“I know what you want, Ian.”
Good. Because I want you, Katie. I’m smiling to myself thinking of how I should say it. “Let’s discuss it over dinner.” Her, me, a candlelit dinner in my favorite Italian restaurant. I’ll have to get us the private suite, assuming that blasted Ethan Cole hasn’t reserved it every night for the next millennia. Do you know how hard it is to get that room? They should name it after him. Build a different room for the rest of us billionaires, because we’re not getting his scraps anytime soon.
Ahem.
“Dinner?”
I’ve piqued her interest. Yes, Katie, I’m asking you out on a date. I’m going to pour you wine instead of letting the server do it. I’m going to brush my hand against your arm and my foot against your leg. I’m going to entice you to put your hand on my thigh again, because I like it when you do that. God, I want to eat you up. Eat you out. Whatever.
“Yes. How about this Wednesday?” It’s the one day this week the Andrews are too busy to negotiate. Seems like a safe bet. “I’ll make the reservations. I’ll even come pick you up.”
“Wednesday… that’s soon.”
“Is there a problem?”
“No.” She’s trying to keep her resolve, but I feel her loosening. Am I seducing you that easily, Kathryn? “I’m free Wednesday evening.”
“Let’s say seven.” We need to have dinner early if I’m going to use most of that night to explore every inch of her body. God willing. It’s about time I take, my uh, time discovering what kind of crevices a beauty like Kathryn has hidden beneath her clothes. I’ve taken way too many detours to her thighs and breasts the last two times.
“Seven. Okay. Should I dress…?”
“Dress? Dress however you usually dress to a restaurant.” I’m sure it will be fine. Kathryn is the type to have a closet full of designer clothes in various fashions. She’ll look great in anything she wears, and always be appropriate.
Until I rip her clothes off at my place, anyway. Or we could go to hers. I really don’t care.
I want to be inside her again. To smell the nape of her neck and the shampoo in that soft hair. I’m getting tingles thinking about it. I know what I’m doing in my shower after this…
“Ian,” she suddenly begins. I don’t care how many times she interrupts my thoughts. Spending time with her is always better than my fantasies. “I agree. We need to talk. Talk.”
“Of course. See you then?”
“Sure.”
“I’ll text you any details before then. Oh, and Katie?” It feels so good letting that name roll off my tongue. “I’m looking forward to our time together.”
A delicate sendoff. My goal is to fill her head with images of me, of the things we can do together, even if they’re fleeting and not really what we want from a long-term partner. I don’t care about the long term right now. I care about what I want right now. And I want her. I want her body, her voice, her scent, and anything in that wild mind of hers that she feels like sharing.
Just, you know, I hope she keeps the sharing to before and after the main event. When I’m sinking my shaft into a woman, all I want to hear is her moans and her lips begging for me to give it to her.
You think she’ll give me that much? A man can dream. In the shower. I must be going.
Chapter 20
KATHRYN
I stood Ian up.
When Wednesday came and the instructions were in my texts, I couldn’t do it. Don’t ask me why. Not because I don’t know why, but because I know too well why.
I can’t do it. I can’t submit to him.
It has nothing to do with him and everything to do with me. It’s not who I am. Not only do I not have a submissive personality, but I don’t have the fortitude to do something like that, even for a night. What I do to my male subs is completely different from what happens to female subs… from men.
Now, I’m not about to tell a woman who is of sound mind and body what kinks she should not engage in with men. Especially if that woman knows what she wants and understands her mind well. Lots of women get massively off on a guy dominating them. I get that. Superficially. Only superficially. Beyond that? I have no idea what they’re thinking or what goes on with them physiologically.
I don’t want to know.
Look, I know what that dinner was going to be. It would be Ian smarming all over me, trying to get me in bed. Submissively. Ever since that bet happened, I’ve been wary. He’s looking at me as a potential sub now. I’ve gone from a good fuck to a good time. If all Ian Mathers wants is sex, that’s one thing… but I know better.
He wants me to submit now. That can’t happen.
I don’t mind sharing some control. I don’t mind him getting on top of me in bed and thrusting at me like an animal. That can be… well, it sounds really hot. Yet I can’t stand the thought of him thinking of me like that. As a submissive. I won’t let Ian think of me as anything other than I am.
Who am I? Right now I’m the type of date who stands a man up, waiting until the last minute to send him a text curtly saying that I can’t make it, and then preemptively blocking his number so he can’t bother me.
I don’t feel good about it. I should at least talk to him, but right now I’m so fucked up in the head that I think it’s best to let it cool for a while. I’ll have to see him eventually anyway.
See him, yeah. For work. That’s it. We should probably stop having sex.
It’s Thursday night and I’m at The Dark Hour. Alone. I didn’t invite Eva because, one, I knew she would be busy, and two, I want to decompress on my own terms.
Usually the club isn’t too busy on weeknights, but Thursdays can be different. Lots of businesspeople take a three day weekend and start the party on Thursday night. Tonight isn’t different in that regard. Every time I look out from my VIP perch, I see more people filing in and out. The place isn’t packed, but it’s not empty. If I wanted, I could find a sub for the night.
Probably, but I don’t want to.
I’m here to have a drink and watch others. I am definitely more of a voyeur than an exhibitionist. I prefer to have my slice of paradise behind closed doors, where it’s me and my partner. I can’t say I’ve ever had the desire to have someone watch me as I come – unless that person is the one making me come.
So here I am, sitting alone in my booth with a glass of whatever and watching others have a good time. It’s a good way to unwind most nights, but my mind is plagued with thoughts.
Like the thought of Ian Mathers curling his hand around the back of my neck and whispering into my ear, “Bend over, Kathryn.”
What does that mean, anyway? That he wants to spank me? To fuck me from behind? You know, Ian, I would let you fuck me from behind anyway. Just know that you’re not holding my head in the pillow and using me as a sex toy like you Doms do sometimes. You would hear every moan leak from my lips. You would see my pupils as I look over my shoulder and into your striking hazel eyes. The closest you’d get to holding me down is climbing on top of me and pile-driving me. Ha! You think I wouldn’t let you do that if I was in the right mood?
Just don’t think of me as your sub. Think of me as the virile, stubborn woman you’re taking for five minutes.