by Cynthia Dane
It sounds lovely. We’ve toyed with the idea of moving in together when Katie’s lease is up on her apartment next year.
Except things are slow with the love of my life. It took a long time to get her to admit her love for me. It took her longer to feel comfortable being my public girlfriend. She’s got her issues like anyone else. I try to be patient and understanding, but sometimes a man wants to get fucking married!
Anyway, where was I? Ah, yes. My assistant has told me she wants me married as soon as possible.
“Consider it a done deal if you manage to convince her to go through with it.” I finish my coffee with a smack of my lips. “I’ll give you a bonus, too.”
“No offense, Mr. Mathers,” sure, she says my name all formal-like, but her tone is so casual I could cry, “but if you and your money aren’t enough to get a woman to marry you on their own, then I don’t think there’s much I can do.”
She’s joking, but she still has a point. Damn her.
“Consider it a standing offer. If you convince Kathryn to marry me, then I’ll give you the sweetest bonus you’ve ever dreamed of.”
“Why, a million dollars? You’re too kind!”
I would, too. What the hell is a million dollars to me if it means Kathryn’s my legally wedded wife?
Well, if it could buy her happiness too, that would be nice.
Valerie looks over her shoulder. There, in the far corner of the crowded café overlooking Tokyo’s busiest crosswalk scramble, is Kathryn, typing away on her laptop. Think she’s writing her fifth grant of the year. Don’t ask me which charity. I can’t keep up.
“She’ll be on to me, you know.” Valerie stirs a pinch more sugar into her tea. “The more I bring it up, the more she’ll know I’m a plant sent by you.”
“Good. Keep her on her toes that way.” I lean across the table and lower my voice. “Hey, if this kid’s a boy, you should name him after me. Scare the pants off your husband.”
My joke does not faze her. “He’s already told me he doesn’t care if it’s actually your kid, because then that means a big fat payday for all of us.” Don’t worry, folks. I’ve met Valerie’s husband countless times. The work-at-home dad is big enough to kick my ass from here until next year if he felt up to it. Either that or suffocate me with his giant lumberjack beard. He also cracks a mean joke, like Valerie takes every joke hurled in her direction with a smile. It’s like Jack Capetti to joke about his wife having an affair with her billionaire boss. Last I heard, he reads those books like Fifty Shades. Probably drooling at the thought of a money-infused cuckold. Damnit, now I’m turning into them. “We’ve got two tuitions to save up for now. Also, I’m expecting an internship for one of them.”
“Excellent. You can show him how everything works, and then you can take a nice, long vacation while I run him ragged with boring real estate bullshit.”
Valerie receives a text message from her husband, as if the man knows we’re talking about him. She decides to make a call, and I get up to give her some privacy.
Besides, there’s a gorgeous woman on the other side of the room who needs my attention.
I creep up behind Kathryn, taking in the sight of her elegantly arranged hair. Usually when she’s in business mode, she ties it up in a tight French twist that is pure Heaven to rip apart in the throes of passion. Today, however, it’s clipped into a low ponytail, a peacock-shaped barrette the size of my hand twinkling in a flurry of reds and greens. It attracts my eye long enough to prevent me from properly announcing myself. Before Kathryn realizes I’m here, I catch a glimpse of the website she’s perusing.
“What’s this now?” I startle her out of her seat. A woman at the table behind us also jumps in surprise. “Anagrams?”
Yes. Kathryn is looking up anagrams. Of our last names.
I don’t need her to explain what she’s doing, but I want her to anyway. Because this is gold.
Grumbling, Kathryn attempts to click out of the browser window, but only ends up hitting the magnifier and making the hilarious anagrams of our last names bigger. She really should not have done that. Although, to be fair, she’s practically asked for what I’m about to say.
“Mirthless! Perfect last name for a pair of billionaire newlyweds.” Hey, I’ve met some pretty miserable ones. Forcing your rich kids to marry each other rarely works out in the end. (For all you ridiculously rich people reading this, don’t do that to your children. Seriously. Don’t do it. The rest of us have to live with it and their equally miserable spawn.)
