by Cynthia Dane
…I’m right, aren’t I?”
“So what do you want, Katie?” He always calls me that when we’re in private like this. I haven’t decided if I like it or not. When we’re fucking, I love it. So intimate and exclusive. When we’re in a non-sexual situation? It kinda grates on me. Kathryn has a much more sophisticated ring to it, especially coming out of a man’s mouth.
“I want a lot of things, Ian.” There are no cute nicknames for him. His name is already as short as it can get, and I’m not the type to say babe or honey. “Right now I want you to back off a bit.”
He sits back in his seat, both physically and emotionally detaching himself from me. Finally, I can breathe.
After two more bites of food, I say, “All right. Date. Vanilla date. No funny Dom stuff.”
“Well, now I’m not sure I want to…”
While he’s looking at me, I pull open my blouse. Easy to do with light clasps sewn in. Once I’ve got that man staring at my breasts and bra, I say, “Pretty sure you want to.”
His eyes furrow, but look! He’s not glancing away from these tits! “I can’t read you half the time. Just when I think I’ve got you figured out…”
I close my blouse and put it back together. “I surprise you. Yes, yes, you’re not used to that from women.”
“Now don’t be that way.”
I’ve irritated him. Good. The last thing I want is him getting complacent around me. Nevertheless, next thing I know, he’s slapped a notebook on the table and flipped it open to a certain page.
“What’s that?”
Ian slides the notebook across the table. I pick it up, holding it at the appropriate distance before my eyes focus on his tight, clean cursive handwriting. I’m struck by how masculine his penmanship is. Elegant, refined, legible, but very straight and narrow. Not a single stroke from the pen is wasted. Well, shit. Here I am, turned on by Ian Mathers’s handwriting.
“A to-do list. For you.”
So it says. At the top of the page Ian has written “K” for my name, I’m guessing. Below is a list written in shorthand. I barely make out “doesn’t let go easy” and “fights for control.” The other stuff is… pretty sexual.
Doesn’t like me coming inside her.
Or on her for that matter.
Talks back when I’m fucking her.
Says titles sarcastically.
“Did I miss anything?”
Scoffing, I take a pen out of my purse and scratch something down in my curlier handwriting. “Thinks I’m a jerk.”
“Mature.”
“You’re mature.” I say it so quickly that I don’t realize what I said until it’s too late. By then, Ian is laughing, his ridiculous face looking beyond stupid as he makes fun of me.
By the time we’re finished with lunch, I don’t feel any better. We’ve set up a date for Friday after work, and I know it won’t be kinky, but I can’t help but feel he has an ulterior motive. Especially after showing me the notes he’s keeping.
I can’t think about it, though. Currently I have to be regular ol’ Kathryn, the one who knows it’s probably going to end in the hot sex I crave with him. Hot, non-domineering sex. Just him, me, and the creaking of his bed as we succumb to pleasure.
Now I’m turned on. When I catch a glance from him at the busy intersection, he smirks, and I can practically see the blood rushing to his cock.
Not today, buddy. Save it for Friday.
Chapter 3
KATHRYN
This morning all I could think about was what I would wear today. Whatever it was, it had to be functional for work, but also good for a date.
I don’t know what Ian and I are doing. After our lunch the other day, I’m not sure I want to know. I’ll either be so horny that I don’t care about what’s going on until he fucks me, or I’ll be so over his shit that I leave early and call everything off.
We’ll see.
The way I ended up dressing… you’d think I was trying to impress him. My dress is a crimson halter that matches nicely with my black flats I have to wear around the construction site. I decided on a plunging necklace to make sure Ian stares at my cleavage all day – without realizing that everyone else will be looking too. Oops.
It’s fine. I’m a professional. They… try to be professional. I could do without the foreman and his cronies muttering to each other with stupid smiles on their faces every time I walk by, but thems the breaks of being female in the presence of men.
At least Ian is looking. Although the only thing he’s commented on is my hair, worn up for work. What he doesn’t know is that I’m now in the bathroom, after work, getting ready for our date.
First thing I do is take down my hair, combing it out so it falls nice and straight on my shoulders. Then I open my purse, searching for my makeup kit, because sometimes a girl needs to put on some red lipstick, light blush, and thank the heavens for liquid eyeliner.
Once I’m convinced I’m the most beautiful woman on Earth – for five seconds, anyway, until I notice a zit on my chin and promptly freak out – I collect my stuff and meet Ian in the foyer of his gutted hotel.
“Aren’t you a lovely vision?” He doesn’t take my arm. We’ve decided to keep this relationship a secret for now. Not because we’re ashamed, but because it’s so complicated that we don’t know how long it will last or if it’s worth the press we’d get. I can already see the papers discussing our marriage date – and how long it would take Ian to cheat on me – and I want to barf.
“Thanks.” I walk beside him out of the building and to the curb, where Ian hails a cab. He lives close enough that he’s been walking to and from the site every day. Saying something about needing the exercise if he’s not able to hit the gym.
I’m glad he’s keeping his physique in check, because I know under all these clothes he’s strong enough to, well, pick me up and carry me to his room.
