Kingsley stopped fucking long enough to pull the sheets down, undress completely, and settle Justin against his pillows. He wanted this erotic oblivion to last all night.
They fucked again, slower this time. And although it scared him, the desire overrode the fear, and Kingsley let Justin inside him. Afterward, Kingsley beat Justin raw with a f logger and cane. He took pain like a professional, like he was born for it. When their need and hunger for each other was finally spent, they stood in the shower together, Justin’s back against the wall, Kingsley’s mouth on his mouth as the burning water beat down on them and the steam soothed the soreness the sex had worked on them.
“Will you do something to me?” Justin whispered into Kingsley’s lips.
“Anything.”
Justin didn’t tell him. He didn’t have to. Justin knelt in the shower and offered his back to Kingsley. Not even S?ren had been sadistic enough to relieve himself onto Kingsley. That made it all the more enjoyable for Kingsley to mark Justin as the hot water poured down on to both of them.
Kingsley sent Justin to bed after the shower. He smiled at the sight of that blond head on his pillow. For the first time Kingsley realized five whole hours had passed, and he hadn’t thought once about Sam. A good sign.
Kingsley dipped his head and kissed him on the side of the neck. Justin stirred.
“Thank you,” Justin said, half-asleep.
“For what?” Kingsley asked.
“Remembering my name.”
Kingsley felt a knot in his throat.
“I would never forget it.”
“I don’t know what to do,” Justin said. “With my life, I mean.”
“What do you want to do?”
“I don’t know. Never go home again.” “You want to work for me?” Kingsley asked. “House boy?”
Kingsley laughed.
“Not quite,” he said.
“Is there any money in being kinky?” Kingsley smiled at him.
“You would be surprised.”
33
KINGSLEY LEFT JUSTIN ALONE IN HIS BED. HE PULLED on his trousers, his shirt, and walked on bare feet to his office. In the bottom drawer of his desk, the only drawer he routinely locked, he pulled out Sam’s clipboard. For five weeks he’d cherished a fantasy that Sam would show up on his doorstep demanding the return of her beloved clipboard. He’d rarely seen her without it in the months she’d worked for him. Worked. Past tense. He still couldn’t get used to the past tense where Sam was concerned. In his fantasy she would show up and tell him she was wrong, that she shouldn’t have taken the Fullers’ money, but she needed it for something and she’d been too ashamed to tell him why. She’d beg him to forgive her and he would. He would forgive her and take her back. And everything would be okay again.
A stupid childish fantasy. It would never happen. He picked up a pen and f lipped to the checklist Sam had created for their club. In the little square beside the words “Male Submissive” Kingsley made a check mark. Justin needed a job that would let him afford NYC. Kingsley needed a male submissive for the club.
A match made in hell.