“I do have a fondness for f lowers from men who aren’t afraid to beg.”
Mistress Felicia Tryst had been all over the newspapers when he first came to the city. She’d been named as the offending party in a divorce between a business magnate and his socialite wife. The story had been a bloodbath, a feeding frenzy. Salacious reporters couldn’t get enough of the white American billionaire who was sexually enslaved to a black British dominatrix. Mistress Felicia had risen above the fray and refused to testify on the grounds she never spoke about her clients. She’d languished in prison and kept her vow of silence until the parties settled out of court. He’d once seen her photograph in the Post, but it did not do this dark beauty justice.
“To what do I owe the honor?” Kingsley asked.
“You wanted to speak to me about working in your new club, yes?” she asked.
“Yes. Is that why you’re here?” he asked. They could have had this conversation in his office. Why was Mistress Felicia in his bedroom?
“I’ll admit to an ulterior motive.”
“Ulterior motives. Care to enlighten me?”
“I saw you downstairs. And as soon as I saw you, I knew I wanted to beat you and fuck you. How is that for an ulterior motive?”
Kingsley’s groin tightened at the sight of the beautiful woman and her riding crop. And everyone who knew anything about kink knew this woman was the most notorious sadist in the city. She could likely give S?ren a run for his money.
“Well?” Mistress Felicia asked.
The tape could wait.
His cock couldn’t.
22
“HOW DO YOU KNOW I WOULD LET YOU BEAT ME?” Kingsley asked. “You might not let me. You might be nothing but a dominant after all, and the thought of submitting to a woman may hold no appeal.” She strolled toward him, the riding crop swishing behind her like a tiger’s tail. “Then again, it might.”
“Did anyone see you come in here, Ma?tresse?”
“No one was in the hallway before I came in.” Kingsley sighed with relief. “Good,” he said. “Please, don’t be offended—”
“I have many clients who would prefer not to have their
proclivities announced to the world. You don’t have to explain. I am nothing if not discreet.”
“Your discretion is the stuff of legend, Ma?tresse.” She raised her eyebrow at him. “I was warned about your
accent. They were right.”
Kingsley desperately wanted this woman, but he’d rather
die than have the whole city know about the other side of his
sexual proclivities—the submissive masochistic side. Mistress Felicia walked to him, walked slowly, taking her
sweet time, making every step toward him a lesson in patience. “I compliment his accent and he stops speaking. Typical
switch. Can’t stop playing mind games for a second, can you?” “Tell me what to say, and I’ll say it,” Kingsley said. “Tell me you want me to beat you and fuck you, Kingsley.” Yes. God, yes. Yes, he wanted her to do everything to
him. But…
“I would like that,” he said. “But, you see, I—” She laid her palm on his chest.
“Your heart is racing,” she said. “Are you scared?” “I have a problem,” he said.
“I can see you’re burdened by something. Tell me your
burdens. Tell me how I can ease them,” she said, touching
his face, his forehead, his lips. She smelled like roses, like an
English garden.
“I was shot,” he said, focusing on the delicious scent of her
instead of the memories. “Last year. I was with a dominant
recently. I had a f lashback.”
“What triggered it?” she asked, apparently not the least
bothered by his revelation.
“Someone touched my throat with a whip.”
“Your throat,” she repeated, looking at him but also into
him.
“I was choked once.”
“I see,” she said, her voice quiet and serene. “I won’t touch
your throat. And I’m not afraid of your f lashbacks. If you
have one, you have one. If you don’t, then…well, more time
to play then, isn’t it?”