by Cynthia Dane
I called and left Stephanie a message yesterday. I haven’t heard back from her. I don’t think I will.
Plans are already being made to go out and find a woman this weekend. I am going to purposely avoid a blonde. They are too dangerous right now.
They all make me think of Kathryn.
Do you know how good she would look in my condo? Her sophistication would class this place up. I can see her, wearing one of those designer suits at my kitchen counter, Blue Tooth in her ear and stiletto heel dangling from her foot. I want her here, though. I want her with me at my desk, asking me what I want.
“What can I do for you, sir? What can I do to relieve some of this… tension?”
I’d tell her to show me her breasts. After I have my fill of them, I’ll have her crawl beneath my desk and take my cock out of my pants.
Fuck, I’m hard. That’s what I get for daydreaming about Kathryn Alison sucking my cock when I should be working. I haven’t even touched myself since I screwed up with Stephanie. That, unfortunately, was my last orgasm. Now, I’m not saying that I’m a guy who has to get off once or twice a day, but five days is cutting it a bit close for the blue balls.
I haven’t done anything because I’m afraid I’ll fantasize about Kathryn.
It’s inevitable. My thoughts are so full of her that she’s consuming me. I’m not even sure I like the woman outside of general friendliness. I try to forget about that time we were teenagers. It feels like a lifetime ago, anyway. I try to think of her as a woman I recently met. Someone I have no history with, because then I don’t feel so weird thinking about her running her tongue up and down my cock, her lips sucking on my tip while her hand works the entire length of my shaft.
By the time I wrap my hand around my cock, I’m so stiff that I let out a groan of relief.
I close my eyes and imagine that everything I do to myself is coming from Kathryn. All I have to think about is how I want to finish. Should I come in her throat and make her swallow my seed? Holy hell, I would love to see that. Watch me dribble down the side of her mouth while she tells me how good I taste.
Or I could let her take me to the brink, pull out, and finish on her breasts. I want to see the white disappear into her cleavage and drip off her nipples.
I groan. The head of my cock is wet already.
I’d call myself pathetic, but hey, I’m a man reacting to things as men do. I’m not gonna feel shame for having the hots over a woman and wanting to fuck her. She’s not a family member. She’s not a forbidden person. I don’t even hate her, although sometimes she looks at me with such disdain that… shit, that turns me on too. I want her to beg for me, but I’m cool with the idea of her warring with her own mind. Fuck. Now I’m imagining her spread before me on my desk, her body begging for my cock while she cries out in pleasure and frustration. The frustration is because she knows we shouldn’t be doing this, but she can’t help herself.
I know what I would do. I’d pull out of her mouth and release myself into that blond hair. It’s been causing me so much trouble lately. Sure, enough women have told me that it’s a pain in the ass to wash out. I don’t care. It’s my fucking fantasy.
And in this fantasy, she’s sucking me off until I hit the point of no return. I’m gonna come. I push her off me and orgasm into that blond mane, watching her eyes widen in surprise.
In reality, my cock finds solace in my hand. My climax forces my forehead against my desk, my groans suddenly loud enough to echo in my condo. Somewhere, the cat skitters away. Good. I want to be alone.
It’s a hard orgasm. One of the hardest I’ve had on my own in a long time. Even after I finish ejaculating, I still feel my whole body shudder, and I remain against the desk, shoulders slumping and breath easing out of me.
Just another testament to what that woman does to me.
You know what? I can’t live like this. I can’t spend every day thinking of her, having her infiltrate my love life and turn everything upside down. I can’t deal with Kathryn Alison sitting there, not knowing what she’s doing to me.
I’m almost hard again when I accept the cold truth. I want… no, I need… to fuck her.
Seventeen-year-old me wants a mulligan. Only thing? For the first time in my life, I have no idea how I’m going to seduce a woman. She won’t respond to my usual come-ons. She won’t respond to what I like in bed.
