said, walking over to the bar stool next to him. “Am I right?”

“Is it the haircut?” he asked.

“And the really good posture. Let me guess...Army Ranger. All you guys are kinky fuckers.”

He laughed a little.

“I’m insulted.”

“Oh, insulted, are you? Gotta be a Marine, then.”

He shook his head. “Keep guessing.”

“That’s ‘Keep guessing, Mistress’ to you.”

He swiveled on his stool and for the first time looked straight at her. She wore black thigh-high boots decorated with a dozen silver buckles, a red leather skirt, red corset, black jacket and a black top hat complete with red band. She looked amazing and she knew it. Kingsley had gotten the best tailor in the city to design her fetish wardrobe. Yet another reason she’d been looking for a little play tonight. Shame to waste such a good outfit on an evening of celibacy.

“Keep guessing, Mistress.” He bowed his head in deference.

“Only one type of military more proud of themselves than the marines. Navy SEAL?”

He said nothing. Only sipped at his beer.

“I knew it. SEAL,” she said. “Give me a second to pat myself on the back.”

She reached her arm around her shoulder and swatted herself awkwardly.

“This is harder than it looks,” she said. “Don’t laugh at me.” Nora switched arms and tried patting herself from around and behind her back. “I’m going to keep doing this until you admit you’re a SEAL.”

She crossed her arms over her face and then stretched back to pat herself again. Her breasts nearly popped out of her corset.

He laughed even harder.

“Fine. Just stop that before you hurt yourself,” he said, a broad grin taking over his face and a twinkle shining in his dark blue eyes.

Nora immediately dropped her arms to her sides.

“Whew. Thank you. That was getting weird fast.”

“For both of us.”

“What are you doing at my club, Mr. Navy SEAL? I know it’s not Fleet Week. I have Fleet Week marked on my calendar. And my underwear.”

“It’s Mr. Ex–Navy SEAL. And I’m here because I was told to come tour the place, enjoy myself and see if I liked it.”

“You do like it, don’t you?” Nora rested her chin on her hand and waggled her eyebrows at him.

“It’s definitely...entertaining?” He turned the word into a question. She didn’t blame him. Hard to find the right word to describe The 8th Circle. Most days she just called it home. “Nice floor show.”

“I’ll be here all week.” Nora held out her hand. “I’m Mistress Nora. Nice to beat you.”

Instead of shaking her hand, he took it delicately and brought it to his lips for a kiss.

“An honor to serve you, Mistress Nora. I’m Lance.”

“Would you like to serve me, Lance? I haven’t been served all week.” She gave him a wide smile, a smile with a promise, a promise she fully intended to keep.

“Someone should serve a woman like you every single day, or as often as you desire, of course.”

She took her top hat off and set it on the bar. Without pretense or shame she perused his body. One good thing about being a Dominatrix—she got to have as much fun as the men of this world did. Dominatrixes weren’t just allowed to treat men like sexual objects, they were expected to. Hell, they were even paid to. Down here the Dominatrixes were treated like queens. Even the male Dominants usually gave them wide berth. Every male Dominant except for a certain arrogant six foot four blond she’d like to see on her cross one of these days. Kink or crucifixion, either one worked for her.

“You’re good at this,” she said, impressed by his attitude.

Lance leaned in a few inches and lowered his voice.

“I’ve had a little practice, Mistress.”

The Mistress raised her chin.

“Only a little? You need a lot more practice than that. Wanna go practice?”

“We just met.”

“Are you calling me a slut because I asked you to play?” She batted her eyelashes at him.

“No, ma’am. Never.” His laugh reached all the way to his dark blue eyes. She loved a man who could laugh.

“Am I calling you a slut by asking you to play?”

“You can call me anything you want.”

The Mistress placed a hand on Lance’s thigh and felt the hard muscle under the denim.

“You looked troubled when you came in here. And your entire body is tense. I’d like to flatter myself that you’re hard all over because of me, but you looked uncomfortable before you saw me. What’s up?”

Lance nodded at the bartender who brought him another beer.

“I haven’t played in a long time. I’m not even sure if I should be here.”

“Should you be here? Or did you sneak in?”

“I just got a job working for Kingsley Edge.”

“Never heard of him.” Nora kept a straight face. Kingsley tried to keep employees from fraternizing with each other too much, a hopeless cause where Nora was concerned. Lance must be the new house manager he’d hired. It would take someone with a military background to keep Kingsley’s coterie under control.

“He’s some rich kinky bigwig. Owns this place. Club membership is one of the fringe benefits.”

“You like it here?”

“I feel a little out of place. My first time in a club like this.”

“A club full of rich and famous perverts?”

“Exactly. I’m neither. Well, not the rich and famous part, anyway. Pervert maybe. This is definitely not my usual crowd.”

A congressman on the leash of a Domme crawled on all fours past the bar.

“Don’t worry. They’re not my crowd, either. Don’t be intimidated.” She leaned forward and crossed her legs. “I’ll let you in on a secret. The top Dominant here is a Jesuit priest, and he comes here in his clerical collar all the time. Jesuits take a vow of poverty. Everyone defers to him even though he’s not rich. He earned that respect. No one has ever ratted him out.”

“That’s a comfort, Mistress. Nice to feel safe.”

“You are safe down here. And you’re with me. I’ll protect you from the rich and famous perverts.”

“My hero,” he said, turning toward her so that their lips were only an inch apart.

“Come on, Lance,” she whispered. “Come play with me. Submit to me. You know you want to. I know you want to. You’re not on duty right now, are you?”

“No.” He shook his head. She could see him trying to bite back a smile.

She moved her hand from his thigh to his crotch and felt his erection.

Lance closed his eyes and inhaled sharply.

“What do you want to do, Sailor?”

“Anything you want, Mistress. Anything at all.”

“That’s a dangerous word around here. Let’s go find out what you mean by anything.”

