The Last Good Knight Part III: The Games Destiny Plays

The Last Good Knight Part III: The Games Destiny Plays
Tiffany Reisz

The Last Good Knight: An Original Sinners novella told in five parts.

Part III: The Games Destiny Plays

Shocked to see Nora’s bruises, Lance is furious that she put herself in danger and demands to know where she got them. As Nora confesses her true nature, she’s equally shocked to learn that Lance has some secrets of his own, drawing them together despite Kingsley’s orders....

The Last Good Knight

Part III: The Games Destiny Plays

Tiffany Reisz

An Original Sinners Story

Told in Five Parts

www.spice-books.co.uk (http://www.spice-books.co.uk)

Dedication

Dedicated to the brave men and women who serve in the U.S. Navy.

You all are my knights in occasionally wet armor.

And to Tommy and Elizabeth.

About the Author

Tiffany Reisz’s books inhabit a sexy, shadowy world where erotica, romance and gothic literature meet and do immoral and possibly illegal things to each other. The first book in her international bestselling series The Original Sinners was named the RT Reviewers’ Choice Award for Best Erotic Romance. She is a very bad Catholic. Visit her website, www.tiffanyreisz.com (http://www.tiffanyreisz.com), for news, gossip and wholly inappropriate bedtime stories.

Contents

The Games Destiny Plays (#u31fe8aae-3c15-5705-b597-6d70274ba58d)

“Don’t look at me like that,” Nora said as she stepped into his kitchen.

“How am I looking at you?” Søren closed the door behind her and locked it. She shucked off her coat and sat on the edge of the kitchen table.

“Like you’ve been expecting me.”

“I was expecting you. I knew you’d want to talk about Natasha. I saw it in your eyes last night at Kingsley’s.”

“Ha,” she said as Søren came to her and stood in front of her. “Shows how much you know. I don’t want to talk about Natasha.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. Now late evening, he’d abandoned his clerics for normal clothes—black long-sleeved T-shirt, black jeans. Even off-duty he couldn’t get away from all black. She saw a glass of wine on the kitchen counter and smelled a fire burning in his fireplace. Briefly she wondered if she’d interrupted him entertaining someone. But no, it was one glass of wine—not two—on the counter. They were alone, and she was ashamed of her relief.

“Is that so?” he asked. “Then what do you want to talk about, Eleanor?”

“Nothing,” she said as she raised her mouth to him for a kiss. “Nothing at all.”

Søren didn’t seem to care if they talked tonight or not. She kissed him first, but he kissed her harder, deeper, and with such desperate possessiveness she almost forgot she didn’t belong to him anymore—a dangerous sort of amnesia. Nora could have stopped him with a word but the only word that passed her lips came in the form of a question.

“Bedroom?”

“Now,” Søren ordered and in seconds they’d reached the top of his stairs. Once there he lifted her off the floor, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, her legs around his back. As a Dominatrix she had to be strong, all the time. Men submitted to her, feared her, knelt at her feet and worshipped her. Tonight she needed to be his, needed to submit, needed to be the one on her knees. So she’d come to Søren, the one man she gave up her power to, if only for the night.

“Hurt me,” she begged and he slammed her back into the wall with bruising force. His kisses were equally bruising. He bit at her bottom lip and she tasted blood.

He let her down and the moment her feet touched the floor his hand grabbed the back of her neck with a vicious, merciless grip. In the open doorway of his bedroom, he shoved her to her knees, exactly where she wanted to be. Impossibly strong fingers dug into her skin as she rested her forehead against his hip. She breathed through the pain, breathed through it and into it, not fighting it. She had come here tonight for the pain, for the surrender, for the chance to forget everything she didn’t want to remember.

“Now,” he said again and the one word constituted all the instruction she needed. She opened his pants and took him into her mouth. Even as she sucked him, licked and caressed him with her lips and tongue, he gripped her neck. She clung to the fabric of his shirt with both hands as she made herself a willing slave. She’d left him, and no matter how often he reminded her of how much she missed him, she never admitted it to him. But here and now on her knees in front of him, she admitted it to herself.

She pushed his shirt up. The muscles of his hard stomach tightened as she scratched deep, scoring his skin with her fingernails. Like many sadists she knew, he had a love for pain that manifested in borderline masochism. He’d never allow himself to be dominated but he’d take any pain she gave him during sex without complaint. Sex was at its most potent to them both when spiked with pain.

He thrust his hips forward and she almost choked on him. Søren could be gentle in the bedroom but only after he’d unleashed his sadism on her. And they’d only just begun to play this game.