And I really don’t fucking care. I’ll give her whatever she wants. I only need to know how she feels wrapped around me, her body rippling with pleasure as I bring her to her own brink. I want to know what sexual ecstasy feels like with Kathryn.
The rest I can deal with later. Baby steps, Ian.
Chapter 9
KATHRYN
“Fuck, Kathryn….”
I keep hearing that echo in my head. It’s been tearing me apart since Friday. At first I managed to ignore it, as if nothing happened. Now it’s Wednesday night, and I’ve given up. That man’s voice is in my head, whispering, groaning my name as I imagine him shuddering inside of me.
My bed creaks beneath me as I go for it. My vibrator is inside me, and of course I imagine it’s Ian’s cock, big, strong, and surging into me until I can barely take it anymore. My hand grabs my comforter and squeezes it half to death. My chest constricts. I’m having an orgasm, but I feel so detached from it all that I might as well be watching someone else come.
Then it hits me. Gently, at first, and then it’s like being hit by a fucking truck. I shriek from the intensity, and that’s from a damned dildo.
I don’t care. I’m propped up on one arm, shoving that thing deep inside and wishing it were Ian grabbing my hips and holding me on his cock while my muscles milk him dry.
Just like that, it’s over, and I collapse. Right away my fantasy is replaced with this overarching sense of shame.
“I can’t believe I jacked off to that guy.” There’s no way. I have a hard time believing that Ian would be anything like in my fantasy. I know him too well. Know of him too well. Absolutely nothing would play out like I want it to in my head.
It would be the Ian Mathers show from beginning to end. Some women apparently find that hot… but I’m not interested. I want to feel like a queen, not a servant.
I also want to feel him inside of me for once, so there’s that.
Ten minutes later I convince myself to get up and shower. Afterward, I towel off in my bedroom, sexually sated, but still frustrated for other reasons. The pressure of the presentation next Friday. How I feel every time I’m around Ian. The fact that I’ve called Eva five times now to bitch at her, but she’s drowning in schoolwork and keeps texting that she’ll “get back to me” and then never does.
I’m halfway into bed for the night when my dad calls me.
“How’s the project coming?” he asks, and it’s all I can do to keep from screaming “I’m the one not coming and that’s a problem!” I mean, if it were anyone else… but it’s my dad! “I hear from Dominic that you and his son are hitting the office every day. Any snags?”
He has no fucking idea.
Of course, I don’t share any of that. Besides, my dad and I don’t have that kind of relationship. He was never a man I went to when I had boy troubles. Neither was my mom. Hell, she was worse. My mom was as interested in me as I’m interested in getting spanked by some guy.
I tell him about my plans to keep another fuck up from happening. I tell him that I have the first draft of my presentation finished and would like him to take a look at it this weekend. I then tell him about an idea I had regarding the museum part of the project.
When he hangs up, I’m too awake to go to bed. I sit in front of my vanity and start brushing my hair for the second time tonight. Somehow more snarls have crept in. This is why I wear it up when I can. I am a master of the French twist. Works great in the summer when it’s five-hundred degrees.
Except it’s about seventy in here right now, so I wear it down, covering my shoulders and fram
ing my face. The mirror says that I’m not wearing any makeup, but I pretend that I am so I don’t want to shriek in horror. Okay, I’m pretty average looking. But if a man like Ian saw me without makeup, he’d probably laugh. I don’t know why I assume that.
Why do I? You know what happened after that incident when we were teens? I never heard from him for years. When we reconnected, we never brought it up. Pretended it didn’t happen. It was a ten-minute event in our lives. We had kissed. We had made out. He had squeezed my breasts and I had brushed my hand against his cock. For fuck’s sake, I felt his cum on my thigh. There’s almost nothing sacred between us, and yet it’s like we’re strangers.
I’m being mind-fucked by Ian Mathers. I don’t think he knows it, though. I don’t think he cares.
One, two, three more brushstrokes. I’m done. With everything.
