Kingsley laughed and sat in the chair opposite S?ren’s desk.
“Can I ask you a stupid question?” Kingsley asked.
“You just did,” S?ren said, making a note on a white card.
Kingsley paused and laughed.
“What?” S?ren glanced up from his writing.
“Déjà vu. Anyway, you didn’t give anyone my private phone number, did you? Write it down? Give it to your secretary?”
“No. I have it memorized, and I’d never tell anyone unless it was a life-and-death situation. Why?”
“No reason. Are you ready to go?” Kingsley asked. “We should warm up.”
“I suppose. It’ll be a better use of my time than this.” S?ren slipped his legal pad into his top desk drawer.
“What are you working on?”
“My Ph.D. dissertation.”
“I can think of a nearly infinite number of things that would be better uses of your time. And surprisingly, only half of them are sexual.”
“Only half ?”
“Two-thirds,” Kingsley said. “Let’s go.”
“Going,” S?ren said. “I need to stop by the house and change. I’ll meet you at the field.”
“Do you have to wear the collar on Saturdays, too?”
“No. But it’s for the best I do.”
“Why is that?”
“Because Eleanor’s here today, and I need as much armor as possible around her.”
“She’s here?” Kingsley sat up straighter.
“No.”
“You just said—”
“Pretend I didn’t.”
“Can I see her?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Why not?”
“She’s busy, and I don’t want you distracting her.”
“She’s sixteen. What’s she doing that’s so important?”
“Youth group.”
“Is that as horrible as it sounds?”
“We have a seminarian here today. He’s speaking to a group of teenagers about discerning God’s will in their life. Eleanor’s under orders to pay very close attention.”
“You ordered your teenage girlfriend to go to youth group on a Saturday morning during summer break?”
S?ren smiled fiendishly as he stood up and came around his desk.
“Sometimes the depths of my sadism surprises even me.”
“That makes one of us,” Kingsley said, standing to leave the office.
S?ren replied with a swift slap to the center of Kingsley’s back, making hard quick contact with a cluster of welts.
A f linch and gasp gave it away, and Kingsley had to grab the door frame to steady himself as pain washed over him.
“I remember that sound,” S?ren said, shutting his office door and locking it.
“What are you—”
“Hold still.”
He hadn’t belonged to S?ren in eleven years, but an order was an order. S?ren had said, “hold still.” Kingsley held still.
S?ren grasped the bottom of Kingsley’s T-shirt and pulled it up and off of him. Kingsley heard a whistle of appreciation.
“Jealous?” Kingsley asked.
“Only impressed. You have bruises on top of bruises. Who did the work?”
“No one you know.”
“What made these?” S?ren traced half circles on Kingsley’s upper back. The light touch on his abraded skin hurt enough to arouse him. He had to breathe to avoid getting a massive erection in a priest’s office. He wasn’t Catholic, but he assumed that was frowned upon.
Then again, maybe not.
“Electric cable looped in half,” Kingsley said. “Feels like getting punched by fire.”
“No cuts.”
“Not with her. She prefers impact-play. A little candle-wax when she’s in the mood.”
“She?”
“She’s a dominatrix I know.”
“You know her intimately,” S?ren said, his voice low. The skin on Kingsley’s back was so sensitive he could feel the breath from S?ren’s words brushing over his wounds.
“Very intimately. We’re sleeping together.” Kingsley turned around and showed S?ren the welts on his chest.
“Good.”
“Good?” Kingsley repeated, playfully aghast. “Did a priest just tell me it’s good I’m engaging in sadomasochism and fornication?”