She slipped off the bar stool and patted her thigh. Lance threw a tip down on the bar and followed. The 8th Circle had a two-drink maximum, and booze and tips were included in the price of admittance. He didn’t have to pay a thing, didn’t have to leave a tip. But he did it anyway. Most of the rich sons of bitches who played here were misers. Real men like Lance knew the value of a hard day’s work and left good tips. She liked that. That ten-dollar tip on a seven-dollar tab had just earned him the chance to fuck her. Tonight she’d let him fuck her first then tell him why after. Hmm...she kind of liked that line. She’d put it in a book someday.

He followed her in silence out of the bar and down the stairs to her dungeon in the Hall of the Masters, as it was known. Kingsley had envisioned The 8TH Circle as the BDSM club to end all BDSM clubs. He’d have the world’s most beautiful Dominatrixes and submissives—male and female—on his staff with permanent dungeons. Plus the members could earn the right to their own private quarters. Of course, Kingsley and Søren got the two best suites in the place. Not that she could complain about her dungeon. Kingsley had turned what was once a pit into a palace. She was the queen around here, after all. Nothing less than the best for her.

They passed an open door to one of the dungeons. Inside a young woman lay curled on the floor, her eyes rimmed with tears as she pleaded for mercy. A man twice her size grabbed her by her hair.

Lance took a step toward the door and Nora stopped him with a hand on his chest.

“Whoa there, Sailor. Don’t interrupt.”

“But she’s—”

“Having the time of her life. That’s Alexis. She loves getting treated like a slave. The rougher you are with her, the more she cries, the happier she is.”

“Sorry...” Lance wrenched his gaze from the open door. “I’m sorry, Mistress. It’s hard for me to see women crying or in pain.”

“You’ve never been in a BDSM club with female submissives before?”

“Never. I know it happens. Just never seen with my own eyes.”

“It’s all good fun. Don’t worry. Her husband is one of the most thoughtful, careful Dominants I know. He takes good care of her. And I promise my dungeon is currently free of crying women. Usually it’s the men crying around me.”

“They’re married? Seriously?” Lance asked, nodding toward the door.

“Happily. Can’t you tell?” Nora asked as they reached her dungeon. At her door, Nora pulled the scarf out of Lance’s back pocket and tied it around the doorknob. She didn’t know Lance so she had no plans to lock the door. The scarf would signal that the Mistress was in session and all would do well to leave them the hell alone. Plus, when Søren had finished with Simone, he’d come out, see the scarf on the knob, and know exactly what was happening inside. And there was jack-fucking-nothing he could do about it.

As she tied the scarf on the knob, Lance removed his shoes and socks.

“Undressing already?” she asked, not displeased.

“Just the shoes and socks. This is your private dungeon, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Then it deserves to be shown respect.”

“Lance, I like the way you kink.” She opened the door and stepped inside. She loathed artificial light so she lit her oil lamp. Lance set his shoes right inside the doorway. Everything he did endeared him more and more to her.

“So,” Nora said as she ushered Lance into the room, “welcome to Hell. Like it?”

He gazed around the room with unabashed appreciation. She did have nice digs, very French bordello style. Kingsley told her to decorate however she wanted. He probably regretted that once he saw the place. Bed—four-poster bed, of course—with a gold-and-red brocade bedspread, erotic artwork on the walls, a few oil lamps and candles, and condoms and handcuffs in every drawer.

“If this is Hell, I can’t wait to see Heaven.”

“Heaven’s in this room.” She snapped her fingers and waved her hand. Lance raised an eyebrow before entering the second room of her suite.

He let out an impressed whistle.

“My playroom. Isn’t it pretty? We have twenty different styles and lengths of rope.” She put her hand on her hip, doing her best Vanna White strut around the room. “Floggers of every style. Single-tails. I’m very good at whipping if you like whipping. St. Andrew’s Cross, of course. Medical bed. This little case here has the violet wand. And my cabinet...well, I’ll leave it to your imagination.”

The cabinet housed most of the sex toys, the vibrators and butt plugs and cock rings, that sort of thing. But inside one could also find her edge-play toys—razor blades and other cutting implements.

“This is amazing, Mistress. Not sure I can afford you.”

Nora came up to him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

“I’m not planning on charging you. You wanna know why?”

“I’m that handsome, Mistress?”

She gave him a broad grin. Handsome, funny and a little cocky—she liked that combination.

“I’ve seen worse, but no client is so handsome he gets a freebie. No, the reason I’m not charging you is because I don’t fuck my clients. And I fully intend to fuck you tonight.”

“I fully intend to let you, if it pleases you, Mistress.”

“I think it pleases me. Now let’s talk. What would please you?”

She pulled away from him and took a seat on the big wooden bondage throne. It took nothing more than a nod to get Lance to kneel on the floor at her feet.

“Nothing pleases me more than pleasing a powerful woman,” he confessed. “I’d love to make you come over and over again.”

“Good boy. Anything else? Do you like pain?”

“Do you like giving it, Mistress?”

“Yes. Very much.”

“Then I like receiving it. Very much. You do have some beautiful whips.”

Nora stroked her bottom lip as she studied him. Time for the little dance she did with the male submissives. They were so desperate to please their Mistress that it took a full-blown interrogation to get them to admit to her what their own desires were. Some male submissives who hated pain would agree to take it if they thought the Mistress wanted to give it. But Lance had mentioned the whips and called them beautiful. Masochistic streak in him. Good. She might have to keep him.

Keep him? Where had that thought come from? She’d never collared a sub before, never kept one as her personal property. It was too much like having a boyfriend or, God forbid, a husband. But...she got a very good feeling from Lance. The man must have been six feet tall in shoes, solidly built and muscular. He looked like he could break her in half if he had a mind to, but she felt safe around him. Wouldn’t be any sort of torture to have this guy in her dungeon as often as possible.

“You like whips. See anything else you like?” she asked.

“Nice cross. Very nice.”

“The wrist cuffs on it are adjustable. I’ve had tiny little girls on there and men even taller than you. Anything else you like?”

“You have an amazing crop collection, looks like.” He nodded toward a wall where at least twenty different riding crops hung.

