IN DOUBT, Kingsley fucked.
And ever since Søren had caught him taking drugs, he’d been drowning in self-doubt. Now he was drowning in Blaise’s body, a vastly superior body to drown in. She’d made the mistake of looking much too attractive today when she stopped by his office to say good morning. But she hadn’t complained when he’d slipped his hand under her skirt, and she certainly wasn’t complaining now that he had her straddling him in his large leather desk chair.
“You’re in a good mood today,” Blaise said as she unbuttoned his collar. She dipped her head and kissed his lips, his neck.
“I have you on top of me. Of course I’m in a good mood.” He skimmed his fingers down her throat and into the V of her blouse.
“If you were inside me, you’d be in an even better mood.”
“Are you sure about that?” Kingsley asked. He slid his hands under her skirt and massaged her soft thighs.
“Only one way to find out, isn’t there?” Blaise bit his earlobe and whispered. “S’il vous plait, monsieur.”
“Since you ask so nicely...”
Blaise laughed as Kingsley stood up without warning and sat her down hard on the edge of his desk. He hiked her skirt up to her hips, and Blaise tensed.
“Something wrong, chouchou?” he asked.
“I love this skirt. Just don’t tear it. Please?”
“If I did, I would replace it for you.”
“It belonged to Bette Davis.”
“You and your outfits...”
Kingsley dragged her off the desk and turned her back to him. Carefully, so as not to tear the vintage fabric, he pulled the tiny zipper down and slid the skirt down her legs. She stepped out of it, and he laid it over the back of his chair.
“Are you wearing anything else that belongs to a dead actress?”
“Everything else on me or in me is fair game.”
“Good.” Kingsley tore her panties off but left her still wearing her stockings and garters. Then he spanked her hard on her bare bottom, hard enough she yelped. He did love that sound. He swatted her again even harder this time, then snapped her garter against the back of her thigh. Her skin pinked beautifully. But he preferred red, so he spanked her again.
“You’re evil,” Blaise said as she hung her head and panted in pain. “How do you make a spanking hurt that much?”
“Practice,” Kingsley said, and swatted her again. “You know you love it.”
“I hate it.”
“Are you sure about that?” Kingsley pressed her legs apart and pushed a finger inside her. “This doesn’t feel like hate to me.”
She was wet inside, very wet, and hot.
“My pussy loves you. Every other part of me hates you right now.”
“Every other part?” He brought his arm around her waist and found her swollen clitoris. He kneaded it gently.
“Okay...maybe not every other part,” Blaise said breathlessly, her lips parting. She braced herself against his desk while he touched her, one hand inside, one outside. He pushed a third finger into her vagina and opened her up for him. Blaise let out a groan of pleasure that was likely heard by everyone in the entire house. Good. He hadn’t bothered to lock his office door. Blaise’s inability to stay quiet during sex worked better than any tie on a doorknob.
“Where’s my camera when I need it?” Kingsley asked as he pushed deeper into her body until her inner muscles flinched around him. “You make quite a picture right now.”
“How’s this for a pose?” Blaise parted her legs even more, giving him a better look at all her assets.
“Très jolie,” he said with appreciation. “But this would make a better picture.”
“What would?”
Kingsley picked her up and sat her on top of his desk. He stripped her of her blouse and bra and pushed her thighs open. She had nothing on now but her stockings, her garters and a pair of high heels. Kingsley admired her body so open and ready for him.
“Parfait.”
Kingsley unzipped his pants and stroked himself to his full hardness. He let the wet tip of his cock rub against Blaise’s clitoris. She moaned and lifted her hips.
“You’re going to make me beg for it, aren’t you?” she asked.
“Don’t I always?”
“Always,” she said. “Please, fuck me.”
“Not good enough.”
Blaise sighed heavily. “Please, monsieur, fuck me. You’re the most beautiful man in New York City and maybe the entire tri-state area.”
“That’s a new one.”
“I love your hair, how soft it is, and your dark eyes. And you have the sexiest hands on any man ever.”
“Hands?”
“I like hands,” Blaise said. “It’s a girl thing.”
“Anything else?” he asked.
“Um...I love your accent, and your cock is magnificent, and if you don’t put it in me soon I will cry and it’ll ruin my makeup and it’ll be all your fault, so please fuck me now, right now, this second, or I swear to God I will forget I’m the submissive in this relationship.”
Kingsley penetrated her with one hard stroke. Blaise’s head fell back, and she lifted her hips off the desk taking him all the way into her. With a jerk of his hips he pulled out and slammed into her again. He grasped her breasts in his hands and squeezed them, lightly pinching her nipples as she writhed beneath him. She was burning up on the inside and wet enough he could hear it as he moved in her. He watched himself fucking her. With the pad of his thumb he rubbed her where their bodies joined. Blaise stiffened with pleasure and grasped the edge of his desk to steady herself. Her skin flushed red, and her nipples hardened. Inside her and all around him she pulsed with her building climax.
He was nothing now but a body. Nothing now but sex. He didn’t think, didn’t remember, didn’t need, didn’t doubt himself because he didn’t exist—not when he was fucking. He’d fuck constantly if he could. Anything to keep the memoire at bay. Anything to keep the world at bay.
With a quick yank of his hands, Kingsley dragged Blaise closer to the edge of the desk. He pushed her thighs back, wider and closer to her chest. When she was as open for him as she could be and he as deep inside her as possible, he ordered her to come for him. She grabbed his wrists and squeezed them to the point of pain the way he liked, and she came hard, her shoulders rising off the desk, her hips moving wildly against him, her voice nothing but a series of sharp desperate breaths. When she was done, Kingsley wrapped his
