She went to a chest of drawers, opened the top drawer and
pulled out a leather makeup case. She opened it and laid out
two lines of cocaine. She’d probably been on it while he’d
fucked her. Would explain why she couldn’t shut up now. “I heard you and Robert went shooting together,” Phoebe
said.
“I had to discuss something with him.”
“Me?” she asked with a saccharine smile.
“Work,” Kingsley said. “Just work. Your name didn’t come
up.”
“Good,” she said. “Just checking.” She handed him the
rolled up bill. “Have some. We’ll go for round two.” Kingsley tried to look enthusiastic about the prospect of
fucking her again. She laid out two more lines for him. He
hated coke, hated how much one hit made him want another
hit half an hour later. But maybe if he couldn’t get it up again
for round two, he’d have the drugs to blame.
Phoebe got on her knees in front of him and took his cock
in her mouth. He breathed deep and tried to think of the most
erotic images he could conjure, anything to get him back in
the mood. For some reason all that came to mind were memories of S?ren and those stolen nights together when they were teenagers. Luckily that worked, and he felt himself starting
to grow hard again.
“Mom?” A small boy’s voice called out in the hallway.
Phoebe pulled back and exhaled with frustration. “Give me a minute, Cody. Mommy just got out of the
shower.”
“I got sick at Tyler’s. They brought me home.” “Wait there, baby. Mommy’s coming.”
Phoebe rolled her eyes.
“He’s supposed to be with friends tonight. Sorry,” she whispered to Kingsley as she stood to her feet. She started to pick
her robe up off the f loor but then noticed the semen stain.
She grabbed a terry-cloth bathrobe from inside her closet and
pulled it tight around her.
“I’ll go. It’s fine,” Kingsley said, relieved to have such an
easy out.
“I’ll call soon. I promise.”
“Take your time,” he said, wishing she’d never call him
again.
“You’re amazing.” She gave him a long deep kiss that
Kingsley returned with no enthusiasm whatsoever. “The sexiest man on earth. See you soon? Please?”
“Bien s?r.”
“I love the French. Rape me in French next time.” She
kissed him again and pointed at the nightstand. “It’s in there.
I’ll call.”
She left him alone in the room. Kingsley waited until the
voices disappeared from the hallway. He opened the drawer
she’d pointed to, and he found the envelope. He slipped out
the door, down the stairs and grabbed a cab. All he wanted
to do was take a quick shower, wash Phoebe off him and get
back to his blackjack game with S?ren.
He raced up the stairs to his front door, his heart pounding
as the coke hit his bloodstream.
When he strode through the foyer, he noticed two wellturned ankles shod in a pair of beige pumps resting on the
arm of his sofa in his sitting room.
“Blaise?” He peered over the back of the sofa and found a
rather euphoric-looking Blaise laying supine and looking sublime. She had a bowl of strawberries balanced on her chest. “Bonne soir, monsieur.” She gave a tired happy laugh and
popped a strawberry in her mouth. Her usually perfectly
coiffed hair was now mussed, and it appeared she’d gotten
undressed and redressed at some point. “I love your house.
It’s the best house in New York. Have I ever told you that?” He narrowed his eyes at her.
“Are you stoned?”
She shook her head and giggled. “Nope. This is all afterglow.”
“Afterglow?”
“You know what’s amazing, King? He didn’t even lay a
hand on me. But that was easily—” she made a huge sweeping gesture with her arm “—easily the best pain I’ve ever experienced.”
“Pain?”
“A little B, a little D and a lot of S&M. I was the M.” “You were the M, were you?”
“It was amazing. Your friend is a god of pain.”
“Who? Who’s a god?”