“I do. Go get one for me. Any crop you like. I’ll show you a trick.”

He rose and went to the wall of riding crops. Nora watched him as he scanned the options.

“Do you mind if I...?”

“Be my guest.”

He pulled a crop down and held it in one hand flat on his palm. Then with both hands he gripped either end and bent it. He hung it back on the wall and did the same thing to the next crop. Interesting. He was testing them for their give. The looser the crop, the less it hurt when struck with it. The tighter the crop, the less yield to it, the more it hurt. She had some crops that were a step up from a wet noodle and others that were barely a step down from a rattan cane, a toy that could split the skin and put a sub in the hospital if used incorrectly. Not that she would ever do that. Not unless someone prepaid for it.

“That black one with the white braiding has a steel spine under the leather,” she said. “Hurts like fuck. So does that solid red one. Both of them are vicious.”

“I like vicious.” He pulled down the solid red one and tried to bend it. It had almost no give to it.

He brought it back to the throne and sat again at Nora’s feet.

“My lady,” he said and handed her the crop.

“Lady? In here? No ladies allowed in my dungeon.”

She took the crop in her right hand.

“I would never argue with the Mistress,” Lance said, watching her twirl the crop like a baton over the right arm of the throne. It had taken her three solid months of practice before she mastered the twirl. “But I do see a lady in this room, the most beautiful lady I’ve seen in a long time. She’s strong, smart and completely comfortable with who and what she is. She also understands the men who want to serve at her feet.”

“I’m going to beat the shit out of you tonight and fuck you. And then probably fuck you again, and you call me a lady?”

“Yes, Mistress. Nothing unladylike about any of that. Not in my eyes.”

Nora caught her crop and let it slide down between her fingers until she caught it by the handle.

She leaned forward and put the end of the crop handle under Lance’s chin, forcing his mouth to meet her mouth. Their lips hovered only an inch apart.

“You know what, Lance? I think I like your eyes.”

Just to be sadistic, Nora stayed there for a few unnecessary seconds, letting Lance feel her breath against his lips before she moved forward, closed the gap between them and kissed him. The kiss started soft and careful but quickly turned passionate. She slipped her tongue into his mouth and bit his top lip. Even as the kiss deepened, grew hungrier, Lance stayed on his knees and kept his hands to himself. He wouldn’t touch her without permission. Someone had trained this man and trained him well.

With reluctance she pulled back from Lance. She’d almost forgotten how much she loved kissing a man. She had sex mostly with women lately, a nice break from the male clients she dealt with all day long. When was the last time she’d even kissed a man on the mouth? A month ago? Two? It would have been Kingsley, right? The last man she’d kissed? And he hadn’t had a session with her in weeks. Kissing Lance, she realized how much she missed the feel of soft stubble on her skin, missed the sense of power restrained. If she didn’t stop kissing him now, they’d end up making out all night instead of doing what she really wanted to do.

“Take your shirt off,” she ordered. Lance hesitated. “Shy?” she asked.

“Not really. But I have some scars. Fair warning.”

“I don’t mind scars. Show me, Sailor. That’s an order.”

He sat back on his heels and with one easy tug pulled his shirt up and off. Any other man would have simply tossed it on the floor, but he took the three extra seconds to fold it neatly before setting it at her feet like an offering. If she hadn’t known he was military before, that would have done it.

“I don’t see many scars.” She looked and saw only a few random healed cuts here and there.

“Wrong side,” he said.

Nora raised her eyebrow. She gripped him by the back of neck and pulled him forward. At the base of his spine she saw a thick mass of scar tissue.

“Damn. Bullet wound?” she asked.

“IED. Got hit with shrapnel. Looks ugly but it didn’t hit the spine.”

“Does it cause you any issues I need to know about?”

Lance narrowed his eyes at her.

“The scar doesn’t bother you, Mistress?”

She shrugged. “One of my best clients is riddled with bullet wounds. I just need to know if it gives you any pain or other issues that would impede or change our play.”

“Just a little nerve damage in that area.”

“Understood. I won’t play anywhere near the scars then. Easy enough.”

“I’m glad you’re okay with the scars. I haven’t really been...it’s been a while.”

“You have a gorgeous body, Lance. I don’t say that to everyone. Just people with gorgeous bodies. I am a little shocked by one thing, however. Where are your tats? I can’t believe I have a seaman in here with no tattoos,” she teased as she caressed his bare chest with her fingertips.

“I don’t need ink to advertise my service, Mistress. I know what I am. The Navy knows what I am. You know what I am. No one else needs to know.”

She raised her eyebrow at him.

“Well, damn,” she said.

“Something wrong, Mistress?”

“Absolutely nothing.”

The caress turned into a scratch as she ran her fingernails over the sensitive skin of his upper chest. She dug in a little deeper and left four red trails in his flesh. As she scratched he closed his eyes and leaned his head back, offering more of himself to her touch.

“Stand up. Go to the cross. Face it.”

His years of military service had turned the man into an order-obeying machine. He came right to his feet, swiftly but without unnecessary or graceless expediency. He walked to the cross and stood facing it.

“So obedient...I need more of you boys in my life. I only have a couple military clients. One Air Force pilot. One Marine. Some kind of officer. Nice guy. Loves getting his balls flogged.”

“Sounds like the definition of being in the Marines to me.”

“I need a Coastie. I haven’t done nearly enough boat kink.”

“I have a friend in the Coast Guard. I’ll get you his number.”

“I’d rather have your number, Lance. Pick a number between one and one hundred. Take your time to decide. I need to pick a whip.”

Nora left him standing in front of the cross as she perused her single-tail collection.

“You’re not going to tell me what I’m picking, Mistress?”

“Nope.”

“Fifty.”

Nora smiled as she picked out one of her heavier single-tails.

“Smart. Split the difference. I might be having you pick out how many minutes we play in my bed tonight or I might be forcing you to choose how many lashes you get with this nasty bitch.” She let the whip flick the cross about six inches from Lance’s shoulder. She missed on purpose, hoping to see if he’d jump. He didn’t.

