Dom Vs: Domme: The Deluxe Trilogy: A Billionaire Romance (Dom Vs. Domme Book 0)

by Cynthia Dane

  I have no complaints, and tell her as much.

  Eventually I take off her blindfold, and she looks at me with these baby blues that know how to make me come undone. Many men dream about their blue-eyed blonde, but I’m the lucky bastard who gets that and a personality that provides endless amusement. A personality I’m starting to miss, so I unclasp her collar and toss it onto the nightstand.

  Right away, I’m not disappointed.

  “That was rougher than you took it for.” She smacks my chest, her grin devious. “Had I known you were going to do that to me, I would’ve done some stretches earlier.”

  I imagine her taking a break during our earlier meeting to do some lunges and splits. “What are you doing?” the man we were meeting with would ask. “Oh, just getting ready for my boyfriend to plow my pussy later,” she would respond.

  I’d laugh if I weren’t so exhausted. My eyelids are heavy enough to knock me out.

  “You know,” I begin, stroking her hair and curling her up in my arms, “I think it’s safe to say you’re more than done with the intermediate part of your training.”

  “Intermediate, huh? Is that what you’ve been calling these past few weeks?”

  Uh huh. Kathryn needed me to break her domineering habits when we were having scenes. I punished her justly, with spankings, hair-pulling, rough fucking, dirty words, orgasm denial, and even bites to her throat and shoulder until she learned to fully submit to my whims whenever the collar was on. Soon enough she was docile and willing for anything I presented. In turn, I learned the positions and words she responded to the best, and made sure to use them when she was being rewarded.

  Child’s play.

  “I know you’re not interested in lifestyle BDSM.” Her body tenses in my hold, and I caress her shoulder to soothe her nerves. “Neither am I. However, I think for your final round of training I’m going to propose we give it a whirl for a few days.”

  “A few days?”

  I sit up, even though I’m tired and my body is more ragged than an actual rag. I want nothing more than to sink on top of her, inhaling her scent and feeling her warm body against mine as we drift off to sleep.

  “A ‘few’ meaning three at the most. I’m not that cruel.”

  “You’re not cruel at all.” Even though she says it flippantly, those words hit my brain like a shock. I don’t know why. “But that’s asking… a lot. I don’t know anything about being a lifestyle submissive. Not even from a Domme’s end. I’ve never done that before.”

  I can sense her discomfort, and I don’t blame her. Kathryn Alison has never considered being a lifestyle submissive, even when she’s indulging in wearing a collar and letting me call her filthy names as I take her in new and degrading positions. There’s a thrill in knowing that.

  “It would mean serving me. Not only in sexual situations, but in everyday life.”

  “At work, too?”

  “We would keep it on the down-low, but yes.”

  “I really don’t know about that.”

  “We would sort it out before going for it.” Her skin is soft against my lips as I kiss her here, there, and a little bit of everywhere. If nothing else, I’ll use my body to relieve her mind. God knows she does that enough for me. “After that, you’ll be considered fully trained.”

  “And then what?”

  “Well, we go from there.”

  Even if she had the collar on, I think Kathryn would still pull away from me and contemplate the underside of my covers. “Let me think about it.”

  “All right.”

  When she doesn’t answer me for a few minutes, I join her beneath the covers and snake my arms around her, bringing her as close to me as I can.

  “You okay?”

  “No.”

  “What now?”

  She doesn’t resist me, but I can tell I’m not her favorite person. “Where are we going from here, Ian?” Fuck my life, she brings this up every other day. “Okay, so once I’m ‘trained,’ what does that mean? It doesn’t mean I’m a sub.”

  “You’re my sub.”

  It’s dark beneath the covers, but I can still see her eyes staring back at me. “No, it doesn’t.”

  “Huh?”

  The covers pop up, and we’re hit with the light of the room. Kathryn’s hair is tangled, her body sweaty, and her thighs in desperate need of soaking in my tub. We don’t move. Not until I hear her out.