“I swear to God.” Finally, she gets the window to close, but it’s too late. I’ve memorized most of the list.
“Hotelman is going to be our last name.” I place my hand on her shoulder. “Ian and Kathryn Hotelman. It’s perfect. Good job, babe. Thinking practical.”
“Ian...”
“Ian Daniel Hotelman, yes. It’s perfect. Brilliant. Better than Ian Manholes or Ian Harassment.” I bend down and whisper in her ear. “You can be Kathryn Manholes, though. Know what I meaaaan?”
Her elbow ends up in my gut. I totally deserved that.
“Point taken,” I gasp. The chair next to Kathryn slides out as I sit down and collect my breath. “What the hell are you up to? Picking out our future last name without my input?”
I’m under no delusion that Kathryn will legally become Kathryn Mathers one day. “Mrs. Mathers” is a joke, one meant to rib her up and down until she comically bursts. I’d become Ian Alison before she ever changes her paperwork to my last name. That doesn’t mean we haven’t briefly discussed what we would do about our last names when (I’m saying when, okay?) we marry. We’ll either hyphenate our names (like I’m under further delusions my name would come first…) or leave them alone, although that could cause some legal bullshit even at our level. Case in point: hospitals. At least we’re not having kids?
Anagrams have never entered the picture. Until now.
“Playing around,” Kathryn grumbles. “I see you’re 100% back to your usual self.”
“Missed me?”
Her face softens, much to my relief. “Maybe. At least it means we’re cleared for takeoff tomorrow.”
“Ah, yes, back to our humdrum American lives. We’ve been gone so long that I’m sure we’ve been totally forgotten.”
“I see your hospital stay has left you more dramatic than me.”
“Now that, my dear, is downright impossible.” Katie should’ve done theatre in high school. She would’ve slayed the stage with her melodrama.
My girlfriend stuffs her laptop back in its case. “Ready to head out? I want to spend tonight in our room, because tomorrow is going to suck.” Really? Twenty hours of travel sucks? I would have never guessed.
“You talking room service for dinner? I like it.” There’s a dining table that overlooks our part of Shibuya. At night, the neon lights are so bright and colorful that it’s like looking out over Vegas three-hundred years from now. The fact almost everything is in a different language I know nothing about only adds to the feeling.
I’d be down for going out tonight, too, since Kathryn and I never got our big date day in Tokyo, but taking it easy tonight is fine too.
That and I would really, really like to cash in on her promise to give me whatever I want.
Been thinking about it for days. The most fooling around Kathryn and I have done since I got out of the hospital is her giving me a blowjob two days ago. Short, sweet, and only temporarily satisfying. I want to have sex, damnit. I knew I was doing better when I went not once, but twice yesterday with my old girlfriend from high school. (You might know her. The name’s Palmela.)
Does not help Kathryn goes braless at home and wears big T-shirts to bed. Or lingerie. Or, you know, the whole showering together thing. So much naked. So many hard nipples. So much me sitting there whimpering like a whipped puppy because I haven’t stuck my dick in my girlfriend in a week. Have I mentioned how pathetic I am yet? Life’s hard. (It’s not the only thing perpetually hard right
now.)
“Maybe rent a movie. Take a bath.” Kathryn bats her eyelashes at me. I don’t know why she enjoys taking a bath together so much. I mean, I’m not complaining, because it’s pretty nice to have your naked girlfriend park her hot ass against your naked thighs, but I’ll be a shower man until the day I die. “I want to cuddle up with my man and not think about anything.”
“Technically, we would cuddle and watch movies on the plane tomorrow.” My plane has a private bedroom. Great for bedding your gal at 3,000 feet in the air while your assistant slobbers all over the giant, leather sofas in the main cabin. (Seriously, know how many times I’ve walked out there to find Valerie conked out when she was supposed to be researching and working on reports for me? Even brings her own blanket. Sheesh.)
“We could. We could also do it tonight, and tomorrow night when we get home.”
“Your place or mine?”