“Seemed the smart choice,” he said. “But I’ll change my answer if you want me to.”

“No...fifty is perfect.” She reached into a drawer and pulled out a stopwatch. “Fifty is how many minutes I’m going to make you wait until I let you inside me. Starting...now.” She programmed fifty minutes into her stopwatch and hung it on the wall by the cross.

Nora stood behind him and pressed her corset-covered breasts into his back.

“Do you wish you’d picked a different number? Maybe one?” she asked him as she wrapped the whip around his chest and pushed him back against her.

“One part of my body wishes I’d picked one. The rest of my body can live with fifty, Mistress. I’m a man with a good appreciation for foreplay.”

“Foreplay. Good way to think of it. Ready to play?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Good.” She curled up her whip again and sat it on a table while she pulled out wrist cuffs. “Got a safe word?”

“I do. Semper Fi.”

“Semper Fi? Isn’t that the motto of the Marines?”

“It is. Why do you think I equate it with surrender?”

“You know, my father was a Marine,” Nora said, cuffing Lance’s left wrist to the cross. She had to get on a step stool to reach high enough.

Lance winced. “I’m sorry, Mistress. I have nothing but respect for the Corps. I’ve served with them, and they’re all brave and honorable men and women. It’s all good-natured rival—”

“I’m just fucking with you. My dad was a lowlife, two-bit crook who never made a legal cent in his life.”

“You’re the devil, Mistress.” Lance sounded impressed.

“I might have forgotten to mention that. Glad you noticed.” She cuffed his right wrist and picked up her whip again. Pausing, she took a moment to study his back. The scar tissue ended about six inches above his back belt loop. That tissue was tough, but she didn’t want to fuck with surgical scars. Dominatrixes hurt but they didn’t harm. She pictured landing the lashes from shoulder blade to shoulder blade and down to the second-to-last rib of his rib cage. With his arms bound high up on the cross, she could see all the taut muscle of his back and arms and count his ribs. The man had a beautiful back. All it wanted for was a few dozen welts.

“We use the red-yellow-green-light system down here.” She unfurled the whip and held it by the handle in her right hand with the tip in her left. “At any point, call out any of those colors as needed. You say green and I’ll give you more. You say yellow and I’ll pull back the pace. You say red and I drop the whip and we play with a new toy. Got it?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Good. Also, if you want, you can say ‘Ouch.’ And that won’t stop anything at all.”

At that she let the whip fly. She struck the dead center of his back between the shoulder blades. He flinched then—everyone did—but he didn’t say “yellow” or “red.” He didn’t even say “Ouch.”

She let the whip fly again and dusted his broad back with red welts. Like a good pain-artist, she let the whip dance over his skin, not landing in the same place twice in a row. That way he would never know where the next blow would land, would never be able to brace himself. She counted in her head as she whipped him—ten, twenty, forty, sixty. By sixty she started hearing “Ouch.” By seventy it’d turned into “Fuck.” At seventy-five she hit a sensitive spot hard enough for a genuine cry of pure pain. But still she heard no red, no yellow.

“Green?” she asked as she gave him a minute to breathe. “I won’t think any less of you if you say yellow or red.”

“Still green...” His breathing had turned ragged. “I just need a minute, if it pleases you, Mistress.”

“It pleases me. Read me how many minutes we have left.”

Lance craned his neck to look at the stopwatch hanging next to the St. Andrew’s Cross.

“Thirty-seven.”

“Goodie. I stopped at seventy-five. Let’s make it an even hundred. Then we’ll play a new game. And maybe get rid of some more clothing. Yours.”

“Anything you desire, Mistress.”

She desired to give him twenty-five more lashes. Again the whip danced over his skin. She focused on his sides now and his shoulders. By the time she hit twenty his back had turned bright red. One welt even oozed a small amount of blood.

“Stay there,” she said as she put her whip in the pile of toys needing to be cleaned. “We have breakage.”

Lance peered back over his shoulder.

“Much blood?” he asked, seeming entirely untroubled at the idea she’d broken the skin.

“Not much.” She snapped on a pair of latex gloves and cleaned the small wound with Betadine and ointment. “Okay, we have two Band-Aid options—Snoopy or Sesame Street?”

“Snoopy,” he said.

“Perfect.” She applied the Band-Aid, tossed her gloves, and dropped a quick kiss onto the center of his back. The beating had left his skin burning. She felt the heat against her lips.

“You’re good, Mistress.” Lance turned back to face the wall. “I’ve never been with a Domme who plays as hard as you.”

“I appreciate that. I trained under the best sadist in the world.”

“Interesting. What do you consider a good sadist, Mistress?”

Nora tapped her chin as she thought about the question.

“Talent is part of it. Takes a lot of talent to hurt someone without injuring them. A baseball bat can inflict pain, but it also breaks bones. How do you inflict real and serious pain but without causing harm? The sadist I learned from is amazing at that. He knows all the pain pressure points on the human body so he can cause you acute agony without leaving a single mark.”

“We learned a lot of those in training. Good for self-defense.”

“Good for kink,” she said. “But it’s more than talent. True, the man can kill a fly with the tip of a whip. But he can also break someone down in a way that...I don’t know.” She stopped and shook her head. “I don’t know anyone who can put someone back together by breaking them apart like he can. You leave him with your body limping and your heart soaring.”

“Is that what you’re doing to me?”

“Are you limping yet?”

“No, Mistress. Soaring.”

Nora smiled at his back, smiled so he couldn’t see it. If he kept this up she would collar him before the night was over and that would be about the worst idea in the history of the Underground. She’d left a man who’d collared her and tied her down. The last thing she’d ever do was chain someone up in the very bonds she’d escaped.

“Time check?”

“Twenty-eight minutes, Mistress.”

“Oh, good. I’m getting horny.”

“That would make two of us.”

“Really? Prove it,” she said as she unlocked first his right then his left wrist from the cross.

