Billionaires in Paris: An Alpha Billionaire Romance

by Dane, Cynthia

  If we even pretend to be engaged, not only will it be a lie that doesn’t need to exist, but I would feel so awful for the both of us. It would strain the relationship we do have. Why can’t we keep going slow? Why can’t we enjoy what we have already?

  Why can’t people leave us alone?

  “Sorry I brought it up,” Ian mumbles.

  “You really want to get married, huh?”

  This isn’t a conversation we need to be having in public. Most people around us aren’t even speaking English, and it’s loud enough that they can’t hear us anyway. Ian doesn’t look at anyone else as he says, “I don’t want to get married if you don’t.”

  “That’s not what I asked.” Why does he have to be so complicated? “I asked if you really wanted to marry me. Take my apprehensions out of the equation. You want to marry me, right?”

  His hand touches mine on top of the table. Eat your heart out, paps. “I want to be with you for the rest of my life,” he says, almost too quiet to hear during breakfast at a hotel café. “Marriage or no marriage, it doesn’t matter to me.”

  “Of course it matters. That question matters to everyone.”

  A sharp breath rips through his body. “Fine.” He drops the other piece of croissant he broke off. “You know why I want to at least get engaged? Because then the whole world will know that you’re mine.” He cuts off the words getting ready to fire from my lips. “They’ll also know that I’m yours. It goes both ways.”

  I sigh, resigned to him not getting the point. “No, it doesn’t. Not on the macro level.”

  We’ve reached this impasse once again. It happens every time the marriage talk comes up. I’d rather talk about kids than this shit.

  “One of these days you’ll have to explain that to me again.” Ian pulls out his phone. “I’m going to step out and return a call.”

  That’s code for “let’s take a break for a few hours.” It’s better than fighting. Not that I feel good knowing that we were on the verge of a fight. The only thing making me feel any kind of chipper is knowing he’s off to call his mother. Have fun with that, Ian. I’m going back upstairs and decompressing with one of the only things that soothes my soul.

  No, not chocolate. No, not porn. Although I’ll give you a hint: it’s closer to one of those things than the other.

  Chapter 10

  IAN

  “Of course I don’t actually think you’re engaged,” my mother backtracks. It’s the middle of the night back home, but she had no problem calling me forty-eight times in the past two hours. Seemed fair to harass her back. “I’m not foolish enough to hold out hope like that.”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  “After what happened in Las Vegas, I’m ready for you two to have a nice long think about your relationship.”

  My mother can be so typical. Which is rich, coming from a woman who purposely got pregnant to bag herself a rich husband. Her master plan of divorcing my father after twenty years of marriage worked greatly in her favor. The alimony he pays her is so outrageous that if we didn’t live in a different era I would be more hesitant about getting married myself! “Anyway, don’t know if you saw the ring.”

  “That was the other reason I knew something was bullshit. You think I don’t recognize that ring? Her grandmother used to wear it a lot, and I saw it at the clubs when Marilyn used to live here. I’m not dumb. If I had an heirloom like that I would’ve given it to you a long time ago.”

  “I doubt I would’ve worn it and gotten papped with it on, though.”

  “Besides, that thing is so garish. Olive Chambers had the tackiest taste. When I first married your father, I had the great displeasure of seeing Olive and that gaudy thing everywhere. You would think they would’ve buried it with her…”

  My brain checks out. I’m sitting on a bench along a walkway, looking toward the Eiffel Tower and watching the sun continue to rise. I don’t feel great about walking out on Kathryn during breakfast. I need some space, though. Some time to think. Some time to call my mother and listen to her rant about how tacky grandma Olive Chambers was. If I had stayed behind, I would’ve said something stupid and regrettable. At least now I know when that moment is about to happen and I can walk away.

  “You need to get Kathryn a simple and classy ring, but not as boring as that gold band. Get her something with embedded diamonds. Give her a little pizzazz while staying in her tastes. If you’re going to make her a Mathers one day, it has to be done on her terms.”

  She manages to be both totally off the mark and absolutely right. She’s right that it would have to be on Kathryn’s terms. She’s wrong that I could ever “make her a Mathers.” The only way Kathryn would take my last name is if someone held a gun to her head at the courthouse. Even then, I’m not sure. Being buried as Kathryn Alison might be more important than being alive.

  Sometimes I think I’ll change my damn name to make a point, but then I think of the crazy fallout that would ensue. Then I get even more tempted to do it, because who doesn’t like some crazy fallout once in a while?

  “As I’ve said before, Mom, if we ever get engaged, you will be the very first to know. Only on the grounds that you don’t go blabbing it until we’ve had the time to introduce it to the world on our terms, however.”

  I don’t think she’s heard me. I need to hang up anyway so she can go to bed… and so I can get back to the hotel.

  There’s a text from Kathryn saying she went back to our room to take a nap. Sure enough, I find her, still dressed, spread out on the bed and snoozing with her back to me. She’s left her phone on my side of the bed.

  I pick it up to move it. The screen lights up with the last thing she was looking at. Either she’s disabled the lock (not likely) or she just fell asleep before I came up here.

  Suffice to say, I’m not expecting what I see.

  I should expect it. I should know her so well by now that there’s nothing else she could possibly be looking at when she’s dealing with shit. While I like to think I’m a pretty damn good Dom, there are some things I’ll never be able to help my sub with during a scene. Last night, Kathryn was so happy that I actually worried that she would Drop. Maybe she is Dropping. She’s been moody ever since we woke up (although I attribute that to paps being paps.)

