The Last Good Knight: Parts 1-5. Tiffany Reisz

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      “You looked troubled when you came in here. And your entire body is tense. I’d like to flatter myself that you’re hard all over because of me, but you looked uncomfortable before you saw me. What’s up?”

      Lance nodded at the bartender who brought him another beer.

      “I haven’t played in a long time. I’m not even sure if I should be here.”

      “Should you be here? Or did you sneak in?”

      “I just got a job working for Kingsley Edge.”

      “Never heard of him.” Nora kept a straight face. Kingsley tried to keep employees from fraternizing with each other too much, a hopeless cause where Nora was concerned. Lance must be the new house manager he’d hired. It would take someone with a military background to keep Kingsley’s coterie under control.

      “He’s some rich kinky bigwig. Owns this place. Club membership is one of the fringe benefits.”

      “You like it here?”

      “I feel a little out of place. My first time in a club like this.”

      “A club full of rich and famous perverts?”

      “Exactly. I’m neither. Well, not the rich and famous part, anyway. Pervert maybe. This is definitely not my usual crowd.”

      A congressman on the leash of a Domme crawled on all fours past the bar.

      “Don’t worry. They’re not my crowd, either. Don’t be intimidated.” She leaned forward and crossed her legs. “I’ll let you in on a secret. The top Dominant here is a Jesuit priest, and he comes here in his clerical collar all the time. Jesuits take a vow of poverty. Everyone defers to him even though he’s not rich. He earned that respect. No one has ever ratted him out.”

      “That’s a comfort, Mistress. Nice to feel safe.”

      “You are safe down here. And you’re with me. I’ll protect you from the rich and famous perverts.”

      “My hero,” he said, turning toward her so that their lips were only an inch apart.

      “Come on, Lance,” she whispered. “Come play with me. Submit to me. You know you want to. I know you want to. You’re not on duty right now, are you?”

      “No.” He shook his head. She could see him trying to bite back a smile.

      She moved her hand from his thigh to his crotch and felt his erection.

      Lance closed his eyes and inhaled sharply.

      “What do you want to do, Sailor?”

      “Anything you want, Mistress. Anything at all.”

      “That’s a dangerous word around here. Let’s go find out what you mean by anything.”

      She slipped off the bar stool and patted her thigh. Lance threw a tip down on the bar and followed. The 8th Circle had a two-drink maximum, and booze and tips were included in the price of admittance. He didn’t have to pay a thing, didn’t have to leave a tip. But he did it anyway. Most of the rich sons of bitches who played here were misers. Real men like Lance knew the value of a hard day’s work and left good tips. She liked that. That ten-dollar tip on a seven-dollar tab had just earned him the chance to fuck her. Tonight she’d let him fuck her first then tell him why after. Hmm...she kind of liked that line. She’d put it in a book someday.

      He followed her in silence out of the bar and down the stairs to her dungeon in the Hall of the Masters, as it was known. Kingsley had envisioned The 8TH Circle as the BDSM club to end all BDSM clubs. He’d have the world’s most beautiful Dominatrixes and submissives—male and female—on his staff with permanent dungeons. Plus the members could earn the right to their own private quarters. Of course, Kingsley and Søren got the two best suites in the place. Not that she could complain about her dungeon. Kingsley had turned what was once a pit into a palace. She was the queen around here, after all. Nothing less than the best for her.

      They passed an open door to one of the dungeons. Inside a young woman lay curled on the floor, her eyes rimmed with tears as she pleaded for mercy. A man twice her size grabbed her by her hair.

      Lance took a step toward the door and Nora stopped him with a hand on his chest.

      “Whoa there, Sailor. Don’t interrupt.”

      “But she’s—”

      “Having the time of her life. That’s Alexis. She loves getting treated like a slave. The rougher you are with her, the more she cries, the happier she is.”

      “Sorry...” Lance wrenched his gaze from the open door. “I’m sorry, Mistress. It’s hard for me to see women crying or in pain.”

      “You’ve never been in a BDSM club with female submissives before?”

      “Never. I know it happens. Just never seen with my own eyes.”

      “It’s all good fun. Don’t worry. Her husband is one of the most thoughtful, careful Dominants I know. He takes good care of her. And I promise my dungeon is currently free of crying women. Usually it’s the men crying around me.”

      “They’re married? Seriously?” Lance asked, nodding toward the door.

      “Happily. Can’t you tell?” Nora asked as they reached her dungeon. At her door, Nora pulled the scarf out of Lance’s back pocket and tied it around the doorknob. She didn’t know Lance so she had no plans to lock the door. The scarf would signal that the Mistress was in session and all would do well to leave them the hell alone. Plus, when Søren had finished with Simone, he’d come out, see the scarf on the knob, and know exactly what was happening inside. And there was jack-fucking-nothing he could do about it.

      As she tied the scarf on the knob, Lance removed his shoes and socks.

      “Undressing already?” she asked, not displeased.

      “Just the shoes and socks. This is your private dungeon, yes?”

      “Yes.”

      “Then it deserves to be shown respect.”

      “Lance, I like the way you kink.” She opened the door and stepped inside. She loathed artificial light so she lit her oil lamp. Lance set his shoes right inside the doorway. Everything he did endeared him more and more to her.

      “So,” Nora said as she ushered Lance into the room, “welcome to Hell. Like it?”

      He gazed around the room with unabashed appreciation. She did have nice digs, very French bordello style. Kingsley told her to decorate however she wanted. He probably regretted that once he saw the place. Bed—four-poster bed, of course—with a gold-and-red brocade bedspread, erotic artwork on the walls, a few oil lamps and candles, and condoms and handcuffs in every drawer.

      “If this is Hell, I can’t wait to see Heaven.”

      “Heaven’s in this room.” She snapped her fingers and waved her hand. Lance raised an eyebrow before entering the second room of her suite.

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