She stood back and waited, her arms crossed over her chest.

Lance unbuttoned his jeans and pushed them down. As he stood in his boxer briefs, he smoothed and folded his pants. She took them from him as he stripped out of his underwear. Now Nora whistled. The man had the most magnificent thighs she’d ever seen. A hard ridge of muscle traveled straight from his knee to his hip. She’d bite that muscle tonight and see if she chipped a tooth.

“I could die on your quads,” she said. “Or between them. Seriously, can you crush coconuts with those thighs?”

“I’d say thank you but that’s the last part of my body I was hoping you would notice, Mistress.” He said the words with a rueful smile.

“Oh, I noticed that, too. Hard to miss it.” She stepped forward and wrapped her hand around his thick, hard inches.

Lance gave a labored breath as she stroked him. He probably wanted her to take a firm grip and stroke harder, so instead she merely grazed him with her fingertips, touching him as lightly as possible. His stomach muscles contracted.

“How good is your orgasm control?” She teased the tip with one finger and felt fluid on her skin, a drop or two. She massaged it back into the head.

“Decent. You order me not to come, and I won’t come. I can’t last much longer than a week or two, though, or it’ll happen in my sleep.”

“How old are you?” She stroked the underside of his cock with the back of her hand.

“Thirty-six, Mistress.”

“You’ve played with a Domme before?”

“My first real relationship was with a Domme.” Lance closed his eyes as she cupped his testicles.

“Really? How old were you when you were with her?”

Lance opened his eyes and smiled at her.

“Eighteen to twenty-two. College.”

“Not many college girls are tough enough to top men. Takes a few years to get to that point.” Nora wrapped her whole hand around him and tugged.

“This college girl was a beautiful, tall, dark-haired professor in her late thirties with a wicked mind and a wickeder flogging arm.”

“Fucking a professor? I love it.”

She stroked him harder to show her approval.

“She fucked me, Mistress. I might have been inside her, but it was always at her whim and command.”

“My kind of gal. Anyone since then?” She kept stroking him, testing his endurance, his ability to keep himself from coming.

“Here and there. Only professionals since then. No one in the past six years.”

“Why not?”

He sighed heavily.

“I got married. Bad idea.”

“Worst idea I’ve ever heard. Divorced?”

“Yes.”

“Good. She wasn’t kinky?”

“Just so you know, Mistress, talking about my marriage is the best orgasm control there is. If we talk about it, I can guarantee I won’t be coming anytime soon.”

Laughing, she took the hint. She could tell there was a lot more to that story, but she didn’t press him for it. He didn’t come down to her dungeon for a therapy session. Pain and sex were on the menu tonight. They’d save the getting to know each other bullshit for later.

“Since I do want you coming at some point tonight, I’ll ask you about your ex-wife another time when I’m feeling really sadistic. For now how about you follow me...” Without letting go of him, she took a step back and led him slowly and carefully to a leather-covered kneeling bench, not unlike the kind found at prayer shrines.

“I’ll follow anywhere you lead, especially if you have my cock in your hand.”

“Stay here. I’ll get the stopwatch. We don’t want to go into overtime on the pain and miss all the fucking.”

“No, Mistress, we absolutely do not.”

She heard a bit of a drawl in his words, a bit of the Old South under his clipped military tone.

“Where are you from?” She got the stopwatch off the wall and handed it to him.

“Military brat. I’m from everywhere. But Mom and Dad are from Mississippi. I went to school around Boston, but I guess I didn’t lose their accent.”

“Boston? Did you got to Harvard?”

“MIT. Did Naval ROTC there.”

She rolled her eyes at him.

“Nerd. Nerds get punished around here.”

“I’m also a geek.”

“Do you read?”

“All the time. Especially since recovering from the surgery. Big, thick non-fiction books.”

“An MIT graduate and a reader? Oh, you’re really going to get it. Bend over, bookworm.”

He did as ordered and Nora picked up the solid red riding crop, the one with the steel spine. She could wield it like a cane and strike him with the length of it. That would be too easy, though. The tip of the riding crop was a divided piece of leather, four inches long and forked like a snake tongue. She’d yet to find anything that stung quite as much as this particular crop did.

“You picked the number fifty earlier so we’ll let it do double-duty. You survive fifty hits of this bitch, and I might even let you come twice tonight.”

“You spoil me, Mistress.”

“Count for me.”

She brought the viper-tongued crop tip down onto the back of his thigh.

“One.”

“Hurts more than it looks like it would, doesn’t it?”

“Fuck yes, Mistress.”

“You’re welcome. Keep counting.”

By twenty, Lance’s voice had started to break. By forty, Nora started to feel a little sorry for him. But they were only ten away. The fifty sounded choked like it took every ounce of energy and every scrap of masculine pride to get that number out.

“Good man...” she purred as she ran her hand over his burning skin. “Very good.”

“Thank you, Mistress. I want to please you.”

“Do you?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“What’s our time now?”

“Five minutes.”

“Good. Bedroom. Now. Kneel facing the bed, hands on top of it, eyes closed.”

She didn’t have to tell him twice. Lance stood up and walked purposefully to the bedroom while Nora lingered in the dungeon gathering some bondage supplies.

When she entered the bedroom she found him doing everything as she’d instructed.

“You’re so well trained. You could turn pro, Sailor.” She sat on the bed next to his right hand.

“Attention to detail, Mistress. Something they drill into us.”

“Would you like to drill into me?”

“I’d cut off my right hand for the chance.”

“Oh, don’t do that. We’re going to need that hand. If I get in the right mood, we’re going to need all of it.”

She wrapped leather bondage cuffs around his wrists and buckled them. God damn, that man looked good in leather. The cuffs on his wrists accentuated the muscular forearms. Hitting on this guy was the smartest thing she’d done all night. Maybe she’d be smart again tomorrow...and the day after...

Once she had his wrists buckled, she flung one leg over his head and moved to straddle his hands.

“Am I wearing panties? I can’t remember if I put any on today.” She raised her hips so he could see straight up her skirt.

