The Queen - Tiffany Reisz

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things shouldn’t be secrets.”

      “You tell them the truth, and they will kick you out.”

      “Possibly. I’ve made choices, difficult ones, but I did it in full knowledge of the consequences. Nothing stays the same forever, after all.”

      “That’s not true. My love for you is forever. I made that promise, and I will keep it. But tomorrow or next week or next month you might not be a priest anymore. So please...hear my confession and absolve me? One last time?”

      He rose from the pew and moved a chair from the side of the chapel and set it in front of her. From the leather sporran of his kilt, he pulled a leather case, unzipped it and unfurled a purple sash. He kissed it and draped it around his neck and over his shoulders. He sat in the chair and pressed his palms together. Nora looked at his hands and saw they were now steady and still.

      She smiled and looked up to the octagonal window. The sun would set in under three hours. By nightfall everything could change.

      “First of all,” she began, “I’m confessing these sins to you because I committed them against you and only you can absolve me of them.”

      “What are your sins?”

      Nora loved Søren. This was an incontrovertible fact of the universe, strong as gravity, inevitable as sunrise. She’d told him almost everything there was to tell him about their years apart, everything but this. She hadn’t wanted to hurt him but she didn’t want to keep the truth from him anymore. No more secrets. No more lies. Nothing between them anymore and never again.

      “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” she began her confession. “When we were apart there were two times I almost came back to you and didn’t.”

      “Two?” Søren looked at her, wide-eyed and stunned. Usually she loved shocking him, it was such a feat. Not today. “Why didn’t you?”

      “Are you sure you want to know?”

      Then Søren said to her the two words she’d once said to him that had changed her life.

      “Tell me.”

       3

      Power Games

      New York City 2005

      ELLE HAD NEVER felt more powerless in her life.

      A strong statement from a woman who’d been the property of a sadist and dominant for her entire adult life. She’d knelt at his feet, called him “sir,” obeyed his every order, submitted to his every desire, sexual and sadistic. Not even with her forehead on his bedroom floor, a collar around her neck and a flogger on her back had Elle felt this trapped and impotent. With Søren she could have stopped it all with her safe word. What would she have to say to stop it now?

      Elle was broke and homeless, had no job and no idea where to go if Kingsley kicked her out of his house. There was no safe word that could save her tonight. So when Kingsley sat on his desk in front of her in the middle of a cool spring night and said to her, “I want you to become a dominatrix,” she didn’t laugh in his face. She didn’t have the luxury anymore of laughing in Kingsley’s face about anything. He had all the power, and she had none. An unusual and unpleasant sensation. She resolved never to feel it again.

      “A dominatrix?” Elle repeated after Kingsley had made his royal proclamation. “Me?”

      “A dominatrix.” Kingsley pointed at her chest. “You.”

      “So...you want me...to beat people up...for money?”

      “Non. Not for money.” Kingsley waved his pointing finger in front of her face in that annoying French way he had of tsk-tsking her. She almost bit that finger off. Instead she behaved herself because she was too scared not to. “For a lot of fucking money, Elle.”

      “How much fucking money?” she asked.

      “When I’m done training you, you’ll be making one to five thousand dollars an hour.”

      If Elle had water in her mouth at that moment she would have spit it all over the front of Kingsley’s barely buttoned white shirt.

      “A thousand dollars an hour?”

      “Minimum,” Kingsley said.

      “Dominatrixes don’t usually make that kind of money.”

      Mistress Irina, Kingsley’s Russian sadist, worked the top end of the scale. And she made five hundred dollars an hour—a thousand an hour when the client demanded very special and intimate attention that would likely lead to hospitalization. The extra fee was for all the paperwork involved.

      “But you will. You will be offering a service others will not.”

      “Sex?”

      “Sex would hardly warrant five thousand an hour. Almost anyone can lie on their back, close their eyes and think of France.”

      “It’s England.”

      “Why would anyone think of England during sex?”

      “Forget it. Tell me what I’m doing.”

      “You know what you’re doing,” Kingsley said. “Exactly what you want to be doing except you’ll be doing it for money.”

      “A lot of fucking money,” she said, looking up at Kingsley. He sat on the edge of his desk with one foot on the arm of the chair, gazing down at her waiting for her answer.

      “This is not a good idea, King,” she said, keeping her voice even, not saying yes or no to his offer.

      “It is not a good idea, no. It is the best idea. Chérie...you could buy anything you want,” Kingsley whispered. She knew that tone. He was seducing her. “In a year you’ll be rich. You remember Mistress Felicia? You should have seen her house in Bedford. I’ve known minor royalty who didn’t live as well as she did. Rich men gave her diamonds the way poor men give girls daisies—by the dozens.”

      A house. That would be nice. A home of her own. Not a room in someone else’s life. Her own home that was in her name that no one could take away from her.

      “I still don’t know why you think men will pay me so much money,” she said.

      “Mistress Irina works from her dungeon, sometimes from the town house. They come to her, her clients do. But you...you will go where the money is. Clients who wouldn’t dare set foot into a club or a dungeon? You will go to them.”

      “Is that safe?”

      “Is life safe?”

      “I’ll take that as a no.”

      Kingsley smiled. “Is there anything worth doing that is safe?” he asked.

      “I don’t know. I’ve read a lot of books worth reading. Never gotten hurt doing that before.”

      “You’ve never gotten rich doing it, either.”

      “King, I can’t... No. This is absurd. My entire adult life—and most of my teenage life—I’ve been a submissive.”

      “You know what is more absurd? You sitting there and pretending you haven’t wanted this for your entire adult life. And most of your teenage life, too. I knew you then. I remember...”

      “What? What do you remember?”

      “The first time I saw you, you nearly gave a boy a concussion, because he committed the unforgivable sin of annoying you when you weren’t in the mood to be annoyed. He was talking back to a priest and stood up. I saw you stretch out your leg and hook your boot under his chair and slide it aside right at the moment he tried to sit back down. He landed on the floor so hard I heard a crack and thought it was either a rib or his skull. And you...”

      “I put my

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