Kingdom Come

That had to be the reason I’d set the game afoot, because despite the blonde’s beauty, she wasn’t my type. Yet I couldn’t ignore my cock’s reaction to her. The last time I’d gotten the thing to participate was when I’d seen her weeks before. That had pissed me off, because I never lost control. After, when my dick had ghosted me on more than one occasion, I’d worried that my past had finally caught up to me.

I shook off the memories before they could make an appearance and focused on the road as images of the naked beauty played in my head. I longed for my canvases and would have to resort to pencil and paper when I got home. A sketch would have to do to clear my head.

I pulled my Dodge Viper into my Manhattan apartment’s garage. Though I wasn’t into cars like my brother was, I’d had to have the concept car I’d seen when Kalen and I went to an auto show. I slid my fingers along the hood, one of its kind for now, as I walked toward the private elevator.

Tomorrow would be a new day. Tonight, I would sketch, and I did so until dawn.

It was then and only then I was able to find sleep, something that eluded me on a daily basis. But even in dreams, I couldn’t escape the princess. Sleeping Beauty, I’d dubbed her. Golden hair and peaceful in sleep, yet she haunted my dreams.

I woke hard and had to rub one out in the shower while thinking of her to find release. That was the fucked-up situation I was in. The last time I’d jerked off—when it wasn’t part of a scene—I’d been a teenager.

“Christ,” I muttered, disgusted with myself.

Before I could towel off, my phone rang. Eliza. My manager at the club, and former sub, didn’t call me in the morning. Though it was after two in the afternoon, so it wasn’t truly morning.

“What,” I said.

“What’s got your panties in a bunch?” she joked. When I said nothing, she continued. “Yeah, sorry. You should know we had a request.”

“And that is?”

She rattled off a name, and I scrubbed a hand down my face, knowing what she would say next. “He ordered a private room and wants us to arrange a partner for a scene he has in mind.”

“Did you tell him we don’t do that?” Not that she should have to. That was explained in the membership contract.

“I did, and he said—” She rattled off another name that had been in the news recently. “He did that kind of thing at his private island, what makes us better.”

“We aren’t a prostitution ring.” I growled out the words. “Fucking pedophiles and sadists ruin everything.” When Eliza remained quiet, I said, “Shit. I didn’t mean that… I mean, I did about pedophiles. But not about sadists.”

Eliza was a bit of a masochist. It was part of the reason we hadn’t lasted, because I was far from a sadist. The reason people like him shouldn’t pay for sex was because they then believed they owned the experience and safe words meant nothing.

“I know what you meant,” she said quietly.

Eliza wasn’t one to back down, and I knew I’d hurt her. “Fuck, you know I didn’t mean it. It’s him that pisses me off. I could rescind his membership. On the other hand, if he doesn’t have a safe outlet for his needs, he may harm an unwilling participant.”

“I know,” she said more firmly.

“I trust you can handle it.” I had plans for the evening that didn’t include going to the club.

When she spoke, I visualized her lifting her chin. “I can and I will. I just wanted you to know.”

“Good girl,” I said, knowing she liked to hear it.

We all had our kinks, including me. Suddenly, I was back to thinking of the blonde, wondering just what she liked in bed and out.FiveLizzyThe bright sunshine crept in like a thief, jolting me awake. The clock told another story. I was late. My shower might have been called a dance in the rain as I rushed to scrub all the vitals. Picking out an outfit cost a little more time. Image was important and couldn’t be overlooked.

Hence though I noticed the door to the pantry was closed when I swore it had been open last night, it didn’t make the impact it might have if I hadn’t been rushing to get my coffee before diving into the sea of New Yorkers headed to work. When I got to my gallery, my assistant, Anderson, was already waiting for me—with an espresso cup from our in-store machine.

“Good Morning, princess,” Anderson said.

“Don’t call me that,” I said, taking the shot of espresso from him. The label reminded me of the one man who’d called me that. I lifted the cup. “How’d you know?”