“No, Mistress. You aren’t.”

“Good. That’ll save us a step. Are you good at oral?”

“Isn’t that for you to decide?”

Nora cupped his chin and traced his lips with her thumb. She picked up a snap hook and, taking his hands in hers, pulled his arms down behind his back and cuffed them together at the wrist.

“Here’s your challenge,” she whispered in his ear. “If you can make me come using nothing but your mouth in ten minutes or less, then I’ll let you inside me next. Ready?”

“God, yes,” he whispered back.

She scooted her hips to the very edge of the bed, pulled her skirt up and spread her legs wider. She set the stopwatch again and said, “Go.”

Lance leaned in and stroked her folds with his tongue. He focused on her outer and inner lips, on her vulva, taking his sweet time with her. By the time his lips enfolded her clitoris, she was almost ready to beg for it. The man might be a sub, but he knew how to tease as well as any Dominant.

He continued teasing her as she’d teased him, keeping the pressure so light that it bordered on torture. But she didn’t bark any orders at him. After all, if he failed to make her come in time, it was his loss as well as hers.

After a few minutes of the tease, he licked her harder and put more pressure onto her clitoris. She let herself moan, let herself pant. They were lovers tonight, not Dominatrix and client. She could enjoy him as much as he enjoyed her.

And God, did she enjoy him. She enjoyed him so much that she came with a cry as her climax gripped her. As she lay panting on the bed, she heard the beeping of the stopwatch.

Slowly she sat back up on her elbows and looked down at him still sitting between her knees.

“Okay, I think we’ve established that you’re good at oral.”

“I’m glad you think so, Mistress.” With a posture of sincere reverence he kissed her thigh where her boot met bare skin.

“I didn’t think you were going to get me there in ten minutes. You took your sweet time of it.”

“You give me ten minutes with my face between your thighs, and I’ll take every second of it.”

She ran her hands down his arms and unsnapped his cuffs.

“Are you ready for your next order?” she asked.

“Ready.”

“Go to the head of the bed. Sit with your back against the headboard.”

He rose off the floor and crawled across the bed. While he waited in silence she took lube and condoms out of her drawer.

“Hands up,” she instructed as she knelt in front of him. She opened the wrapper and rolled the condom onto him. Whenever she fucked male submissives she always put the condom on herself. So much more fun to make him sit there and be treated like a sex slave with no control over his own body.

Once it was on, she covered him in a thin layer of lubricant. After all the pain she’d given him, she wanted nothing for him now but pleasure.

She put the lube away and dried her hands. He’d taken his sweet time making her come. She’d take her sweet time making him wait.

Finally she straddled his thighs and gripped the headboard. Facing him on her knees she brought her mouth to his for a long, deep kiss.

“If you fuck as well as you kiss, this is going to be a good night,” she said, smiling at him.

“I gave you an orgasm. It’s already a good night, Mistress.”

“Let’s go for a great night, then.” She lifted his arms and hooked his wrist cuffs through the headboard. He gripped the black steel bar with both hands.

Nora rose up and lowered herself down onto him, sinking onto his cock with a sigh of pure pleasure. She smiled as he released a ragged breath. She gripped the headboard, her hands bookending his, as he lifted his hips up and pushed into her.

“Is this position okay for you?” she asked, remembering the massive scar on his back.

“It’s perfect, Mistress. You’re doing most of the work anyway.”

“What positions don’t work for you?”

“Honestly, the only one that hurts is missionary.”

“Thank God for that. I only do missionary position with missionaries.”

He laughed and kissed her bare shoulder. She turned her head to the side, giving him better access to her neck and throat.

“You’re a sadist for cuffing my hands,” he said as he pressed his face to her hair. “I’m dying to touch you.”

“I might let you if you beg a little more.”

“Please let me touch you with my hands, Mistress. Please...”

“What do you want to touch?”

“All of you. Your arms, your breasts, your nipples, your thighs, your clit...every part of you I can reach. Please.”

“I’ll give you a choice. I can unhook your cuffs and let you touch me, but you won’t get to come for another hour. Or you can stay cuffed and you can fuck me until you come. Your decision.”

“I can come on my own later, Mistress. Touching you is a much higher priority.”

“I can’t argue with that logic, and even if I could, I wouldn’t bother trying.” She unhooked the cuffs and set Lance’s hands free. He wasted no time and immediately ran his hands over the swell of her breasts. With eager hands he set about unfastening her corset. She helped him pull it off and it ended up on the floor by the bed. She wasn’t going to waste a second folding the damn thing.

He cupped her now naked breasts and sucked deeply on her nipples. Then one hand wandered between her legs and pressed against her clitoris.

As he kissed her breasts, she continued to ride him, swiveling her hips so that he rubbed against her G-spot. She held onto the headboard, steadying herself so Lance could explore her body any way he desired. His large warm hands felt so good on her, so arousing but also comforting. Strong men never scared her because strong men never harmed her. Only weak men had ever harmed her, so she knew she had nothing to fear from Lance.

Leaning back she gave him full access to her front. One hand caressed her from shoulder to shoulder, neck to breasts while the fingers of his other hand toyed with her clitoris. Soon she was panting again, desperate to come again.

“Come with me,” she said. “I’m breaking my own rules. I want you to come fucking me. It’s an order.”

“I’d never disobey an order from you. I’ll come the minute you tell me to, Mistress.”

“Good, but me first.”

“Always...” he breathed into her skin and the erotic tone in his voice alone nearly got her to the brink. She closed her eyes and let herself get lost in the pleasure of his hands on her body, of his cock that impaled her. So close...she felt the tension mounting in her stomach...closer...her clitoris swelled against his fingers...almost there....she heard a pounding...she felt the pounding...she inhaled and didn’t exhale...and finally...

Pleasure exploded inside her as her vaginal muscles fluttered hard around him, hard enough she heard him gasping from her orgasm.

“Now,” she panted and Lance needed no further orders. He came in silence but with a controlled shudder that wracked his entire body. Together they collapsed onto the bed in a tangle of arms and legs.