I hide a grin of excitement as he closes the cab door behind me. Within ten seconds he’s sitting beside me, telling the driver to take us to the restaurant I stood him up at. As usual, we have things to prove to one another.
Although it takes one small glass of liquor to get me settled, I’m soon relaxed enough to laugh at one of his stupid jokes. So far he hasn’t said or done anything that implies domination. The more I think of this as a regular “vanilla” date, the more I’m able to see him as my equal in all areas, including sex. Remember, Kathryn? You are capable of this with a man like him.
Not always, but usually.
“There was this guy in my house,” Ian says, referring to his stint in a high-class frat in college, “who dated a new woman every month. Except you’d never guess, because all the girls looked the same. Red heads. Freckles. Some of them dressed differently, and a lot of them had the most basic names you’ve ever heard, but once we caught on… shit, we never let him live it down. The guy had a real fetish.”
I smile over my half-eaten dinner. “You mean like you and your thing for blondes?”
“Why do people keep saying that?”
“Because it’s true. By the way, how was Stephanie’s pussy?” I drink some water. “I know you think she’s me and all, but…”
“Why you gotta go there?” Ian is too relaxed from his drink to be offended. “That happened one time.”
“Yes, but it happened.”
I’m flirting with him for the first time in weeks. Probably because this is the first time in a long while I’ve felt comfortable around him. He has yet to make a move, let alone do something that makes me uncomfortable. I sit here thinking, “Well, we’re more than likely having sex tonight.” As the night wears on, I feel better about it. Not that I didn’t feel okay with it before – plus, I could always say no if I decide it’s not in the cards. There’s a good amount of power in that, even if he’s calling the shots.
Tonight, he is totally not calling the shots!
“I think you like tormenting me,” Ian says,
leaning across the table. We’re sitting opposite one another, but the table is small, and it’s not difficult to slip my foot out of my heel and play with his ankle. The smile that instantly lights up his face as he realizes what I’m doing spurs me on to tuck my toes beneath the hem of his pants. “Yes. You like tormenting me.”
“How do I torment you?” My arms are crossed on the table, pushing my cleavage forward so he sees deep into it. His eyes are not on mine. “Spare no detail, Mr. Mathers.”
“You damn well know how.”
We hold our mutual gaze until I break with a snort. I don’t get it. I’m Kathryn Alison, Domme extraordinaire, and yet staring down this guy makes me weak in the knees and want to hide my blush in wine.
“You are so stunning,” Ian murmurs across the table, fingers trailing up my arm. His light touch makes me shiver, although I do an admirable job containing it. “Women like Stephanie May don’t even compare to you because you are so much more… woman?”
“So suave.” I pretend to be disinterested in his explanation. “So good with words. Ian Mathers, the man who will transform The Grand, ladies and gentlemen.”
“Another testament to what you do to me. I can’t even find my words anymore.”
Wrapped around my wrist is his hand, not tight, but definitely noticeable. I imagine his hands all over me, squeezing my breasts, fondling my thighs, and of course… this time I can’t contain my shiver as I think about him spanking me, fingering me, and holding me down like…
Like a sub.
Fuck. See what he does to me? I’m not myself.
Apparently he isn’t either.
We could talk about it. We could sit here, over dinner, discussing why it is we act like this around one another. He and I both know that it won’t end well. At present we’re feeling pretty comfortable around each other. Why would we disrupt that with talk of Domming and subbing? Why would we want to drag that up when this is supposed to be a date night? This is as good for him as it is for me… right?
I think he knows to avoid the topic. So he talks about his mother’s latest shenanigans dating some retired European soccer player and going on some sex blog to talk about this guy’s big dick and how mortified her son would be to read it.
“I don’t really care,” Ian says, his hand still wrapped in mine as we ignore our cooling dinners. “My mother’s been dating guys left and right since the divorce almost a decade ago. Probably before that. They weren’t exactly monogamous… ever.”
“They told you this?”
“Hell no! I heard it from other people, and they’ve both dropped hints. Did you know they still hook up?”
“Why in the world did they get divorced if they still like each other and are okay with seeing other people? That makes no sense.”
Ian shrugs in that lackadaisical way that’s starting to turn me on more and more. This is a man who gets his shit done and still knows how to relax. That’s admirable. “Principle of the thing. They weren’t in love apparently, and their prenup said my mother got half the fortune if she stuck it out for at least twenty years. I think it was an image thing for my father.”
“So when they hit twenty years…”
“She filed the day after their twentieth anniversary. They were on a second honeymoon in Italy when the paperwork arrived!”
“what?”
“I’m serious. Dad was angry for about two seconds because of the inconvenience she caused. Not to mention she sort of ruined the vibe of their supposed romantic getaway.”
The Mathers are certainly interesting people. Everyone knows how unpredictable Caroline can be, but you don’t hear much about Dominic. Ian has always taken more after his father, but I think I can see streaks of his mother in him.
Would he spring a divorce on me if we got married? Like that?
What the hell! Why am I thinking about marriage?
My hand falters in his, and the next thing I know I’m shoveling food in my mouth while Ian peruses the dessert menu. He orders a piece of gourmet chocolate cake, which is promptly brought out the moment I push aside my empty plate.
