The Virgin

He went back into his closet and found the bag he’d taken with him to Haiti. He hadn’t unpacked it. And it was still there.

From a locked box on the highest shelf he pulled out a knife he’d carried on many of his missions when he was still ostensibly in La Legion.

When he returned to the bed, Juliette sat up. Even naked she looked elegant and regal, powerful, graceful. She was everything he’d ever wanted in a woman right here. And he would never let her go.

He set the bag on the bed and opened it. From it he took the black belt that had been his own souvenir from his nights with Søren back in their school days. Søren had beaten Kingsley with the belt and Kingsley had beaten Juliette with it. It had wounded them both so it would do for a collar. He wrapped it around her neck and with the tip of the knife put a hole where the buckle would fit. After measuring her neck, he sawed through the leather with the blade cutting off the excess. He wrapped it around her neck again and this time, he buckled it.

“There,” he said, admiring her graceful neck now adorned by the black leather collar. “Perfect.”

He slipped his finger between the leather of the collar and her skin. Tugging it, he brought her forward, closer...closer... She took the hint, slid out of bed onto her knees and took him into her mouth.

It was going to be a good week.

At midnight, after he and Juliette had surrendered to sleep at last, Kingsley awoke from his sex-and kink-induced stupor and had the shockingly pleasant sensation of being happy to be awake. Juliette was sound asleep next to him in his bed, the chain around her ankle dangling out from under the sheets and onto the floor. She was his. Tied to him, chained to him, collared to him...all his. And she’d promised to have his children someday when she was ready.

He touched Juliette’s face and she stirred in her sleep and smiled. There...if he could keep his eyes on her and what they could have together, maybe in time the emptiness he felt in Elle’s absence would scab over and heal and she would be one more scar in a long line of scars he bore on his body and in his heart.

But Kingsley didn’t want her to be a scar. A scar was a memory of pain. He wanted the pain.

To sleeping Juliette he whispered a promise. “My Jewel, I can’t give you my whole heart. But the part of it I can give you is the part that isn’t scarred and isn’t broken. I’ll give you the best of me and protect you from the worst for the rest of my life.”

He moved to kiss her. He wanted to wake her with kisses and fuck her again. He’d warned her he’d take her whenever he felt like it, and he was determined to keep that promise.

Before his lips could touch hers, he heard something.

His doorbell.

Kingsley rolled onto his back and groaned.

Who the fuck was at his door in the middle of the night?

And when had he turned into the sort of man who asked himself who the fuck was at his door in the middle of the night?

Calliope was right. It was too quiet around the town house. He should change that.

Kingsley dragged himself reluctantly away from Juliette’s body. He pulled on his pants and his shirt and left his bedroom. On his way to the stairs, he glanced left at a closed bedroom door. Behind the door sat an empty room that had once been Elle’s. It had been Søren’s idea for her to move in, not that Søren had told her that. He wanted her protected, watched, wanted her somewhere safe. A fool’s quest, and Søren should have known that better than anyone. Safety was an illusion. One moment you were having some of the best sex of your life on the roof of a luxurious Riverside Drive town house. The next moment you’re throwing your guts up in a toilet and facing the scariest decision of your life. He would do better with Juliette. He’d take better care of her. No one knew how much she meant to him, and so no one would be tempted to take him from her.

On his way down the stairs he saw Calliope in her bathrobe walking to the door.

“I got it,” she said, calling up to him. “You can go back to bed.”

“Best idea I’ve heard all night,” he said, glad to see Calliope was safe at home from her date already. He turned around and started up the stairs again.

Then he heard a laugh, and such a laugh it was. A laugh that turned the lights back on.

“Good to see you again, too, kid,” Elle said. Kingsley slowly turned around and saw Elle wrapped in Calliope’s arms being hugged half to death.

His stomach dropped and he had to grab the stair railing for support. Behind him he heard Calliope talking in rapid, breathless tones. Her voice had gone up an entire octave. She’d wake the dogs if she didn’t calm down.

He stood on the first-floor landing and looked down on the sight of Elle in his house. Right there. Before his eyes. She looked up at him and gave him a smile.

“Hi,” she said to him.

“My office,” he said. “Now.”

Her smile disappeared and the mask of obedience she wore when submitting came down over her face. She started up the stairs following behind him, not speaking.

Once in his office he turned on a small Tiffany lamp. He pointed at the chair in front of his desk.

“Sit,” he ordered. He wasn’t sure why he was being so imperious and dictatorial except that he couldn’t bear the thought of her running away again.

Elle sat in the chair. He sat on the edge of the desk in front of her. He wanted to tower over her, and he did.

“Why are you back?” he asked.

“I need a job.”

“You’re here asking for a job?”