by Cynthia Dane
Caroline looks at Sinéad. “It must be related to Saoirse! Look at these markings… oh, a little heart!”
She’s practically screeching. Caroline, the woman who is known to bust balls and take no prisoners in the board room if it means the advancement of her bottom line. She’s shrieking over a cat, because she’s somehow perceiving it as being a link between her son and me.
Dear Lord help me.
“He’s right, I really must be going.” I accept a kiss on my cheek, although Caroline is this close to squishing my kitty. “Sorry to have disrupted your night.”
I see myself out, grateful to have missed that onslaught. No wonder Ian was standoffish toward me. Any sign of affection caught by his mother? We’d both be dead from the Saccharin.
Sure enough, I get a text in the elevator.
“Sorry about that. Didn’t want her being even more annoying than she already is. The cat is cute. Look forward to seeing it at your place sometime. ;)”
Why am I so jittery? Why does the thought of Ian being in my apartment for a change make me want to pet the shit out of this cat?
“See you when we sign the papers and get the keys to The Grand. Better dress for business and pleasure. I hear the Andrews have quite the party planned for us afterward.”
Whatever we’re doing, his mother better not be there. Or his father. Or anyone with a vested interest in us getting it on every time we have a moment to ourselves.
Chapter 17
IAN
Twilight comes early even for this time of year. Or maybe it has to do with these mountains, which are colder, rainier, and so damned dark.
I don’t have a problem driving in these conditions. Just ease off the accelerator, judiciously apply lights and windshield wipers…
And hope your lady friend doesn’t freak out every time you go around a curve.
“I swear there was a rabbit there,” Kathryn says, grabbing the oh-shit handle and looking back at the darkening road. “Did you hit a rabbit?”
Sighing, I turn off the windshield wipers. “No. I have hit no critters since we left town.”
Kathryn lets out a huge breath. Thank God. Stop bothering me about my driving.
Earlier today we signed papers, shook hands with the Andrews, and snatched away their keys. After celebratory drinks with all the legal team and my father, we got in our cars and began the long drive up into the mountains for the night.
No, not with my father. No, not with the lawyers. Get your mind out of the gutter.
There’s plenty of times to go to Gutterville tonight.
Every so often I see the Andrews’ Ferrari disappear around another curve. Ken is a lot more comfortable on these roads and has no trouble staying half a mile ahead of me. I’ve only been up this way a few times, and only once was I driving. At least I’m better than Kathryn, who is still pretending we’re not driving through “inclement conditions,” as she keeps calling them.
It takes two hours to drive where we’re going. No wonder so many guests simply stay the night, if not the entire weekend.
Me? I’ve never stayed the night before, and I’m not sure I will tonight. It’s up to Kathryn.
Unfortunately, I’m seeing this as a date. I say unfortunately because Le Château is a sexually charged atmosphere. Let alone one focused on the thrills of BDSM. The Andrews know it well. I’m not afraid to say that I’ve hired a lovely lady here once or twice. All right, only once. The other times I was up this way was simply to get drunk and see some breasts.
You see, Le Château is nothing like The Dark Hour, although they both cater to rich people who like domination and submission. The Dark Hour is a club and all those trappings. It’s meant to be a place where you can go with a date or pick someone up. Maybe catch a demonstration. Get some drinks and come and go as you please.
Le Château is an experience.
Remember that TV show Fantasy Island? It’s kind of like that. This is a place you come to in order to feel like a king or a god. That’s because the owner and Madam, the very same Monica Graham I’ve seen around before, is a hardcore lifestyler with her submission. She’s the type who gets off on serving, and that’s the kind of place she’s created. From the moment you walk through the door, you’re an honored guest who can have almost anything he wants.
A Domme? A girl will tie you up and tell you all your shortcomings. A sub? That same girl can fall over on the bed and give you big doe-eyes until you fuck the innocence out of her.
Of course, you don’t pay for sex. It’s very clear when you sign documents before starting any scene. You’re paying for the woman’s time, anything you consume, the rooms you occupy, and any services like bondage, dirty talk, etc. I know the place has been visited by investigators. So far it’s still open.
Just trust me when I say the girls are highly encouraged to have some sort of sex with you. Oral and handjobs galore.
Or if you’re lucky like me, you get to actually fuck a girl. Of course, she persuaded me to give her a very generous tip afterward. Naturally, I obliged. She deserved it.
“I’ve never been here before,” Kathryn tells me again, as soon as we pass through the security gates and onto the main property. “It’s… impressive.”
The building is a lot bigger than a traditional Château. It’s a huge mansion overlooking a private hillside. I don’t recall who used to own it, but since it was purchased by Monica and her benefactors, the whole place has been transformed into this fantasy world. They have valet parking, even though the front parking is rarely full. Especially not tonight. I think we’re the only guests here.
I pop out of my car as soon as it’s parked and help Kathryn out of the other side. It’s starting to drizzle and we don’t have umbrellas. In record time we’ve caught up with the Andrews, who are entering the foyer and chatting with everyone as if they live there.
From what I hear, they practically do.
