Perfect... Her mouth was so wet and warm. She rubbed him with her talented tongue and sucked hard. The pressure built in him, and he lifted his hips into her mouth, small undulations that set every nerve inside him alight. He wove his fingers into her hair, seeking connection with the woman who did this erotic kindness to him.

She paused and used her hand on him, rubbing the shaft from base to tip, squeezing and stoking him to greater pleasure.

“I love your cock,” she whispered before lapping at the wet tip. “I love how big it is. I love how it tastes.”

“You’re too kind. Keep it up, chouchou, and I’ll give you the honor of swallowing.”

Blaise grinned seductively at him. “You keep it up, and I’ll keep it up.” She gave him a dirty wink before resuming her task. She sucked even harder now, deeper, and he grew painfully hard. She swirled her tongue around him, up and down, over and over. With her gentle fingertips she eased his foreskin back and lapped at the tip so skillfully his back arched in the shock of pleasure.

A deep muscle tightened in his lower stomach. He felt blood pooling, pressure building. His heart raced, and his fingers dug into the fabric of the chaise lounge. For a few more seconds he held off, trying to prolong the release, wanting to put off as long as possible the return to bitter reality. Blaise sucked him, stroked him, coaxed him, pulled him to the depths of her throat. He hovered at the edge of orgasm, breathing through his nose as Blaise continued to work on him, taking ownership of him with her mouth. She took him deep and massaged his testicles with her tongue. She pulled back to the tip again, and Kingsley came hard into her mouth, spasm after spasm of pleasure washing over him as he spurted his semen into her welcoming throat.

Like the good girl she was, Blaise swallowed every drop of him before releasing him from her mouth. She kissed her way up to his lips, and he tasted himself on her tongue.

“Are you in a good mood now?” she asked, wiping her mouth with one of the towels stacked next to them.

“Better,” Kingsley said. “For now.”

Blaise groaned in frustration.

“You are the king of top drop.”

“You’re making up words again.”

“Top drop. It’s that funk dominants fall into after the scene’s over. You brood.”

“Brooding is my version of afterglow.”

“Call the priest. You’re in a better mood when he’s around. He doesn’t brood like you do.”

“He invented brooding. He holds the patent on brooding. He gets royalties whenever anyone broods. You just haven’t seen him do it yet.”

“Call him,” Blaise said, poking him in the chest.

“I don’t want to. I don’t like him anymore.”

Blaise exhaled and shook her head in abject disgust.

“You lying French asshole. You called him your ‘oldest and dearest friend’ right in front of me. I was there.”

“I was being sarcastic.”

“Then what is he?” Blaise asked, annoyed. He did love to ruffle her glamorous feathers.

“My dead sister’s widowed husband.”

Blaise’s eyes widened hugely.

“I didn’t know you had a sister.”

“I don’t anymore. Told you, she’s dead. He was married to her for a few weeks before she flung herself off a cliff, and her body broke into two pieces. Sheered her face off, too.”

“Oh, Jesus.” Blaise clapped a hand over her mouth as if she were about to be sick.

Kingsley picked up his bottle of bourbon.

“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “It was a long time ago.”

“Kingsley...I had no idea.”

“And now you know why I drink.”

He took a sip, then a second one.

“I hoped it was because you loved the taste of bourbon.” She tried to smile at him, tried and failed.

“Love it? I hate this shit.”

Blaise leaned over and kissed him again—not on the mouth but on his forehead like a mother kissing her child.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered before slipping off the chaise and leaving him alone by the pool. A gentle and sensitive soul, she’d probably run off to cry somewhere. Good thing she left. Last thing he wanted to see was a woman in tears. He’d seen more than enough of that in his life.

Alone again with his bourbon he drank. He drank until he felt safe enough to sleep. The alcohol never turned off the nightmares, but it did mute them. Tonight, however, he hadn’t drunk quite enough to achieve the desired effect. This time he was back in the hospital, his mind alive and active, his body motionless, inert, dying. If he could get a word out, then maybe someone would realize he was aware inside the tomb his body had become.

All he wanted to do was scream.

In his nightmare, his mind screamed, and his mouth remained mute.

He woke up covered in water.

Water?

11

KINGSLEY COUGHED AND sputtered. His eyes finally flew open as water rose and thrashed all around him.

“What the fuck?” He wasn’t sure if he spoke in English or French, wasn’t sure he even spoke out loud.

“Kingsley. Look at me.”

“Non.”

“Kingsley. Right now. Do as I say.”

“I don’t take orders from you anymore.” Kingsley sank down into the water before a strong hand hauled him back up.

Søren gripped his neck hard enough to penetrate the shield his body had become.