Chapter 10
KATHRYN
There’s a reason “Friday” and “frazzled” start with the same damned letters. It’s because by the end of the work week, no matter what I am doing, I only care about pulling my hair out.
These past two days have been crunch time. Dominic Mathers stopped by the office early Thursday and kindly informed his son and me that the Andrews would be by for a mock presentation. This meant the two of us hustling to get our shit together, which was not limited to us forcing speeches into our heads. Speeches we were going to memorize this weekend, not in one day.
Let me tell you, that couple is not easy to please. I’ve heard from subs around the club that the Andrews are hard lovers. That’s why they have their favorite mistress that they pay to keep happy, because she apparently gives them exactly what they want. Normally I find stories like that amusing and nothing more, but now I’m starting to understand how those subs feel. Because for the past two days the Andrews have had me under their shoes and refuse to let me go until they like what they see.
They’re not overt about it. They’re coy real estate agents who speak in code. “That’s a quaint picture,” means “Step it the fuck up, Kathryn.” Oh, and, “These figures add up well for me. I got an F in algebra, by the way,” means “Check your fucking figures again, Ian.”
Did you know we forgot to contact an important member of the Historical Society for their input? Did you know that Anita lost another phone number that I have to take the fall for? Did you know that Ian’s ass is grass if Ken Andrews gets word that one of his old real estate contacts calls him up to say that some snot-nosed billionaire is sniffing around totally public records… but those records would only interest someone wanting to completely demolish a cornerstone of a community?
I’m gonna be sick with worry.
Okay, you know what? We will be fine. They’re all leaving now. It’s Friday evening, even though Ian and I will be staying a few extra hours to completely overhaul our outlines – together. We will get them done. He’s ordering us take-out to beat the sting of the week.
Over Styrofoam boxes of Italian food, Ian reveals that he’s also ordered us a small bottle of wine because he needs alcohol, or so he says. Something about Ken and Lana continuing to flirt with him. Well, they don’t flirt with me….
“I’m not saying threesomes are a bad thing,” he says, pouring me some wine in a plastic cup, because we are such classy rich people. “Just, you know, not with them.”
I briefly wonder if he’s like Ken Andrews and pansexual. Or even bisexual. I highly doubt it. Most Doms I know aren’t. They are 100% into women… or men. Rarely both. And never equally.
The wine isn’t the best I’ve ever had, but it works in taking off that pesky edge. A few more sips later, I’ve already forgotten what I was so frazzled about. Something about speeches. Pfft. Whatever. I can kick a speech’s ass. Let me at ‘em. Some sort of council? I ain’t afraid of them. I’ll charm their pants off.
The food is gone, the trash taken away, but the wine is still there as I go over my outline and Ian diligently makes notes on his. One week from today we will be in front of the council talking about our beautiful plans for The Grand. Assuming they like them enough, the Andrews will throw a number our way. Then the negotiations begin. Then we get to work.
See? It’ll be fine.
It’s ten. The building is completely dark and empty. I sent Anita home. Security occasionally moves up and down the halls, but they know we’re here and don’t disturb us. Ian makes sure of that.
I’m on my third tiny plastic cup of wine. The bitterness burns, but I’m relaxed enough to get through my work and start thinking about going home. I usually take a cab, but since Ian’s here, maybe I can convince him to drive me home.
“I like your blouse.”
My eyes tear off my tablet and look at Ian across from me. His jacket’s off again. Sleeves rolled up. Face is relaxed from the wine, but I can see the dark circles under his eyes. Why is he looking at my blouse?
“Thanks. I’d say I like your tie, but you’re not wearing one.”
“I avoid those things.”
“Funny. I’d think a guy like you revels in having an available restraint.”
“Is that why you wear so many scarves?”
I happen to have one draped over the back of my chair. Only a Dom would think of that. And only I would think of tying Ian’s hands behind his back with my scarf. I’d tie those wrists together so he couldn’t do a damn thing as I tease his cock with my…
No. Stop it. Girl, you’re drinking wine. Last thing you need to think about is how hot this guy is, and how much hotter he would be with his hands tied and his cock sticking out of his chair. Fuck it. I’m going to be drilling myself with the vibrator again tonight, aren’t I?
