Be still, my heart.
“I want you to do it, Ian.” She’s puffing out her chest, making herself feel bigger. And letting me see her chest better – let’s not forget that. “I want you to dominate me. For one night.”
Excuse me? I don’t think I heard that correctly. It almost sounded like Kathryn Alison asked m to dominate her.
“I’m serious. I want to know what it feels like to submit to you.”
Normally, I would be enjoying this most immensely. A Domme like Kathryn coming to me under the utmost discretion to ask me to dominate her. Something I’ve been fantasizing about for two weeks now. Her, me, a comfortable playroom where I can do whatever the fuck I want. My way.
I’d be lying if I said I don’t want to know how she feels, looks, sounds when she’s submitting to me.
But I know it’s not that simple.
“Are you sure?” I don’t touch her. It’s hard enough to look at her right now without feeling like I’m going to scare her off. “I wouldn’t feel comfortable doing it if you weren’t.”
“See? That’s why you’re a good guy for this. I’m attracted to you, and you’re not… that much of an asshole.”
I feel so vindicated.
“Tomorrow. Let’s do it tomorrow before I lose my nerve.”
“Tomorrow?” I have an appointment in the early afternoon. Possibly a dinner. “Eight is the earliest I could do. Right here. But… are you sure? You’ve never subbed before.” I state it as a fact, because I know it’s true.
She shakes her head, that bun swishing in the air of my dimly lit apartment. “Don’t make me second guess myself. Tomorrow at eight. I’ll submit to you.”
“You don’t have to do this.” What am I doing? This woman is throwing herself at me, and I’m trying to get her to change her mind? “I’m not going to hold you to any bet.”
Katie keeps shaking her head. “I’ve made up my mind.” Fuck me, she sounds like such a Domme. This will not end well. “Don’t try to talk me out of it.” Her finger is in my chest, hard and unrelenting. “Unless you don’t want to dominate me.”
That low voice. That hiss. That throwing down the gauntlet. She knows how to speak to me, both the man and the Dom.
All I see is me pushing her over the edge of this couch and giving it to her.
I hold back, however. I won’t let myself touch her tonight. Not when it’s like this.
“I’ve thought of nothing but dominating you for ten years now.”
“I knew it.” She’s still growling. “Well, tomorrow you’ll have your chance. You better make it count.” Kathryn begins to leave, fixing any stray hairs in her bun on her way out. “Mr. Mathers, you’d best show this Domme a good fucking time on the other end of the leash. You’d be my first Dom. You better be up to the challenge.”
No pressure, Ian.
No pressure at all.
Chapter 23
KATHRYN
My mind is so clear that I’m having bouts of insecurity regarding my sanity. When I woke up this morning, remembering what I had said to Ian before leaving his place last night, I groaned and thought about calling him to cancel.
Thinking that made me angry. So I took a shower, cooked some breakfast, and am now sitting in front of my big, wide window overlooking a park and doing some meditative yoga.
I’m a strong woman. I feel like I shouldn’t have to tell myself that, but it’s true. I’ve been through worse. I trust Ian – or as much as a woman can trust someone in that situation. Never have I heard a bad word about him in the club. Although I’m not privy to why he and subs go separate ways, I’ve never thought it had to do with his behavior.
No, everything negative I feel is solely due to me.
It takes a lot of nerve and resolve to go up to a man and say dominate me. Perhaps too much. As a Domme, I don’t have to think about my pride or my self-worth. It’s ingrained into me as a part of my role. If I submit? It’s going to be at the forefront of my mind.
Even so, Ian said I didn’t have to do anything. He wanted some casual sex if I was up for it. Doesn’t matter. This whole submission thing is in my head.
If I’m ever going to try it, Ian is the only man I’ll trust with it.
Shit, don’t ask me why! I’m trying to meditate here. And yet all I can think about is Ian Mathers shoving me against two walls and fucking me as if he’ll never have the chance to do it again. As if the world is ending. As if he can’t get enough of me or my body. Usually when men act like that around me, it’s because I’m their Domme. It’s so different having a non-submissive man slather you with attention like that.
It’s noon. People are enjoying the park. Here on my enclosed balcony, I can see their colorful heads moving around, playing games, eating food, jogging… it’s all so peaceful.
I’m at peace.
It won’t be so bad. I’ll go to his place, I’ll do whatever he wants, but at the end of the day I’ll still be the same person. Some women go through gay experimentation – or so I hear. Me? Maybe I’m experimenting with submission.
A deep breath takes me over. In several hours, it will be Ian Mathers taking me over.
***
Two hours later, I receive a text from him. “Instructions.” Hm. Well.
It’s a list of requests. Mostly apparel. I was going to dress girly, but it seems he has other ideas. Multiple lines of text, each one describing what he wants me to wear, appear before me.
He’s a meticulous Dom. I’ve never required my subs to wear anything other than skin.
This is going to be interesting. Perhaps not as interesting as how much my body tingles as I go through my closet, looking for items close enough to his descriptions, however.
I’ve never dressed up for a man before like this. I’ve never followed his instructions, knowing that what I’m doing is meant to arouse him. His tastes, not mine. The way I do my hair, the jewelry I wear, even my underwear… it’s all for him. And me. We pretend it’s all for him.
Maybe this submitting thing is easier than I expected. A part of me can’t wait to see what tonight has in store.
Chapter 24
IAN
I’m a nervous wreck.
Me, a Dom. A man who is used to being in control. Now I’m being given the ultimate control by the woman I least expected. The woman I expected to want me the least. And now the woman I expected to submit the least.
I want her so badly. She consumes my mind all day.
I eat lunch with my father and some of his friends. We take the old-man party to a lounge to waste away the afternoon. Men with forty years on me talk about the good ol’ days and chide me for still being a bachelor. Yet they pour me more drinks, and my father clicks his tongue.
“Don’t want to hear any talk about women right now,” he mumbles. “Ian needs to be focusing on his work, or at least until the hotel is taken care of.” Of course, he beams at me in that know-how way. He’s a man. I’m his son. He wants proof of my virility without actually knowing the details. I’m allowed to wait for marriage, however. I admit it’s not something I think about, even as I turn thirty.