“Your blond friend. S?ren.”
Kingsley glared down at her.
“You had sex with S?ren while I was gone?”
“No, Silly. I said he hardly touched me. He didn’t have to.
His soul touched me. His pain touched me.”
“You’re out of your mind. How did this happen?” “I don’t know.” She raised both hands in the air to stretch.
“After you left he asked me how I spelled my name. I said like
Blaise Pascal, and then he told me about how Blaise Pascal, he
was a mathematician who—”
“He hated the Jesuits. Wrote all sorts of slanderous, and
therefore true, things about them.”
“That. Anyway, we were talking, and then I did what you
said I should do and I took him up to the playroom—the one
with the Francis Bacon painting over the bed—and suddenly
I’m getting f logged and whipped, and then I had an orgasm
from the pain alone. Then I was down here with my skirt on
backward. I raided your fridge. You know kink makes me
hungry.”
She lifted her bowl of strawberries and offered him one.
Kingsley ignored them.
“Do you think you and your friend would tag-team me
someday?”
“No. Eat your strawberries. I need to talk to the god.” “Tell him I want to kiss his feet. Again.”
“I’ll pass that along.”
She waved her hand, shooing him from the room. “S?ren?” Kingsley shouted as he ran up the stairs. “I’m in my room,” S?ren called back. Kingsley had given
him his own guest room to stay in whenever he wished. So
far he hadn’t slept any nights in it.
“All rooms are my room.” Kingsley threw open the door to
the guest room. S?ren stood on the opposite side of the bed,
an open silver suitcase in front of him.
“Very well, then. I’m in your room.”
“Can I ask you one question?”
“Ask.”
“What did you do to Blaise?”
S?ren looked up at him.
“I’m not going to answer that.”
“Did you fuck her?”
“That’s two questions, and no, I didn’t. Are you upset we
played? She said she’s allowed to be with anyone she wants.” “I don’t care who she plays with. I want to know why she’s
lying on my couch in a stupor claiming you gave her the best
pain of her life?”
“The best? I’m sure that’s an exaggeration, but I’m pleased
she enjoyed herself.” S?ren smiled as he dug through the suitcase of kink toys Kingsley kept under every bed in the house.
“I certainly enjoyed her.”
“So all that about not breaking your vows was, quoi?” “There was no sex, and I didn’t marry her. Nor did I take
money from her or refuse to obey a direct order from the
pope.”
“What about—” Kingsley made a specific hand gesture. “Well,” S?ren said. “I did do that, of course.”
“Of course.”
“But we Jesuits aren’t nearly so hard-line or heavy-handed
as the Curia when it comes to masturbation. My God, there
are at least three puns in that last sentence. Entirely unintentional.”
“Stop joking. This is serious.”
“It’s not serious. Calm down, Kingsley.”
“I’m perfectly calm.”
“You’re speaking in tongues, Kingsley. I heard French and
English, and some Spanish mixed in, and you’re speaking them
all at the same time.”
“You’re a priest. A Jesuit priest. And I left the house for one
hour and come back, and I’ve got a girl with afterglow on my
couch eating strawberries claiming my ex-lover who is now
a Catholic priest gave her the best pain of her life. I can’t ever
leave my house again.”
“You know from personal experience it’s in the world’s
best interest I beat someone on a regular basis. I spoke to my
confessor, and he gave me leave to deal with this side of myself as long as I don’t break any vows. So there.”
“So there? No, not there. We’re not there yet. You—”
Kingsley pointed at S?ren. “You’re in a good mood all the
time. And you talk. And you’re…nice. Well, nicer.” The word