“Didn’t ask me if I wanted anything,” I tease, picking up the dessert menu before the server can leave.
The cake slides in my direction. “I got it for you.”
“Hm?” He’s kidding, right? Why would he assume that? “I mean… we could share…”
“Why? Not on a diet, are you?” Ian grins, Shit-eating. He knows he’s pressing a volatile button. “Eat the fucking cake.”
The server backs away. I pick up the tiny fork and stab the corner of the fluffy, melting cake. Oh God, it looks so tasty. I can barely speak before the delectable chocolate hits my tongue. “I’m not on a diet, per se, but girls can rarely keep a nice figure eating whatever they want. This is a splurge.” I stick my tongue out so he can see all the half-digested cake on it.
He doesn’t flinch. “Most women would be as hot if they weighed a few more pounds. You have no idea how good it feels to thrust between a pair of soft thighs.”
Is he flirting? I keep my eyes on him as the fork plays with my lips. “That’s nice for you. I’m the one who has to find clothes to fit those thighs.”
Ian brushes his hand against mine again, and I feel it – that electricity shooting through me, demanding I throw myself onto the table and let him take me. I’m barely horny, really. It’s purely mental, and I’m kinda freaked out.
“You could weigh fifty more pounds and you’d still be the hottest woman strutting around, making me so hard and hot that it takes every bit of self-restraint to not throw you down somewhere and fuck your damned brains out.”
That growl in his voice is so intoxicating that a fog clouds my mind, containing images of him doing just that. Right now. He could take me right now, and I would let him.
But no. Ian likes to play his long games.
You know what? I can play long games too.
With his eyes bearing down on me, I cut some cake and hold the fork up to his lips. Within a second he bites down on it, still staring at me, those piercing hazel eyes taunting me as his tongue wraps around the fork. Shit, that’s hot. It’s not hard to imagine that tongue plunging down my throat, in my pussy, all over my body, over and over until I’m so tired from coming that I have to shove him away.
“Are you trying to seduce me?” My voice is nothing short of husky. It’s the voice I use on my subs when I’m about to reward them. Perhaps not the most appropriate voice, but… what other one do I use? This feels most natural. “You’re doing an admirable job, Mr. Mathers.”
“I try to seduce you every fucking day, Ms. Alison.” He plucks the fork from my hand and attempts to serve me a bite next. I’m more docile in my acceptance. Just a quick bite, pulling the cake off the fork with my teeth bared.
You’re seducing me, Ian, and while it’s working, I’m not going to let you think I’m anything but who I really am.
Whoever that is.
Presently, Kathryn Alison is someone who bites.
I’ll bite his ear, his shoulder, that stupid bottom lip that pushes out when he’s pouting – but totally thinks he isn’t pouting. I’ll bite one of his nipples, and then… ahaha, I’ll give him the thrill of his life when I bite his fucking dick.
Not hard, of course. Just enough to graze my teeth over his skin, to make him tingle, worry a little bit, and then realize that I’m that good.
This oral fixation going on between us is working, if that’s his game. I’d love to crawl beneath this table and blow him.
For real, this time. None of that coming on my face bullshit.
Great. I shudder, uncomfortable.
“You all right?”
Not really, but I lie. “It’s a little chilly in here.”
“We need to finish up here anyway. We’ve got a show to catch.”
“Oh? The cinema?”
“Better. Symphony. If you want to go, anyway.”
“I
love the symphony. Especially if you have a private balcony.”
“We have one named after my family. Let’s go.”
The check arrives. You can imagine what happens.
“I’ve got it.” Ian tries to take it from my hand, but my grip is firm. “Let me. It’s a date.”
“And that means you pay because you’re the guy, right?”
“It’s not like that. Just let me pay it.”
“What’s wrong with me paying it? Not like I can’t afford it.”
Here’s the scoop: the Mathers and the Alisons have a similar net worth when you put us together, but I’m sure Ian’s fortune is larger than mine. He works more high-profile jobs while I run around doing charity. I’ve made quite a bit of money on my own thanks to my family, but I admit, a lot of my fortune does come from my family. So does his. We’re pretty even no matter how you slice it.
Sometimes a woman wants to buy her date dinner.
“You’re taking me to the symphony.” My smile is so terse I must look sarcastic. “So I’ll pay for dinner.” When he still won’t release the check, I growl, “Give it.”
He drops the check, hands in the air as if I’ve raised a gun.
The air is tense as I open my purse, pull out my wallet, and fish for a credit card to give to the server. It’s a motion I go through often enough. But with Ian sitting there, watching me, it feels somehow… dirty.
In our world, gender roles are fairly solid. I’m an outlier in that I’m a daughter who wants to work as hard as the men in her family and can pay her own way – and pay for her dates. Most of the women guys like Ian date are either too poor to even think about it, or they’re coming from that state of mind that says “men for everything.” I don’t like it when men pay for me. Not if I can afford it.
Like I said. He’s taking me to the symphony. That makes us even.
Except I need him to stop looking at me like that. As if I’ve insulted him and threatened his masculinity.
