Kitabı oku: «Little Red Riding Crop»
Praise for Tiffany Reisz
‘A beautiful, lyrical story … The Siren is about love lost and found, the choices that make us who we are … I can only hope Ms Reisz pens a sequel!’ —Bestselling author Jo Davis
‘Mind-bendingly original and crammed with more sin
than you can shake a hot poker at. I haven’t read a book
this dangerous and subversive since Chuck Palahniuk’s
Fight Club.’ —Andrew Shaffer, author of Great Philosophers Who Failed at Love
‘Tiffany Reisz is a smart, artful and masterful new voice
in erotic fiction. An erotica star on the rise!’
—Award-winning author Lacey Alexander
‘Daring, sophisticated and literary … exactly what good
erotica should be.’
—Kitty Thomas, author of Tender Mercies
‘Dazzling, devastating and sinfully erotic, Reisz writes
unforgettable characters you’ll either want to know
or want to be.’
—Miranda Baker, author of Bottoms Up and Soloplay
“The best erotica either leaves slut-marks on your back
or a bruise on your heart. The Siren does both and I wish I’d written it.” —Scarlett Parrish, author of By the Book
About the Author
TIFFANY REISZ lives in Lexington, Kentucky. She graduated with a BA in English from Centre College and is making her parents and her professors proud by writing erotica under her real name. She has five piercings, one tattoo and has been arrested twice. When not under arrest, Tiffany enjoys Latin dance, Latin men, and Latin verbs. She dropped out of a conservative seminary in order to pursue her dream of becoming a smut peddler. If she couldn’t write, she would die.
Little Red Riding Crop
Tiffany Reisz
MILLS & BOON
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Rookies.
Nora rolled her eyes as she lifted her handcuffed wrists and pretended to scratch her ear. Most days she cursed her unruly black hair for its mass of waves and curls that took an hour to tame. But she loved it on days like these.
With a quick flick of her fingers she removed a hair pin and surreptitiously bent it into the perfect shape. In less than five seconds she’d popped the handcuffs open just as Detective Cooper dropped into his chair behind the desk.
Flashing her dark green eyes at him, Nora threw her booted legs up onto his desk, crossed her feet at the ankles, and tossed the cuffs at him.
Cooper hadn’t walked the beat years but he still had his street reflexes. The wickedly handsome detective caught the cuffs with the tip of his fingers.
“Seriously, Nora.” He held the handcuffs up, “do you want to get locked up?”
She cocked her head to the side and smiled at him.
“Isn’t that the question I usually ask you, Coop?” With a groan, Cooper rubbed his forehead. She’d never seen a black man blush so thoroughly before. Part of her wanted to crawl over his desk and kiss him just to make the public humiliation complete. A petite but stacked white Dominatrix in red leather knee-high boots, a red and black mini-skirt with a matching corset crawling across the desk of a six-foot-tall tough-as-nails police detective and giving him a kiss on the tip of his nose? The temptation to out Detective Cooper as a secret male submissive nearly overwhelmed her. But she restrained herself. Number one, she liked Cooper and wouldn’t do that to such a nice guy. And number two, she was a professional. No freebies for anyone.
“Nora …” He sat back in his chair and studied her with a mix of half-hearted disgust and barely disguised amusement. “You can’t take off the cuffs yourself. It’s considered resisting arrest.”
“Then tell your damn rookies that when they arrest a professional Dominatrix they might want to cuff her hands behind her back instead of in front.”
“Would that have really stopped you?”
Nora thought about it a moment.
“Probably not. But it would have slowed me down. Can I go now?”
“In a hurry?”
“Places to go. People to beat. And you and I both know I didn’t do anything wrong. S&M is not illegal in the state of New York.”
Cooper opened a file nearly as tall as his coffee mug–her file.
“The maid who stopped by the house to pick up her cell phone and heard ‘gut-wrenching screams,’ as she called them, would beg to differ.”
“The maid wasn’t paying to get the shit beat out of her. My client was. Only he can press charges, and he won’t because he’s scared of me. He pays extra to be scared of me. So I’m going, right? You’re letting me go, aren’t you? Say, ‘Yes, Mistress.’”
Cooper sighed heavily.
“Coop. Say it,” Nora ordered.
“Fine. Yes, Mistress. You’re free to go,” he said and Nora pulled her legs off the desk and started to stand up. “The boss man is outside waiting on you anyway.”
She collapsed into the chair again.
“Cuffs, put them on me. Now. Slammer. Lock and key. Never let me out. Please, please, please, Coop. This is me begging you. Record it. You’ll never hear it again.”
“That bad, eh?”
Nora sighed dramatically, put on a pout, and sunk deep into the chair.
“He’s going to yell at me.”
Cooper rolled his dark eyes at her.
“Nora … grow up. You’re a Dominatrix. Have some dignity.”
“But he’s got the sexy French accent and the whole ‘I’m very disappointed in you’ thing, and I just can’t handle that right now.”
Nora turned pleading eyes to the detective.
“Go. Out.” He waved his hand at the door. “Scoot before you embarrass me even more.”
With a growl, Nora rose out of the chair and glared down at Cooper, giving him her best Dominant stare.
“We still on for Thursday at eight?” she asked.
“Oh, hell yes,” Cooper broke into a smile.
She grabbed her toy bag from the floor by his desk and flung it over her shoulder. “Later, Coop. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“We figure out what that was yet?” he called out after her.
Nora hit the police station hallway.
“Nope.”
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 stretched 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 chérie … 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 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 chérie? 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, chérie.”
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.
“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 line of thinking. Kingsley would never go two days without sex.
“Two months? Quelle horreur, ma chérie. 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 knee. Slowly he pushed her skirt higher with his mouth.
“I’m at your service, Maîtresse,” he whispered against her skin.
Nora groaned at the back of her throat. Damn that man. All of New York’s Underground considered Kingsley Edge their King of Kink. Sexy accent, handsome face, beautiful body, mysterious past … he was born to be the perfect Dominant and would have been but for one small thing–secretly he was a Switch.
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