The sex had stopped, but she still heard the pounding. Sounded like someone banging on one of the dungeon doors. Not hers so she ignored it.

Facing Lance she gave him a quick but passionate kiss.

“Go clean up,” she said, glancing down at the condom. “Bathroom’s in the dungeon. We’ll start round two when you get back.”

“Yes, Mistress. Be right back.”

He left the bedroom. Nora slowly stood and pulled the covers down on the bed. She unlaced her boots and kicked them off, wriggled out of her skirt and unpinned her hair. But as soon as she’d stripped completely naked, the pounding in the hallway now hit her door.

“What the fuck?” She had a scarf on the door. No one would ever interrupt her with a scarf on her doorknob.

“Eleanor,” came a voice through the door. “Open the door right now or I’m opening it.”

Søren? Unless the club was burning down, she was going to kill the man.

“Jesus, give me a second.” She grabbed a sheet off the bed and wrapped it around herself like a towel. Søren had seen her naked a million times, but she wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of seeing her naked now, not after interrupting such an intimate moment.

She threw open the door and shot Søren a murderous glare. He looked almost as disheveled as she did—his Roman collar gone, his shirt unbuttoned to the middle of his chest, his hair less than perfect.

“What the hell is going on? I’m kind of busy here.”

“Kingsley wants all his female employees at his townhouse now. That means you.”

“What? Why?”

“A Dominatrix was just attacked by a client.”

“What? Who?”

“Mistress Natasha. She’s in the hospital, Eleanor. And whoever did it got away. Now get dressed. I’ll go with you and Simone to Kingsley’s.”

“I’m a little busy—”

“Eleanor, this isn’t optional. This is an order,” Søren said.

“Mistress?” She turned around and saw Lance standing in the doorway between the bedroom and the dungeon. He must have heard the commotion because he’d put his jeans back on. She saw Lance and Søren exchanging pointed glances before Søren looked back at her. She nodded her acquiescence at him.

Søren took a step back into the hallway to let her close the door. Her body, which only a few minutes ago had come alive with pleasure, had now gone numb with fear. Alone again with Lance, she gave him a look of apology.

“I have to go,” Nora said to Lance. She knew Mistress Natasha, knew it would take a very dangerous—or very desperate—man to attack that woman.

“What’s wrong?” Lance asked.

“Sorry, Sailor,” she said. “Family emergency.”

* * * * *

The Last Good Knight

Part II: Sore Spots

Tiffany Reisz

An Original Sinners Story

Told in Five Parts

The Last Good Knight: An Original Sinners novella told in five parts.

Part II: Sore Spots

With a potential stalker on the loose, Kingsley hires Lance as Nora’s bodyguard, but stipulates no sex while he’s on duty. Frustrated by the ex-SEAL’s noble chivalry, Nora is driven to seek release with the one man she’s trying to forget....

Contents

Sore Spots

Nora, Simone and Søren headed to Kingsley’s townhouse. Usually three kinksters in the back of a Rolls-Royce meant for a very pleasant car ride, but Simone had curled up with her head in Nora’s lap, stunned into silence, while Nora and Søren sat quietly side by side, only their fingers touching. Søren had told her everything he knew. One of Kingsley’s many minions had come banging on the doors, rousting all the official staff from whatever depraved activities they’d gotten themselves into. All they knew at this point was that a former employee of Kingsley’s had been brutally assaulted during a session with a client, so it was all hands on deck.

Once at the townhouse, Søren helped Simone out of the car, but when he offered a hand to Nora, she only rolled her eyes and stepped past him.

The house crawled with submissives arriving at Kingsley’s, and they all wore looks of anger and fear. It was part of Nora’s job to take care of the submissives, help train them, and as the most revered member of Kingsley’s staff, she considered herself responsible for the women on his payroll as much as Kingsley did. If they were going to feel safe again, she couldn’t allow herself to show any weakness around them.

She put an arm around Simone’s waist and, side by side, they walked into Kingsley’s house, Søren behind them. Inside Kingsley’s office, Nora kept her face calm and her expression neutral even as the women around her wept softly or whispered back and forth to each other in hushed tones. One young submissive named Nikki grabbed Nora’s hand, and Nora gave it a reassuring squeeze.

Mistress Irina rose from a chair, a look of barely controlled fury on her face. She and Nora exchanged meaningful glances—glances that said that whoever did this deed better pray the cops caught him before she and Nora did. Irina stood in the back next to Søren. Søren obviously wasn’t on staff, and even more obviously, wasn’t a woman, but the members of The 8th Circle considered him their spiritual leader as they considered Kingsley their earthly leader. Søren occasionally played with many of the submissives in the room, but never had sex with any of them. They trusted him and often sought his advice and comfort. As far as Nora knew, theirs was the only BDSM community with its own chaplain.

Kingsley entered his office a few minutes later with a grim look on his face. Voices exploded in questions at the sight of him, but Nora whistled hard and loud over the din.

“Quiet,” she said and the women of the room went silent. No one countermanded an order from The Red Queen, Nora’s Underground nickname.

“Merci,” Kingsley said, nodding in Nora’s direction. He stood at the edge of his desk surveying them all. “You’ve heard what has happened. Two weeks ago, Mistress Natasha left my employ and went to work on her own. I think many of you know her personally.”

Simone nodded against Nora’s shoulder. She knew Simone and Natasha were close.

“The first thing you all need to know is that she will live. She has a severe concussion and was unconscious when they found her. She’ll likely be in the hospital several days.”

“Where did they find her?” Nora asked, wanting to know all the details, wanting to know who to blame, who to punish.

“She’d been renting dungeon space at Black Forest. When Mr. Wolfe went to check on her at the end of her session, no one answered the door. He found her bleeding and unconscious on the floor. The dungeon had been destroyed. He called for help first. Then he called me.”

“Did Brad see anything? Hear anything?” Nora asked, making a mental note to call Brad Wolfe herself for more details.