She chuckles. “Mine, please. I miss my bed and my perfectly reasonable toilet.”
“Thought you said my bed was more comfortable.”
“Mine is more familiar.”
“Uh huh.”
I won’t argue with her, but I will say, “One day when we move in together, we’ll use my mattress because it’s so comfortable. But you can pick out the covers so it’s familiar to you.”
Kathryn stiffens. Are you shocked that the woman who has asked me not to propose to her yet is also nervous about possibly moving in together? Yet I am right. We’re using my mattress, because it’s fucking awesome.
“Tell you what,” she finally says. “If you stop talking about this stuff, we’ll go back to our room and you can take me up on my offer for anything you want.”
“What if what I want is to talk about this stuff?”
“Then I’m going to need a lot of alcohol.”
I lightly tug on her ponytail, admiring the way her chin points up and her blue eyes sparkle, even if it’s with uncertainty. I’ve pulled her hair plenty of times, usually with the ferocity of an alpha male laying claim to his mate, but today’s affection is nothing but simple adoration. Kathryn has one of the most beautiful profiles in the world. What’s wrong with admiring it, even if I have to tweak her pose a little?
“No alcohol. I want you to have all your bearings when I fuck you senseless.”
Her expression remains unchanged for a few seconds. Then, as my words sink into her brain, she says with a smile, “Says the man who was sick for days. Think you’ve got the stamina to keep up with me?”
The more she challenges me, the more I want to prove her wrong.
***
Screw an early dinner. Screw picking out a movie. As soon as we get back to our room, already losing out on precious sunlight as it disappears behind the surrounding buildings, I press the love of my life against the wall and kiss her like we both deserve.
You ever kiss your lover after a long time apart? Sure, we’ve seen each other every day on this trip, but we haven’t had a kiss like this since the night before I got sick. Even one week is too long when you’re in love and want to make the most of the moment. Helps that we’re both excellent kissers, thank you. Helps even more that I know every bit of her mouth and what feels best when we’re revving up for a hot and heavy time.
Fuck me. I’m hard already. It’s like the moment I realize I’m about to have sex everything goes haywire and I become my most base, animalistic self. Kathryn says it’s hot, though, so I’ll go ahead and let it reign.
She groans against my mouth. I groan into hers, my hands splayed against the wall as I ravage her lips and tangle with her tongue.
“Fuck me,” she groans against my throat. “Hot damn have I missed you.”
She’s talking about in the Biblical way, obviously. As a man, that soothes my manly ego a lot more than her saying “Hi baby, we haven’t been in each other’s presence in a month, and I miss you! Let’s get dinner!” A man wants to know that his woman desires him every day of her life, whether we can do it or not. Trust me, I ain’t no stranger to going all night with her. Doesn’t happen every day, but do I dream about it? Fuck yes.
“You’ve missed me? You’re the gorgeous one with the best pussy for getting cozy in.” She laughs. I knew she’d like that joke. You know you’ve got the best girlfriend when you can joke about getting cozy in her pussy and all she does is laugh like you’re the funniest bastard on SNL. “Maybe I should do that right now.”
“What? Get cozy in my pussy?” My belt is undone. Kathryn’s grabby hands pull it off, the leather and metal clanking to the ground. Next she’s going to unzip me. Nope. Can’t handle it. I also can’t handle her hiking up her skirt without my help. What? She wants to do it right here? I mean, I can provide that experience for no extra charge, but I had other fantasies in mind. After all, I get whatever I want tonight.
I grab her by the wrists and push her hands against the wall. That knowing look dawns on her relaxed countenance. That’s right. I’m asserting myself. Dom Ian hasn’t come around in a while. I’m overdo for more than sex tonight. I think she is too.
It’s been a long road opening Kathryn’s mind up to taking on the other role in BDSM scenes. To be fair, it was an even longer road for me. But I think the main difference between us is that she gets a lot more out of submitting than I do. I mostly do it because it makes her happy (and yes, it’s a good orgasmic time when I’m in the mood.) She submits because she’s discovered she actually needs it to calm the fuck down in her hectic life.