“Welcome to our humble abode,” a woman – a maid, I think – offers to take my coat and then Kathryn’s. The Andrews have the careful attentions of their mistress, a young, tall woman with black bobbed hair and a svelte silver dress that hugs what few curves she has. I’m not surprised that their tastes skew toward tall, thin, and possibly Russian.
Kathryn hands her coat over to the maid, head craning around as she checks this place out. No expenses were spared when it came to renovating whatever they did. Gold lines the corridors. Tapestries as soft as silk hang on the walls. Crystal chandeliers light the way as we are led to a private lounge for our use.
It’s homier, but still opulent. The Andrews’ mistress – whose name is Grace – offers us all drinks and electronic cigarettes or cigars. The real stuff isn’t allowed in this room, and none of us really smoke anyway. Instead, we each take a glass of sweet wine and order whatever drink we want. I order a whisky.
Kathryn is too enthralled by the environment to properly hear Grace. By the time she does comprehend what’s being asked, all she can do is stare wide-eyed.
“She’ll have an Old Fashioned,” I say. She needs something hard to get through tonight.
I don’t notice the Andrews are glancing at us after I ordered for Kathryn. They’re on a different couch from us, leaving enough room for Grace to join them when she returns with the drinks. I thank her, and she winks at me.
Always working, these girls are.
Grace may belong to the Andrews tonight, but they’re not here every night, and it’s my understanding that these girls take on other clients on a casual basis. If friends happen to share the same girl, well… I don’t think people mention that. For obvious reasons.
I’m grateful that I never employed the services of this lovely Grace. Too close to the Andrews for comfort.
“Relax, friends,” Ken says, leaning back and imploring his mistress to sit on the edge of his lap. Grace looks comfortable settling in there, her fingers going to Lana’s long hair and brushing it with careful attention.
What a pair. “All drinks are on us.” He smiles. “Anything else is your own discretion.”
I know what he means. He’s looking at me, after all.
“Ever been here before, Mathers?”
Kathryn looks at me. I know she won’t give a rat’s two-timing ass if I say yes. Most Doms in our circles have been here at least once. Dommes, on the other hand? They don’t bother.
“A few times.” I sip my drink, although Ken continues to stare at me, as if he knows something I don’t. “Those times were a bit busier than tonight.”
“It’s traditionally a slow night, we’re afraid. That means more attention for us.” Lana smiles at Kathryn, who is still staring at the pillows and trying to remember where the fuck she is. “That reminds me, sweet, where are your friends?”
Grace puts a hand on Lana’s shoulder – who taught who that move? “They should be along shortly. They were helping with something downstairs.”
Before any of us can say anything, the door opens and admits two more feminine beauties dressed to impress their clients.
I frown. Not because I don’t like them, but because there’s the one I slept with the last time I was here.
Me and who knows how many other men in my social circles. We don’t think about that, however. A woman’s gotta work.
“Evening, everyone! Heard the party was in here.” The tall stranger with strawberry blond hair drapes herself across the back of Kathryn and mine’s couch, her experienced eyelashes batting at the both of us. Behind her, the other girl slinks along, refilling glasses and taking her perch in an empty chair between the couches. “To whom do we owe these immense pleasures?”
“These are Mr. Ian Mathers and Ms. Kathryn Alison,” Lana introduces, her wineglass half empty in her hand. “We closed a big deal with them today and are here to celebrate.”
“Ooh, celebrations!” The woman whose breath is going down the back of my neck is smiling. A bit too much. Too flirtatious. If there is such as thing. “Hey, Chelsea, pour these festive people some more drinks. They’re celebrating.”
I exchange a look with the pale blonde Chelsea. She flashes me a familiar smile. Yes, she remembers me.
She’s probably here because we had a good time and wants more of this. And my money.
I tipped her well, all right?
“Call me Judith,” says the chatty one. She extends her hand to both Kathryn and me. She has a firm handshake. “When I heard the lovely Andrews had invited some of their friends up here, I knew I had to stop by and say hello.” That’s code for “I have no other work tonight, so let me try to score here.”
More drinks are poured. The Andrews are comfortably laughing. Kathryn shuffles toward me on the couch, and I don’t think she realizes it. Either way, her hip is now touching mine, and I can smell the perfume in her hair.
Fuck me, I’m getting hard.
Can you blame me? This room is full of pretty women. Not just Kathryn, but Judith, Grace, and Chelsea are all handpicked beauties. Even Lana Andrews is stunning tonight in a body-hugging red dress she kept hidden beneath a black jacket during business today. She’s a master of knowing how to dress up and dress down an outfit.
Five beautiful women. Five sources of frustration, because they are all so very sexual creatures.
Especially Kathryn, who is comfortably next to me, even if she doesn’t realize it.
You don’t understand how much I want to wrap an arm around her and relax into this couch with our drinks. I want to laugh with her, talk about absolutely nothing, and get relaxed enough on alcohol to start romantically touching one another in this hazy atmosphere.
I want to do that, but I don’t know how.
See, Kathryn and I don’t have an established public relationship. Lots of people have guessed there’s something going on between us – like the Andrews – but that doesn’t mean we’re ready to be seen as a romantic pair. As far as the Andrews are concerned, Kathryn and I hookup sometimes. There’s nothing else going on outside of the bedroom.
