The Queen. Tiffany Reisz

      “Safe out right now,” he said. “Right fucking now.”

      “Or what? You’ll fuck me? Go ahead.”

      “You’d like that too much,” he said, pushing his hand into her jeans. “And you haven’t even come close to earning my cock yet.”

      He shoved a finger inside her and Elle cried out, not in pain but in pleasure.

      “Thought so,” he said.

      “What?” She tried squirming away from him but couldn’t move. He had her riveted to the bed.

      “You’re dripping wet. So much for being a domme.”

      “I haven’t gotten fucked in over a year.”

      “That’s your problem, not mine.”

      He pulled his hand out of her pants and pushed her onto her stomach. With his mouth at her ear he whispered a warning.

      “There’s one man in the world who cares about you more than I do,” Kingsley said. “Just imagine what a man who doesn’t give a fuck about you would do if you fucked up during a session as badly as you fucked up with me.”

      “I fucked up,” she said.

      “You did.”

      “I won’t do it again.”

      “We won’t have to have this talk again, will we?”

      “No.”

      “No what?”

      “No, Kingsley.”

      “You aren’t going to call me ‘sir’?” he asked, his voice cold but teasing.

      “No,” she said.

      “And why not?”

      “Because I’m not a submissive anymore. I don’t call anyone ‘sir.’”

      Kingsley leaned in even closer, pressed his lips to the back of her neck and kissed her.

      “Glad you finally are realizing this,” he said. “It’s about fucking time.”

       6

      A Special Delivery

      ALONE IN HER bedroom Elle stripped out of her clothes—her favorite old Pearl Jam concert T-shirt she’d had since 1994 and a ratty pair of cutoff denim shorts. They’d been her comfort clothes, her lazy-day uniform, when she’d lived here at Kingsley’s before she’d gone to the convent. There she’d had to wear black tights and long skirts and buttoned-up blouses. It had been like wearing a costume every day so it should have been nice to wear her own clothes again. Although they didn’t feel like hers. They felt like a different sort of costume. They belonged to Eleanor. His Eleanor. But if she wasn’t his anymore, was she even Eleanor? Kingsley said he would change her name. She almost didn’t care what he changed it to as long as she could be someone who wasn’t Eleanor anymore. Eleanor was tired. Eleanor was scared. Eleanor missed her priest.

      For almost an hour she stood under the scalding water and let the heat seep into her sore muscles but no matter how long she stayed under the water, the pain remained. She dried off on plush white towels she wouldn’t have to wash and dry and fold—Kingsley had a housekeeper. It should have felt like heaven, living in luxury again. And yet...

      “You fucked up today.”

      Elle stepped out of her en suite bathroom to find Kingsley sitting on her bed, boots crossed at the ankle, looking smug and satiated. His collar was open and the vest unbuttoned. While she’d been in the shower he’d been in Juliette. His new lover received the lion’s share of Kingsley’s erotic attentions lately. Elle didn’t blame him. Juliette was easily the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen in her life, and she’d seen her fair share of beautiful women come and go from Kingsley’s bed. Juliette, however, seemed likely to stick around.

      “Yes, you mentioned that earlier. I won’t do it again.”

      “I know. You’ll make me proud. Eventually.”

      Elle smiled at him and then dropped the towel. Kingsley didn’t blink or say a word at her sudden nudity. He’d seen her naked before, but she noted his eyes narrowing as she walked past him. Not a look of ardor at all. He appraised her as she dressed in black panties, a black bra, a denim skirt that hugged her curves and a low-cut shirt.

      “You’ve gained weight,” he said.

      “Six pounds since coming back from the convent. If you’d had to eat convent food for a year, you’d go a little nuts with New York–style pizza, too. I promise I won’t gain any more.”

      “Don’t lose the weight. We’ll turn it into muscle.”

      “Don’t lose the weight? Those are the sexiest four words anyone has ever said to me.”

      “Money money money money.”

      “Those are the other four sexiest words anyone’s ever said to me.”

      “I didn’t come to seduce you. I came to invite you to a party. Not quite an invitation. Attendance is mandatory.”

      “What sort of party?”

      “The sort of party Milady will attend. We need to see her in action.”

      “You said nobody could know I was back yet.”

      “They won’t know. You’ll be in disguise. I don’t want you leaving the house between now and then, either.”

      “Sure. Of course. Whatever you say, boss.” She added the “boss” at the end more sarcastically than she meant.

      “Don’t get pissy at me because you fucked up,” he said, wagging his finger at her.

      “I’m not pissy because I fucked up.”

      “What is it?”

      She sighed. “This is harder than I thought it would be.”

      “Being a domme?” he asked.

      “Not being a sub.”

      “Not being his sub, you mean.”

      She nodded. Reluctantly.

      “You need to face him,” he said. “The longer you wait the harder it will be. You’ve been back two weeks. It’s time.”

      “I’ll go talk to him. Soon. I promise.”

      “Not today. I don’t want anyone knowing you’re back yet. No going out. Anywhere.”

      “Fine. I’ll be good. Happy?”

      “Good, chérie, is the last thing I want you to be.”

      He chucked her under the chin and left. A few minutes later Elle heard a soft knock on her bedroom door, which meant it wasn’t Kingsley returning. He never bothered knocking.

      Elle opened the door.

      “Juliette,” was all Elle could say. Beautiful, glorious, magnificent Juliette. Even Elle got a little tongue-tied around Kingsley’s consort.

      “Calliope brought in the mail. There’s something for you.”

      “For me?” She held out her hand and Juliette passed her a thick manila envelope.

       “C’est pour toi.”

      “Thanks.” She tossed it in a drawer.

      “You aren’t going to open it?” Juliette asked, her hands lifting gracefully in a question.

      “I’ll open it later.”

      “It’s from a literary agency,” Juliette said.

      “Yeah,