If I take total control, then she doesn’t have to worry about anything. Doesn’t have to make decisions. Doesn’t have to feel bad about enjoying what we’re doing. I’ve taken those worries and fears away from her. My burden is to alleviate the shit on her mind and stressing out her beautiful body. My drive to take care of her – while also indulging in my perverted fantasies, ahem – is what fuels our sex life half the time.
So, even though I was the one sick out of his mind this past week, she’s the one who bore the brunt of the worry and stress. Even though it wasn’t my fault I put her through that, I feel like I need to make it up to her. I need to dominate this scene so she doesn’t have to worry about a thing. Kathryn is going to let go of everything and start anew by the time we get home. I owe that much to her.
No pressure. Besides, this is the night I’ve fantasized about, right?
“Take off your clothes,” I tell her. “Leave the lingerie on, though.” I release her before going to the nearest lounge chair and sitting down. “Strip for me.”
She’s already started by the time my gaze lingers on her again. Pop, pop, pop. Goodbye buttons holding her jacket together. Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle, there goes the sleeves down her arms. Fwump. On the floor.
Not once does she stop looking at me. Her gaze is full of affection. Adoration. Unquestionable love. Her sleepy bedroom eyes invite me to take advantage of what she feels for me, the only man she would probably ever marry.
Her skirt joins her jacket on the floor. A slim black bikini bottom accentuates the whites of her thighs and curves of her ass as she shrugs out of her simple blouse and casts it aside. Her bra matches her panties. Men notice these things. Or at least this man does.
I appreciate good coordination. Of course, I get as horny when I undress her and find an orange bra and white and purple panties. It’s about what’s beneath them, anyway.
I beckon her to come to me. I want her skin against mine. Her lips on mine. Her hair falling out of its peacock barrette. I say as much when she reaches me. Within ten seconds, the glistening peacock is on the table next to me. Katie combs her fingers through her hair, the ends brushing against her breasts. Looks like she’s got some great pushup cleavage happening. Wonder what it looks like from above?
“On your knees.”
I don’t care how many times I’ve commanded her to do that. Every time I say it, no matter how confident my tone, I expect her to talk back at me, because that’s how she is. So I’m always pleasantly surprised – and pla
cated – when she does as told, her knees sinking into the carpet and her pretty cheeks only a reach away from my touch.
“You know what I want.”
As I said before, Katie’s a great actress. She knows how to keep her face perfectly calm while lying out her ass. “Maybe I don’t. Maybe I need to be told.” Her hands graze my knees, then my thighs. My erection is creating quite the sight in my trousers. When we’re like this, I don’t give a fuck. I don’t think she does either. Nobody’s laughing.
“I don’t think it takes rocket science for you to figure out that I want you to suck my cock.”
She touches me. Touches my bulge and the sensitive member beneath the fabric of my pants. She was raring to pull it out earlier. So what’s holding her back now? Suddenly she wants to tease me? Hmph.
That said, I have fantastic stamina. A point of pride considering how Katie and I met when we were teenagers. “Didn’t you hear me? I don’t see your head in my lap.”
Because I love seeing her blond hair spilling across my lap, that perfectly curved part on her scalp bobbing up and down as she slowly takes my cock into her throat and strokes what’s left of my shaft. I can’t prevent the sharp intake of my breath or the chills rippling through me. How can I? I told you the view of her tits was better from up here. What man doesn’t want to look down at a great pair of breasts while having his dick sucked?
I don’t thrust. I don’t grab her hair or talk dirty to her. I merely lean my head back and enjoy myself, because this right here is one of the pinnacles of a good life. Money is amazing, of course. Getting to travel around the world doing millions in business is a great thrill. Bedding women who can’t get enough of your cock is the biggest ego-stroke of your life. Having the one woman you’re determined to spend the rest of your life with languidly suck your cock means your life really isn’t that bad, no matter how stressed out you are or what drama you’re dealing with. I would never ask it unless she brought it up first, but if Kathryn did this for me every night for the rest of our lives, I’d be the most stress-free guy at the country club when I’m forced to go.