The King by Tiffany Reisz
Summary:
Cunning. Sex. Pure nerve.
Only this potent threesome can raise him to his rightful place as ruler of
Manhattan's kink kingdom.
Bouncing from bed to bed on
the Upper East Side—handsomely paid in both bills and blackmail fodder—Kingsley
Edge is brilliant, beautiful and utterly debauched. No carnal act or chemical
compound can relieve his self-destructive apathy—only Søren, the one person he
loves without limit or regret. A man he can never have, but in whose hands
Kingsley is reborn to attain even greater heights of sin. He plans to open the
ultimate BDSM club: a dungeon playground for New York's A-list that'll change
the scene forever.
The club becomes Kingsley's obsession—and he's enlisted some tough-as-nails help. His new assistant Sam is smart, secretive and totally immune to seduction (by men, at least). She and Kingsley make a wicked team. Still, their combined—and considerable—expertise in domination can't subdue the man who would kill their dream. The enigmatic Reverend Fuller won't rest until King's dream is destroyed. It's one man's sacred mission against another's….
The club becomes Kingsley's obsession—and he's enlisted some tough-as-nails help. His new assistant Sam is smart, secretive and totally immune to seduction (by men, at least). She and Kingsley make a wicked team. Still, their combined—and considerable—expertise in domination can't subdue the man who would kill their dream. The enigmatic Reverend Fuller won't rest until King's dream is destroyed. It's one man's sacred mission against another's….
About Tiffany:
Tiffany Reisz is the author of
the internationally bestselling and award-winning Original Sinners series for
Mira Books (Harlequin/Mills & Boon). Tiffany's books inhabit a sexy
shadowy world where romance, erotica and literature meet and do immoral and
possibly illegal things to each other. She describes her genre as
"literary friction," a term she stole from her main character, who
gets in trouble almost as often as the author herself.
She lives in Portland,
Oregon. If she couldn't write, she would die.
Purchase Links:
Excerpt from The King:
“How much trouble am I in for getting out of the car without
permission?” Kingsley asked.
“None,” Søren said, and Kingsley was wildly disappointed.
“Let’s go. We can make it back to school by tonight.”
Kingsley followed him back to the car. The driver opened the
door for them. When they were alone again, Kingsley said, “Or…”
“Or what?” Søren demanded.
“Or we could find a hotel and fuck in a real bed for once.”
“We’re not on a date. And here I was wondering where the
real Kingsley had gone.”
“What do you mean?” he asked as the driver opened the car
door for them. He slipped inside and Søren followed. They were on the road
again before Søren answered.
“When you were with Claire—I wasn’t sure you were the same
Kingsley I know and barely tolerate.”
“Why? Because I like kids?”
“You were good with her.”
“Kids are fun,” he said. What else was there to say?
“I never considered you would like children.”
“Well…I do. So what?”
“Nothing,” Søren said, laughing to himself. “Nothing at
all.”
“I know you see me as some kind of pervert,” Kingsley said.
“But believe or not, I am a human being. Yes, I like kids. I might want kids
someday. I don’t have much of a family anymore. If I want a family I’ll have to
make my own. Sometimes I have thoughts that don’t have anything to do with sex.
I’m not just your toy, you know. I have feelings and—”
His impassioned “I have feelings” speech ended abruptly when
Søren grabbed him hard by the back of the hair and brought his mouth down in a
brutal kiss. Kingsley almost pulled away so he could finish his tirade before
realizing he wanted the kiss so much more than the fight.
Kingsley returned the kiss with equal and greater passion.
Søren yanked Kingsley’s jacket off him and threw it on the floorboard. Kingsley
pulled his own shirt off and rolled on to his back on the bench seat. He’d
remember the sensation of leather on his bare back all his life.
“Have you ever had sex in the back of a Rolls Royce?”
Kingsley asked, trying not to rip Søren’s shirt in his rush to unbutton it. He needed
Søren’s skin on his skin right now.
“No,” Søren said. “But ask me that question again in an
hour.”
Before Kingsley could respond to that, Søren grabbed his
wrists, pinned them over Kingsley’s head and kissed him again—deeper, slower,
but no less punitive. Kingsley groaned, and Søren slapped a hand over his
mouth.
“Quiet,” Søren said into Kingsley’s ear. “We aren’t alone,
and I’ll gag you until you choke if I have to. Understand?”
Kingsley nodded against Søren’s hand. A curtain and
partition separated them from the driver. He couldn’t see them, but if they
were loud enough, he could hear them. He’d disobeyed Søren’s orders to stay in
the car, he’d yelled at him and talked back. He was going to get it this time.
Good.
Søren kissed him again. Kingsley kept his sounds of pleasure
to a minimum even when Søren reached between their bodies, unzipped Kingsley’s
pants, and stroked him hard. Every muscle in Kingsley’s stomach tightened. He
sucked in his breath sharply from the shock of pleasure. It took every bit of
self-control not to moan audibly.
“You like this?” Søren asked.
“God, yes, so much,” Kingsley said, lifting his hips against
Søren’s hand. He spoke in French and English. He was about to lose control of
more than his language skills if Søren didn’t stop touching him like that.
“I think you like it too much.” Søren rose up on his knees
and looked down at Kingsley.
“I don’t. I really don’t. I like it exactly as much as you
want me to.”
“You’re pathetic when you’re turned on.”
“I am so pathetic right now.”
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