Without warning he pulled her to her feet and turned her back to him. He wrenched her skirt up, pushed her black lace underwear down, and shoved his fingers inside her from behind. Bracing herself against the doorframe, she closed her eyes and forced herself to remain perfectly still as he pried her open. She grew wet against his hand, wet enough he laughed at her body’s eagerness.

“Bastard,” she said under her breath but still loud enough for him to hear.

“Watch your language, Eleanor. You’re never too old for me to turn you over my knee.”

“Spank me all you want, just fuck me first. Please.”

“Please what?”

Nora rested her forehead against her crossed arms.

“Please...sir.” Sir Asshole, she said in her head. “Please fuck me.”

“I will...but you’ll pay for it. Now or later?”

“Later.” She knew if she let him flog her or cane her now, it would be over in minutes. Later he would be calmer, colder, and the pain would drag on and on. Bargaining for sex from Søren was as dangerous as dealing with the devil. He’d give her what she asked for but payback would be hell.

“You might regret that decision,” he said into her ear. “In fact, I’ll make sure of it.”

He withdrew his fingers from of her and dragged her down to the floor, pushing her onto her back, and draping her ankles over his shoulders. Nora groaned as he entered her, relishing that feeling of completeness she experienced only with him. His thrusts were punishing but she didn’t care. She loved the pain that was proof of his passion, loved the bruises a night with him left behind on her body.

Her body filled up with each thrust and emptied as he pulled out. Every new push into her left Nora gasping, grasping for release. With only the hardwood floor underneath her, she could cling to nothing but empty air.

Soon she fell into the rhythm of his thrusts as she opened up completely to him. He touched no part of her but her hips where he gripped her. She felt like nothing more than a hole, a sheath, a body to be used. Søren topped other women, but he never had sex with them. He beat them, broke them, and if they were very good girls he might allow them to receive his come on their backs. Only with her did he share his body; she knew it had been months since he’d had sex. She felt his need, his hunger, even his loneliness with every thrust. She took the pain because it was the only thing she could take from him. Not his love. Not anymore.

One glass of wine on the kitchen counter. What would she have felt if had been two? Would the day come when he stopped waiting for her to come back to him? Would the night come when he took another lover finally and left her in the past? Part of her feared that night more than anything else. Another part of her wished he’d hurry up and do it already so they could both move on.

Nora didn’t pay any attention to how long he stayed inside her. He didn’t come, nor did he allow her to. When aroused enough he could fuck forever, but not even forever would be long enough for her.

“Clothes off,” he ordered after he’d caught his breath. “End of the bed.”

Nora stripped out of her sweater, bra, skirt, boots and stockings in record time. She’d made the deal with him—sex now, payment later. Later was now. Now was later.

She waited naked at the foot of the bed breathing into herself. A sleepiness overtook her, a heaviness. When Søren buckled cuffs around her ankles and wrists, she put up no resistance. She became lethargic, listless. Her joints felt loose as if she stood in warm water and not in the bedroom of a sadist. A dozen years of practice had brought her to the place where the threat of erotic pain caused her body to relax instead of tensing.

Søren cuffed her ankles to a two-foot spreader bar, cuffed her arms over her head to the bedpost. When the first blow of the cane landed on the back of her thighs, she barely flinched.

The cane was first. Then the flogger. Cane again—the smaller one that left the vicious little welts instead of the big bruises. After that a heavier flogging. Then the belt, that unholy bitch of a leather belt.

Then nothing. Nora hung from her bonds, her muscles limp even as her body burned from the hour of pain she’d endured. When Søren unlocked her, she nearly sank onto the floor. But he caught her and laid her on the bed. For the privilege of watching him undress, she managed to open her eyes. Everyone in the Underground had seen Kingsley naked at some point or other. His French sensibilities precluded any body shame. Only when covered in the bruises and welts she’d inflicted on him, was Kingsley careful to keep his clothes on, even during sex. And she...back in her submissive days she’d been fucked in public view at The 8th Circle so many times she’d lost count. But no one but Nora got to see Søren completely naked these days except for his one and only lover—her.

He unbuttoned his jeans slowly as she lay there watching him.

“Stop being such a tease,” she said, a tired smile crossing her face.

“I can’t imagine to what you are referring...” he said, dropping his hands.

Nora rolled up onto her hands and knees and crawled across the bed to him.

“I am referring,” she said as she took his wrists in her hands, raised his arms and yanked his shirt off, “to the fact that you are stalling, sir. You know I’m dying here for you.”