  “You’re not training me to no longer be a Domme. I’m not making a radical shift in my life. I like subbing for you, Ian, but that doesn’t mean I want my life to revolve around it. I don’t even want our sex life to revolve around me wearing that collar. It’s an addition, not a lifestyle.”

  “That’s what I meant…” Isn’t it?

  “No it’s not.”

  Apparently not!

  “You going to put words in my mouth, love?” I tease her, but I mean it. “I don’t think of you as a submissive woman. Far from it. I’m only helping you, remember?”

  “Like you don’t get anything out of it.”

  “Of course I do. Who said I didn’t like you submitting to me? I’ve fantasized about it long enough.” I hope this isn’t going where I dread it’s going.

  Fuck me. It is.

  Kathryn pinches my nipple. I wince, batting her hand away without a thought. “You get to pinch me, but I don’t get to pinch you.”

  We’re silent.

  “You’re the one who came to me, Katie. I don’t recall ever going to you and asking for you to dominate me.”

  “I know. I just want you to know my thought processes.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “Ugh.”

  “What?”

  She pushes away from me, tossing back the covers and swinging her legs over the side of the bed. Her naked body glows in the light. The shine of sex. The sheen of a woman who should be relaxed and enjoying life.

  “I hate it when men say that. ‘Fair enough.’ Gee, thanks for deigning my words intelligent enough to grace your ears. Thanks for dismissing everything I said at the same time.”

  “That’s not what I…”

  The bed shakes as she gets up, tossing her hair over her shoulder and rounding the bed toward the bathroom. “Doesn’t matter what you intended, Ian. It’s what you said.”

  I don’t have time to admire her form, her beauty, her cunning and her ability to make me hard again with one shake of her hips. Kathryn is disappearing into my bathroom, shutting the door with finality behind her.

  Suddenly she pokes her head out, glaring at me, testing my boundaries for a change. “All right. Let’s do it. Let’s see how far you can push me. Then we’ll talk about how serious this is. It will depend on how I feel afterward.”

  The door closes again, softer this time. I smile. My mind is already full of the fun shit I’m going to do to her.

  With her.

  Chapter 4

  KATHRYN

  “Does this dress make me look straight?”

  Eva turns on the dais, pulling a wedgie out of her ass, grimacing, and giving me a look that says “Answer right, damnit.”

  I can’t.

  I’m trying too hard not to laugh.

  Seeing Eva in a dress isn’t enough. I know she wears one every blue moon or so, but those are very sexy numbers that show off her edges and the bite to her personality. The dress she’s wearing now, however, does anything but. It looks like a grandma dress. A pale, rosy pink that doesn’t scream vivacious but painfully Victorian. In fact, I’m almost certain that the last person to wear such a dress came from that century.

  We’re in The Crimson Dove, the same boutique sporting the dress Stephanie May wore the other day. Yet if someone in Eva’s family is going to get married, then the only place to shop for a bridesmaid dress is here. And poor Eva has been roped into being a bridesmaid for the first time in her life.

  She looks hilariously miserable.

  �
�They told me I could wear a suit,” she mumbles, looking at herself in the mirror and picking at the spaghetti straps clinging to her bony shoulders. “Wouldn’t it be weird if I’m the only woman out of eight who is wearing a suit? I thought wearing a dress wouldn’t be so bad. Especially when they told me the color had to be red or a dark pink. Who wears a suit of that color? I would look so stupid.”

  I mean, she has a point.

  Even so, Eva Warren is not a woman who struts around in dresses like the ones The Crimson Dove sells. When I agreed to come shopping with her this Sunday afternoon, I knew it would be a doozy. I plan on picking up a few new things myself, but first I need to see this bullshit unfold.

  I am so not disappointed.

  The worker unfortunately named Gertrude brings out another red dress for Eva to consider. Part of the problem is that she’s so tall. Like, over six feet tall. Put her in some heels, or even slightly raised flats, and she’s a giant. Works well for the BDSM club and intimidating those around her, but doesn’t do much to give off a feminine air in a dress.... especially when you’re a butch lesbian who is so sour it makes your lips pucker.

