Little Red Riding Crop

Part 2

As soon as she walked outside a raindrop hit her forehead. Not wanting to ruin her leather she skipped nimbly down the front steps toward a silver stretch Rolls Royce idling in front of the station. A driver stepped out and opened the door for her. Throwing herself inside, Nora landed across the lap of a man reclining on the wide back seat.

The man raised his eyebrow and looked down at her as she pulled herself into a sitting position. Slowly the Rolls pulled away from the curb and still the man didn’t speak. Fine, if he wanted a staring competition, he’d get a staring competition. Nora locked her eyes on his and waited. She could do this forever if she had to. After all, there weren’t many men in New York, hell, even the world more fun to stare at than Kingsley Edge. Long dark hair held back tonight in a ponytail, deep brown eyes, olive skin...In his long military coat, embroidered vest, and riding boots he looked so damn handsome she wanted to slap him for it. But she refrained. Kingsley would like that too much.

“What?” she demanded when he still hadn’t spoken after a whole thirty seconds of their staring contest.

“Ma cherie...I do not know what to do with you.”

Even worse than being handsome, he had that fucking French accent she had to put up with.

“Do with me? I didn’t do anything other than my job. Not my fault the maid overheard the ambassador screaming like a banshee.”

“You broke the skin.”

Nora shook her head and looked out the back window. Behind them she saw an SUV with a nice, normal-looking husband at the wheel and a perfectly plain wife pointing out something from the passenger seat. Their two-point-five kids probably sat in the backseat with little baggies of Cheerios and their crayons. Normal people, Nora told herself. Normal people did not have these kinds of conversations with their bosses.

She was so glad she wasn’t normal people.

“He tips better when you make him bleed.”

“You went too far tonight,” Kingsley said, crossing one long leg over the other. “I want to know why.”

With reluctance Nora turned her eyes back to his.

“I’ve just been...stressed. Guess I took it out on His Ambassadorness.”

Kingsley reached out and rested his hand on her knee right where the top of her boot met her thigh. The feel of his fingers on her skin caused her to take a quick breath, a quick breath that Kingsley clearly heard.

“Stressed, ma cherie? Or frustrated?” He let his hand trail an inch higher up her leg.

“Frustrated,” she confessed. “I work all the time, King. I don’t have any time for...myself.”

Nora’s stomach tightened as Kingsley’s low sensual laugh filled the back of the car.

“How old are you?” Kingsley asked.

“You know how old I am.”

“Answer me.”

Nora exhaled noisily.

“Thirty-one.”

“Thirty-one years old...and the most beautiful woman in New York. There’s no reason you should be sleeping alone.”

“Other than the fact that a certain someone works me constantly so I can’t get a single day off.”

In a good week Nora could make ten to fifteen thousand dollars off her rich and kinky clients. In two years Kingsley had turned her into the most in-demand Dominatrix in America. Some clients flew in from across the country or even in from other countries for a few hours of her time. With Kingsley getting fifteen percent of every penny she made, he kept her dance card as full as possible. And she was starting to get sick of it.

“You exag-”

“I haven’t had sex with someone other than myself in two months.”

Kingsley’s eyes widened in shock. If Kingsley went even two days without sex...no, pointless train of thought. Kingsley would never go two days without sex.

“Two months? Quelle horreur, ma cherie. Surely there’s something I can do to make it up to you...”

“A day off would do. Or two. Or...”

“Or...?”

Kingsley brought his other hand between her knees and eased her thighs apart.

“King...” Nora said in a warning tone, a warning Kingsley didn’t heed. He brought his mouth down and kissed her bare thigh. Slowly he pushed her skirt higher with his mouth.

“I’m at your service, Maîtresse,” he whispered against her skin.