The King
No matter how much Blaise cajoled him to hire a new secretary, he couldn’t bring himself to replace Sam. Not yet. Not while the wounds were still fresh and he could still conjure the scent of her in his mind, the sound of her voice and the memory of her sitting at his feet, pulling his boots on as if he was her king and she his valet.
Even looking at her notes hurt. And such banal notes they were. Mostly banal. Square footage...call the dungeon outfitter...schedule K’s massage...tell K you’re pregnant with Søren’s baby...stop reading my notes, King.
He laughed so hard he almost cried. He could see her smiling at herself as she wrote those words, knowing he would get nosy someday and read her clipboard. At the bottom of the page she’d drawn a heart with a K in the center and a crown around the K. She’d put an arrow next to the heart and the words Possible tattoo idea for left ass cheek.
“God damn you, Sam,” he said out loud. He threw the clipboard down on his desk and picked up his phone. But before he dialed her number, he hung the phone up again. She’d betrayed him and walked away with his heart in her teeth. She’d picked the Fullers’ money over him, even though he’d opened his heart up to her time and time again.
He picked up the phone again, and this time he dialed.
“Kingsley, it’s three in the morning,” Søren said. He sounded more annoyed than sleepy.
“What are you wearing?”
“An angry scowl,” Søren said.
“It’s a good look for you.”
“To what do I owe the pleasure of this call?” Søren asked.
“I almost called Sam to tell her how much I hate her. So I called you instead.”
“Fine. Tell me how much you hate me.”
“I don’t hate you.”
“Then you should hang up on me,” Søren said.
“You’d like that too much. What are you doing still awake?”
“I’m reading.”
“In bed?”
“In bed.”
Kingsley couldn’t stop himself from picturing Søren in bed. White sheet pulled up to his hip, naked chest, hand behind his head as he read. Divinity in repose.
“What are you reading?” Kingsley asked, trying to distract himself from the mental images.
“It’s an erotic retelling of the Book of Esther.”
Kingsley groaned. “You have to start having sex again. Please. I don’t even care if it’s with me or her. Anyone.”
“I’m fine,” Søren said, but Kingsley could tell he wasn’t fine. His “I’m fine” sounded bruised.
“Do you miss it?” Kingsley asked. Not the question he meant. He meant “Do you miss me?”
“I’m twenty-nine, male and breathing,” Søren said. “What do you think?”
“No one would judge you if you broke your vows. No one who matters.”
“It would matter to me,” Søren said. “I have reasons for doing what I do and not doing what I don’t do. Reasons that have nothing to do with the church or being a priest. And reasons that also have nothing to do with you or Eleanor.”
“I can call Blaise now. She’ll be there in an hour. Would you like that?”
Søren didn’t answer at first, didn’t say a word.
“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” Kingsley asked and knew Søren was.
“I should have known better than to make friends with the devil.”
Kingsley grinned. “Blaise is amazing in bed. You won’t regret it. She can do this thing when she’s going down on you where she takes your—”
“Kingsley.”
“And goes so deep she can lick your—”
“Kingsley.”
“It’s amazing. Gift from God.”
“Red.”
“Red?” Kingsley repeated.
“I was attempting to safe out of this conversation.”
Kingsley laughed softly.
“You’ll need a better safe word than that with me, mon ami.”
“I’ll find a stronger word. A few stronger words have already leaped to mind.”
“If you don’t want Blaise, I could come over,” Kingsley said.
“I think you have more than enough lovers already,” Søren said.
“We’re not talking about what I need. We’re talking about what you need.”
“I need sleep and someone is keeping me from it.”
Kingsley was undeterred.
“You know, it wouldn’t have to mean anything. You can do whatever you want to me. Pain. Sex. More pain.”
Søren fell silent again. What was he thinking? Feeling? Was he tempted?
Of course he was tempted.
“Tell me something...how long has it been?” Kingsley asked into the silence.
Søren sighed. “What day is it?”
“Friday.”
“Then it’s been...oh...eleven years. You?”
“Eleven minutes.” More like an hour and eleven minutes, but why quibble? “You haven’t been with anyone since me? Not even once?”
“No one since you,” Søren said.
“And your Virgin Queen?”
“I made her a promise,” Søren said, the irritation gone from his voice now. But Kingsley still heard the bruise. “I promised her I would give her everything. I intend to keep that promise.”