  “What do you think?” She holds up the red halter dress Gertrude brought over. “Please be honest. I don’t want to be embarrassed at my brother’s wedding.”

  I cock my head in serious consideration. Another employee brings me a refill of champagne, but I’m still full from the last one. “You need something sexy, but not too sexy for a wedding. Something mid-length, hm?”

  “Yeah, well, when you’re my height, everything is mid-length, even those so-called maxi dresses.”

  “Point. You definitely don’t want any sleeves either. You have gorgeous collarbones and spine. You should show those off. Cover the tits.”

  Gertrude, who has been listening to my thoughts, rushes to the other side of the store and hauls over a white dress matching those specifications. Before we can protest, she assures us that it’s perfect for dyeing a shade of red to go with Eva’s fair skin and hair. The seamstress on hand will be more than willing to come out with some dye swatches and match them to Eva’s skin tone. With red, that’s pretty important.

  “Try it on,” I say. “You can’t do much worse than what you’re already wearing.” You have no idea how much I want to start guffawing like a baboon watching Eva scuttle off the dais and back to the changing room, pulling wedgie after wedgie out of her ass. Girl does not know how to walk in dresses like that.

  While she’s gone, I get up and peruse the wares, so to speak. The woman who brought me champagne asks if I need help, but I tell her I’m happy to browse for now.

  I have no real need for a new dress, although I know the Mathers will want me to wear something recent and stylish for the hotel opening in a few weeks. So, it doesn’t hurt to look, even if I’m 50k down a month now.

  Yup. Still bitter.

  Although I’m a woman, and I’ve had a lot of cash to burn my whole life, I’ve never been into the fashion scene. I enjoy shopping. I love trying on a cute dress and then wearing it out to lunch with friends or on a date with a guy like Ian. The one great thing about being filthy rich is that money is rarely an option. If I like a blouse, I get it. I can even get them tailored to fit my breasts, shoulders, and abdomen. (I feel for women who can’t afford to get a jacket that actually closes over their chests!) It does mean I have way too many clothes, but I give them away to my assistants or make sure they’re put to good use somewhere. For my last charity, I sold a lot of my old designer clothes I no longer think suit me. Brought in a few thousand!

  Except I’m not “into” fashion. I don’t have any designer friends. I don’t go to fashion shows unless there’s someone I like who really wants me to come.

  So coming to The Crimson Dove once in a while means I get to see some pretty nice clothes that all seem brand new to me.

  There are a few dresses I might try on when Eva’s finished. A little black number that’s off one shoulder and sports diamonds along the hem. Another is a deep, forest green and has a mosaic sash to die for. Then there’s this soft blue number that would look great with my hair.

  I wonder which one Ian would like most.

  Damnit.

  “Well?” Eva walks out – in flats, this time – and shows off the white dress. White is definitely way more her color than red, but that’s beside the point. We’re supposed to be looking at the cut and fit of the dress in the hopes of dyeing it later.

  Eva has a difficult frame to work with. She’s supermodel tall, has bony shoulders but a wide chest. Her hips are about average, her abs muscular, and her thigh gap the envy of every woman we know – don’t ask her how she gets it, because it’s purely genetics. Eva knows how to dress in pants to make her look great, but dresses and skirts are a different story. Especially with the blond pixie cut and a demeanor that screams butch in charge.

  The bust accentuates her breasts while the straps blend into her collarbone. The dress cinches at the waist and ends above the knee. Gertrude comes out with a diamond-studded belt to show how the look can be accessorized. Yes, the dress is stupid simple, but that’s what a woman as striking as Eva needs.

  “Get it,” I say. Then, to the girl with the champagne, “How about those color swatches? I think my friend would like to leave before she has a brain hemorrhage.”

  Eva clasps her hands and dramatically thanks me, Gertrude heaving her own thanks beneath her breath. The girls here work on a nice commission.