For all I know Kathryn thinks the same way. So, the last thing I want to do is make her uncomfortable by throwing my arm around her or touching her knee in an intimate way. Point really stands when I look at how out of her element she is.
I guess it has to do with all the women, and as far as I can tell, my dear Katie has no interest in women like that.
Too bad.
We’re joined by one last person tonight. Someone I wasn’t really expecting, until Monica Graham helps herself into the lounge wearing a little black dress and ruby jewels in her hair.
I had heard through the grapevine that she still spends most of her weekends here to oversee her business. Which is funny, because a woman as submissive as her isn’t someone you’d peg as a businesswoman. I glance at Kathryn and wonder if she would ever be like that.
Before Monica can spare some words for us, she catches the look I give Kathryn. I don’t like the tiny smile on her face.
Shit.
Shit, shit.
I should have guessed that a woman in her position would have the eyes of a cat. The kind of cat that sees every little detail and knows how to work it to her advantage. She calls Judith and Chelsea over so she can whisper something into their ears. There is nothing subtle in the way they both look at us.
Cute.
Now it’s my turn to lean in toward someone’s ear. Namely, Kathryn’s. “We’re being targeted.” I try to keep my tone wistful.
Kathryn glances at the trio of conspiring women and then at me. “What do you mean? They want to…?”
“They’re businesswomen, and we’re taking up their time. They’re going to try to get into our wallets, darling.”
It’s the first time I’ve called her that in front of other people, although I don’t think anyone has heard.
“Both of us? At the same time?”
There’s only one way to find out. I swing my arm around Kathryn’s shoulders and bring her in for a kiss.
Chapter 18
KATHRYN
What the fuck, Ian!
He’s pushing me into the couch, kissing me, my hand instinctively touching his face as I accept his tongue deep in my mouth.
I don’t realize the implications of what he’s done until he breaks away, settling back into the couch as if he hasn’t done a damned thing.
Now everyone is looking at us. Nobody is shocked, but they are definitely interested in seeing if we continue.
I kind of forgot where we are.
Once my senses return to me, I smack Ian on the leg. “Excuse me, Mr. Mathers.”
A beat passes. Laughter erupts in the room. Ken raises his glass and says, “Cheers,” before gulping the rest of his drink. Grace the mistress falls deeper into his lap and whispers something into his ear. Lana is staring at the girl’s ass.
Behind me, a woman named Judith says that she likes my dress. Another named Chelsea says that she had wondered when she would see Ian again.
See Ian…
Again…
I’m frozen with the unfamiliar sensation of jealousy. I see the way he and this Chelsea woman look at one another. It’s a look of, “Oh, yeah, I fucked you before!”
Except money was involved with these two.
And BDSM.
You know, it’s one thing to know this theoretically. It’s another to see it for yourself.
I shouldn’t be jealous. I have no grounds to be jealous. After all, I wouldn’t be happy if one of my old flames came up and Ian got all alpha male terror on the guy. So, I have no business looking at this Chelsea woman as if she should back the fuck off.
Then I think about how Ian kissed me in front of these people.
Now they all know we’re a “thing.”
“I’ve been doing well, thank you,” Ian says to Chelsea, his arm still wrapped around me. Possessively. This is my woman and I want to make sure you know it. I’m not even wearing my collar. I don’t have it.
Ian kept it.
This is too overwhelming. I can’t relax.
I need more alcohol.
Luckily, there is plenty of alcohol here. Every time one glass empties, another fills up, and it’s like I have all the time in the world to use the powers of alcohol to feel more comfortable with the fact that Ian has his hands all over me in front of these people. Some of them total strangers. Some of them work colleagues.
When he’s decided Chelsea has asked him enough questions, he kisses me again, pushing me into the back of the couch with his whisky laden breath overpowering me.
My hand brushes against his crotch. Color me surprised. The guy is getting hard.
I wish he would keep kissing me. Those moments are the only times I feel comfortable here. That is until I get another glass in me and I realize that nobody is paying attention to us.
It’s a party in this small lounge. Lana and Ken are tipsy and flirty, their fingers all over each other, all over Grace, their sexuality oozing like a contagious disease if anyone so much as looks at them - like me. Judith and Chelsea are flirting with anyone who will pay attention to them, and I learn that they’re here to make the party better – and because they have no appointments or clients tonight, so they’re trying to score money elsewhere. Monica is here because the Andrews are two of her biggest investors. Not to mention how much money Ian and I carry together. She picks the gatherings she crashes carefully.
It’s a good thing this place deals in discretion, because Ian just rubbed the inside of my thigh and whispered something so dirty in my ear.
“I want you, Kathryn.”
I know that growl in his voice. It’s the one that makes my insides shiver. Makes my heart beat faster. Makes me want to melt in his arms and turn into nothing but a sexual creature – like how these other girls are acting in here.
My hand curls around the lapel of his jacket. “I want you too.”
This time our kiss is so mutually consuming that we get some whistles and a click of the tongue from Lana Andrews.