Ian waves his hand in front of my face. “I see I’ve sent you to fantasy land. That’s nice, but I need you here, working.”
“I am working!”
“Uh huh. I can only imagine how great that outline is after three cups of wine.”
“You wanna see?” I turn my laptop around. “It’s perfect.”
He gives it a cursory glance, but I can tell he doesn’t give a fuck. “It’ll be as good as it gets by next Friday, I’m sure.”
“Aren’t you worried about it?”
Ian shrugs. So lackadaisical. Devil may care. It shouldn’t be so attractive. I don’t like those types of guys… “The Andrews want to sell. If the council isn’t happy, we make changes. The worst that happens is that this gets dragged out until we’ve bent over backward so many times our spines permanently curl. I’ve got a good chiropractor, though.” He drinks some wine and dumps the last of the bottle into his cup.
“Seems like we should be able to do whatever we want to the property we own.”
He snorts. “We?”
“You know what I mean.”
“Sure.”
We’re silent again. This happens every time we start to talk. It’s gotten worse these past few days, too. Used to be that he would give me a backhand compliment, I would throw one back at him, and we went on our merry ways. Now that we’re forced together, however, we’re discovering that it’s difficult to talk about anything but the work at hand.
There are only two things we have in common. The first is that we’re both Doms, but that’s inappropriate to talk about.
And then there’s that huge elephant in the room that’s been destroying the furniture and shitting large chunks all over the desk for about a week now.
He catches a look from me. Does he know what I’m thinking about? “Kathryn…”
“Yeah?”
Ian flicks a pencil against the table, occasionally tapping the edge of his laptop. “Are we ever gonna talk about it?”
I feign ignorance, although my cheeks redden and my throat goes dry. “About what?” Shit. My smile is too fake.
His eyes narrow at me. “You know what.”
My smile fades. “Ian…”
“I know. It’s embarrassing.”
I sit back in my seat and try not to flinc
h. “Why would you bring that up?”
He doesn’t respond. No look. No shrug. Nothing but that pencil tapping. Faster now. Ritta-ritta-ritta. Smacking me right on my nerves.
Teeth chomp my lip before I’m able to speak again. “Hey, that was a long time ago. We were kids.”
One eyebrow goes up. I hate it when he does that.
“I don’t know what you want me to say, Ian.”
Sighing, he sits up in his seat, hand rubbing his jaw and sending out a new wave of aftershave in my direction. Fuck me, it’s so musky. Bit spicy. Every time I’ve smelled it this week, I’ve gotten tingles in my breasts. Asshole.
“You’re right. We were kids. End of story.”
Yeah, kids who instantly started boning after five minutes. Kids get horny, but sheesh. That’s fast even for me. Probably for him too.
That pencil is flicking against the table again. Ritta. Tatta. Ritta-tatta. Before I know it, I snatch my hand across the thin table and stifle his hand with mine.
It’s warm.
The tapping stops, but now we’re looking at each other, my heart stilling in my chest and his breath snapping through his nostrils. Was that… I felt something. Just now. Like a crack of static electricity piercing the both of us.
Is that what they call a spark?
Fuck I’m drunk.
Except I’m not. I had three small cups of wine. I’m relaxed, but I’m barely tipsy. I have complete cognitive control. I have no right to blame anything on alcohol. I could drive home if I had to. Or I could keep my hand on Ian’s, fingers pressing into his wide knuckles.
I had no idea his hands were so strong and sturdy. They don’t really look it. They look normal, whatever that means.
He’s a man, I have to remind myself. They’re built a certain way. A strong way.
Ian glances at my hand. “Sorry,” he says, but doesn’t move his fist. Instead, he simply drops the pencil and lets it roll onto the floor. His eyes don’t leave mine. “Kathryn.”