  The swatches come out. Everyone blanches at the red-oranges against Eva’s skin. The pinker we go, the more we laugh. Yet when we go darker, to the crimsons and the scarlets, her pale skin is so washed out that I can only feel sympathy for her.

  “I’m so tired of this. I don’t care what color it is. Make it not look like shit on me. That’s all I ask.”

  Isn’t that the only thing any of us asks?

  They have to wait for the woman in charge to come in before they can continue, so Eva sits down in her white dress and encourages me to try on some clothes. I take the opportunity to try on those three dresses I mentioned earlier, disappearing into the changing room with Champagne Girl and letting her help me so she can get her commission.

  I don’t bother walking out with the green dress. It’s hideous!

  I parade the black dress out, however, and Eva is too tired to do more than whistle her approval. After some turning on the dais, I’m convinced it flatters my ass enough to be considered for purchase.

  The blue dress, on the other hand, is the one that rouses Eva from her near-slumber on the couch.

  “Honey, if you were gay and I didn’t feel like shit, I would be hitting on you with that ensemble.”

  It doesn’t only flatter my figure. The blue does exactly what I anticipated with my hair – namely, make it one of the focal points of my look. I can’t help but grin at the way it rests on top of the sultry blue.

  For the briefest second, I wonder what Ian’s favorite color is. I don’t think I’ve ever asked. I bet it’s a shade of blue.

  “Since you’re not gay, though,” Eva continues, “I’ll have to consider it from the point of view of a man like your boyfriend.” She sticks her hand between her legs and gives me a thumbs up. I know what she really means.

  “Shut up.”

  My blushing gives me away. “Uh huh. You know he’d rip that dress off you in two seconds. Or at least want to.”

  Gertrude chooses that moment to walk away. Champagne Girl politely moves off to the side and pretends to be disinterested in our conversation. Thank God Eva didn’t mention Ian by name, because these girls are notoriously chatty with each other.

  “Hm. You didn’t admonish me and say that he’s not your boyfriend. I see how it is. When’s the wedding? I want to know if I can wear this dress twice.” She winces. “And make sure I get to be your maid of honor. I lost that to Jasmine fucking Bliss this time. Did you know that she and Monica are bosom buddies? What a wild wor
ld.”

  I’m barely listening. She lost me at the wedding talk. “We’re not getting married. Not tomorrow, not in a year, probably not in a decade.” Even if Ian and I somehow became engaged, I doubt I would go through with a marriage anytime soon. Too much to deal with, both realistically and emotionally.

  “Come on. Humor me. You have hardly said a thing about you and this guy since we last talked about his cock and what it does to you. What’s new?”

  I keep my lips shut. I still haven’t told Eva about submitting. Of course, if any Domme were to go easy on me for it, it would be her, my best friend. Hilariously enough, the raging lesbian is the last one I have to worry about turning on me professionally and socially. She may not get it, but I don’t think she’d treat me much differently. Still, I haven’t been able to bring myself to say anything to her.

  Because at the end of the day, I’m still embarrassed by it.

  And now Ian wants me to be a 24/7 submissive for a few days. For some stupid reason I agreed to do it. Don’t ask me why! I suppose I’m curious. He says it will be the last of my training before… before what? Before I’m capable of being his submissive at a moment’s notice? That I could submit to another man if I wanted to? I have no idea what it means. Not sure I want to know right now.

  I don’t even want to know what he has planned for me. I know one thing I’m demanding of him, and that’s a couple of hours a day when I can take off the collar and be my own woman. Not his sex toy, like I was the other night.

  As hot as it was.

  It’s hard for me to think about this, because I’m hanging out with my Domme friend and trying to have a good time at a boutique. So I ignore Eva’s prying about my sex life with Ian and tell Champagne Girl that I would like to ring up the black and blue dresses. I hand her my credit card and continue to admire myself in the mirror. I have a tailor who can make the minor alterations necessary to have this dress really pop.