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 framing 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….