“Non. He was with his own client at the time. And Mistress Natasha preferred to work alone.” Kingsley’s tone was neutral but Nora sensed the bitterness lurking under the words. He had been furious when Mistress Natasha had left the fold. He hardly cared about the 15 percent he took from each of her sessions. The money he made off his pro-Dommes and pro-subs was a drop in the bucket compared to the revenue from his nightclubs. No, what infuriated him was what he considered Natasha’s arrogant refusal to admit that the work she did was dangerous and required the protection of Kingsley’s security detail. “But Mr. Wolfe did always check on her after each session. It’s good that he did as he possibly saved her life.”

Simone’s body shook with silent tears. Nora pulled her closer, held her tighter.

“Do they have any idea who did this?” Nora asked. “Did she keep a calendar or appointment book?”

“She did, but like yours, it has only initials and codes—no names. The attack might have been motivated by some sort of vengeance. The perpetrator took the time to destroy her dungeon and to leave a note behind.”

Nora narrowed her eyes at Kingsley.

“What did the note say?”

Kingsley sighed heavily, his handsome brow furrowing with worry.

“It said, ‘All the whores like her will die.’”

A collective gasp could be heard throughout the room. Whore was a word reserved for lovers at play in their world. A Dominant man might whisper it in his lover’s ear to give her an illicit thrill, but no man would dare call any of them a whore as an insult. Not unless that man they wanted Kingsley on his doorstep.

“The threat might have been a ruse,” Kingsley said. “Taking the time to write a note like that might simply be an attempt to cover the real motive of the crime.”

“What motive?” Nora demanded. “He sounds like a psycho and we’re analyzing his motives?”

“Natasha worked alone,” Kingsley reminded her. “She kept large amounts of cash on her. This could be a robbery. It might not have been a client at all, but a spurned suitor seeking revenge on her alone. And yes, he could simply be a psycho, as you say, who thought he’d hired a prostitute but became enraged when she told him she wasn’t.”

Nora couldn’t argue with that logic. She’d had a few clients who’d come to her expecting sex. They had convinced themselves that the “Dominatrixes don’t have sex with clients” rule was merely a cover shielding them from the law. She’d disabused a few men of the notion that a few extra hundred dollars could buy sex from her. There was only one client she’d ever slept with, and he stood in this very room.

“And there’s something else,” Kingsley added. “No one can find Natasha’s keys. If her attacker has them, then he has keys to Mr. Wolfe’s club and several of mine as well.”

“Shit,” Nora said, grimacing. Changing the locks wasn’t an option. Members of The 8th Circle used their keys to get in and out. Kingsley couldn’t change the club locks without getting new keys to over a thousand people. And that would take time. “So what now?” She asked the question that she knew was on the minds of everyone in the room. “What do we do?”

“Nothing,” Kingsley said. “Rien. All appointments are canceled with all clients until the perpetrator is caught. I cannot police what you all do on your own, but I highly recommend you stay with friends for the time being. Safety in numbers. Don’t take anyone home you don’t already know and trust. If you hear anything, see anything that makes you the least uncomfortable or suspicious, you call me immediately. Oui?”

The women of the room nodded their understanding.

“I realize not working might cause a financial hardship for some of you. You’ll all be compensated for your time off. The police believe that Natasha will likely be able to identify her attacker when she awakes.”

“Someone should go to the hospital,” Simone said.

“I’ll go,” Søren said from behind them. “You can come with me if you like.”

Simone smiled her gratitude at him. Søren had everything to lose if someone outed him as a sadist. Technically he was related to Kingsley by a long-ago marriage, and that gave him an excuse to be in Kingsley’s house. But certainly it was no excuse for being in Kingsley’s club. The danger of discovery never stopped him from taking risks like this, however. One of their own had been attacked and badly hurt. Dominatrix or nun, Søren didn’t care.

“Now you may go. I’ll be in touch with any news as it becomes available. If any of you prefer to stay here during the crisis, you know my home is always open to you. Dismissed.”

The women rose and filed out of the room. Nora overheard Nikki asking if she could stay with Irina. Tessa and Jai decided they would crash together in one of Kingsley’s guest rooms. They weren’t scared to go home, but they much preferred staying at Kingsley’s where they could better stay abreast of what was happening.

Nora told Simone she was welcome at her house in Connecticut. Simone thanked her and said she’d think about it, but tonight she’d stay at the hospital in case Natasha woke up.

Nora watched them all go. Søren gave her a last long look before leaving the room. She smiled at him as a reassurance that she was okay. It didn’t seem to convince him any more than it convinced her.

Once alone with Kingsley, she exhaled heavily and collapsed into a chair in front of his desk.

“What the fuck is going on, King?” was all she could ask.

“Je ne sais pas.” He put his booted foot on the chair next to her thigh. “I told you all I know. I’ve spoken to the police commissioner, Detective Cooper, and everyone I know. They’ve all assured me that they’ll do whatever they can as quickly as they can.”

“Nice. Lovely. Now tell me what’s really going on.”

Kingsley met her eyes for a moment before glancing away.

“Two weeks ago Natasha offered herself to me. I turned her down. She quit the next day.”

Nora nodded, a delaying tactic while she decided how to respond.

“First, can I say I’m impressed you turned her down?”

“Elle.”

“Sorry. But please don’t tell me you’re blaming yourself for this. You have the right to say no if you don’t want to fuck somebody.”

“I did want to fuck her.”

“So you turned her down because...?”

“The usual reason,” he said. And that was all he said and all he needed to say. Three people in Kingsley’s world knew he was a switch. Apparently Mistress Natasha had sensed his proclivities, and instead of succumbing to her advances, he’d rejected her.

“It’s not your fault she got hurt, Kingsley. We all get hurt around here.”

“I know,” he said, slipping tiredly into French. Je sais.

“I know you know. And I also know you know I can’t cancel on my clients. That’s fine for Irina and the subs. They have normal clients. My clients run the world. They’re not going to be happy if I say ‘Sorry, busy,’ without any notice like this.”

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