turn to handle cleanup.” He waved his hand at her, shooing her off his desk. She hopped off and pulled a box of tissues out of his desk.
“It’s always my turn to handle cleanup.”
“You’re so good at it.”
“Well, I can’t argue with that.” She knelt in front of him and used her tongue to gently lick him. It hurt. It always hurt to be touched after an orgasm. Pleasure and pain all in one act. He wasn’t satisfied until he’d had both.
When Blaise finished, she cleaned herself off with the tissues in his desk, got dressed and kissed him goodbye.
“That was fun. Want to go for round two tonight?” she asked.
“Please.”
“You’ll be sober?”
“No promises.”
Blaise rolled her eyes, kissed him again and left him alone in his office. Kingsley finished straightening his clothes and pulling himself back together. And then it happened the way it always happened. Thoughts. Memories. Things he wanted to forget but couldn’t all came rushing back into his mind. Life would be so much better if he could keep the blood in his cock and out of his brain all the time.
Kingsley unlocked the bottom drawer of his desk—the large one made to hold files—and took inventory of its contents. Eleven bottles of bourbon, two grams of cocaine, one ounce of marijuana, two bottles of pure codeine, ninety pills— one-hundred milligrams each—and one bottle of ketamine, because sometimes only a tranquilizer made for horses and the magical Wonderland it sent him falling into would do.
He reached for a bottle of the codeine, but his office door opened. Kingsley slammed the drawer shut and sat back in his chair.
“Do you never knock?” Kingsley asked.
“The moaning and groaning had stopped, and the walls have stopped rattling,” Søren said. “I assumed the coast was clear.”
“Clear for what? What are you doing here?”
“Fulfilling my end of the deal, like I said I would.”
“Are you here to yell at me again?” Kingsley asked as Søren walked in.
“I didn’t yell,” Søren said, taking a seat opposite Kingsley’s desk. “At no point did I raise my voice at you.”
“It felt like yelling.”
“Even the lightest touch can hurt an open wound. You can’t blame me for being worried about you.”
“Stop worrying. You aren’t my father.”
“I should hope not,” Søren said, furrowing his brow. “If so, my infant self has some explaining to do.”
“You aren’t my priest, either,” Kingsley said, although Søren didn’t look like a priest today. He wore his usual off-duty uniform of a long-sleeved black T-shirt and black pants.
“Why, Kingsley, aren’t we looking very defensive today.”
“Leave me alone.”
“I can’t do that. You asked me to teach you the whip trick. Here I am.”
“I asked you to teach me a whip trick?”
“I can’t say I’m surprised you don’t remember.”
“I remember.” Kingsley narrowed his eyes at him. Now that Søren had reminded him about it, he remembered.
“I can go if you’ve changed your mind,” Søren said, standing up.
“No. Sit. Don’t go.”
Søren looked at him and sat back down.
“I don’t do coke very often,” Kingsley said. “I was having a bad night. That’s all.”
“How many bad nights do you have?”
“One or two. Not many,” Kingsley said.
“I know I gave you the money with no strings attached. But I never suspected you’d use it for drugs.”
“You want the money back?”
“No. I want you to take better care of yourself. That’s all.”
“Take better care of myself? An interesting statement coming from the man who used to beat me black-and-blue on a regular basis. I see you’ve found some new whipping boys.”
“Whipping girls.”
“Only girls these days?” Kingsley asked.
“Only women. I’m less likely to go too far.”
“I loved it when you went too far.”
“And now,” Søren said with a smile, “you know why I don’t play with you.”
Kingsley lowered his head and rested his chin on his crossed arms.
“Kingsley?”
“What happened to you? You’re different,” Kingsley said.
“You want to know the truth?”
“I asked.”
“Her name is Magdalena.”
“Secret girlfriend?”
“She’s the madam of a Roman brothel. She and her employees cater to a very specific clientele.”
“Masochists?”
“Mostly.”
“That’s where you’ve been going to...” Kingsley waved his hand.
“It is.”
“Normal men join a gym to work off their extra energy,” Kingsley said. “So I’ve heard.”
“I’m not normal men. And don’t pretend you are, either.”
Kingsley rolled his eyes, waved his hand again. “So she’s your friend and...?”
“My first two years of seminary were difficult. I’m not sure I would have made it without Magdalena. I owe her, but she refused to accept any form of remuneration from me.”
“I’ve known a lot of prostitutes. Never heard of one refusing money from a john. Of course, it’s you, and I’d pay you money for another—”
“Kingsley, she and I never slept together. We were friends. I learned from her.”
“You learned how to knock a cigarette out of someone’s mouth with a whip?”
“One