  But I can be a big idiot who often forgets what his girlfriend is really like. Behind her sophisticated demeanor is a wild woman who has a lot of shit she likes to take out in the bedroom. Sometimes I’ve let her dabble with me. For the year we’ve been together, she’s told me she’s content exploring the submissive side she never let herself indulge for so long.

  Then I come to Paris and end up staring at her phone, currently covered in BDSM pictures, articles, and – you guessed it – videos.

  I stare at a picture of a man bound and gagged while a woman dressed in hardcore gear paddles his ass and screams something at him. There’s so much anger and relief expressed in one image. It would be fascinating to look at if I didn’t know what it meant in the current context.

  The picture disappears as her phone goes back to sleep. I had come in here with the intent of fooling around with her, if she would have me, but now I think I’ll leave a note and head back out for some fresh air. I need to digest what I’ve seen.

  ***

  Paris is one of those cities where the tourists can be really insufferable. Usually I can ignore it because I’m with a beautiful woman to distract my heart and loins, but for the first time since I can remember, I’m alone. Wandering the streets. Snapping pictures of sites. Thinking about going to the Louvre even though Kathryn and I had planned on going tomorrow.

  “No, no, make a different face.” A British woman implores her boyfriend to also change his position before they take their selfie with the Eiffel Tower. “Okay! Time to upload to Instagram!”

  Then you get the types who blubber through bad French and try so hard to look hipster without being hipster. One of the nice things about being as wealthy as I am is that I get
to avoid hipsters back home. Not that I don’t know a few from my high school class who went on to become trust funders who dumpster dive for fun, but it’s not like I talk to them anymore. I’m too busy having a job.

  This city feels so empty without my girlfriend by my side.

  You know what really sucks? I keep thinking about last night. Before my scene with Kathryn. I had been so determined to dominate her to prove a point to myself. And to Martin, the fucker that drove me to that point to begin with.

  “You really can’t make her happy, can you?”

  Somewhere right now in Paris there’s a man sitting on a bench, grimacing, hands forming fists in his pockets. That someone would be me.

  I’ve always known this day would come. The day where I have to face what it truly means to be Kathryn Alison’s lover.

  She’s a Domme, fuckhead. Those words play themselves in my voice. The few times I’ve dabbled with the other side of BDSM already felt like enough boundary pushing. I’ve never had the drive to submit like her other subs have. Martin is the kind of guy who gets so off on it he doesn’t know any other way of life. Good for him. Normally that doesn’t mean anything to me. I do things my way, male subs do things theirs.

  Some Dommes completely turn to vanilla relationships or go all the way sub. Some become professional switches for fun and profit. Where does Katie fall on that spectrum?

  It’s so late back home that I know better than to call. Instead, I fire off a text message.

  “Hi. Can you do me a favor when you wake up…? Don’t tell Kathryn, please.”

  It’s those kinds of texts to women that can get a guy in trouble. Or hard, depending on what he gets back. In my case, I get something back an hour later, when I’m wandering around a supermarket… the worst place to open my phone to see an image of my girlfriend dressed in bondage gear and smacking some poor sod’s dick.

  ***

  Once upon a time, I made a promise to myself. That promise was Don’t watch porn that freaks you out, man. Hey, I’m a guy. A lot of guys watch porn. Not as much when I’m in a happy relationship, but once in a while a video crosses your path that makes you go Wow. That’s hot.

  I don’t know how I feel about this.

  That text I sent earlier went to Eva. She and I don’t communicate much outside of Kathryn’s apartment when we both happen to be there. Our friendly relationship only exists because of Kathryn. Otherwise, I don’t have much in common with her best friend, who is also a Domme… and who doesn’t like me, as far as I can tell.

  Anyway, I had asked her to send me any photos or videos she had of Kathryn being a Domme. I had seen her strutting her stuff around The Dark Hour, but I had never seen her in action. Just the occasional leg rub to some naked male sub or drunken cackles while another Domme put on a show for the public’s pleasure. Kathryn and I don’t talk about that side of her very much. I don’t know if it’s because she’s uncomfortable, or if she thinks I’m uncomfortable.

  Okay, so I’m a little uncomfortable.

  Do you know how hard it is to find a private place to watch Cinemax levels of softcore porn of your girlfriend? Without a word, Eva sent me what was probably the most scandalous thing she had on her computer. From the sign that occasionally appears in the camera’s lens, I see this is from a national BDSM conference almost two years ago. It was probably after she broke up with Martin. Definitely before we started hooking up.

  The only way I’m able to watch it is in the hotel bathroom. (Door locked, of course. Sheesh. I feel like I’m squirreled away jerking it.) Kathryn is still lying on the bed, playing with her phone and occasionally dozing. I didn’t bother her, and she didn’t summon me for anything.

  So here I am, in my Parisian hotel bathroom, earbuds in and eyes glued to my phone as I push play. I don’t know who took this video, but I’m guessing it’s something Kathryn never wants seeing the light of day, no matter how proud she was that night.

  To be fair, I only know it’s her from the way she’s walking and because I know that body better than anyone. The blond French twist on top of her head helps immensely too. Otherwise, she’s wearing a black mask that covers half her face. People are calling her Mistress Kat. The only person who calls her Kat in any capacity is her father!

  I don’t know who the guy is. Probably some random sub who volunteers for these events. As long as you’re either good looking or a seasoned pro at the game, they’ll let anyone who wants to volunteer come in so the Dommes have lots of pickings. I’m not surprised to see this is some ripped college guy who comes to these things during spring break while his frat brothers think he’s getting mad pussy in Fort Lauderdale. Oh, he’s getting mad pussy. Mad, mad Domme pussy, assuming they decide to bestow their beautiful loins to the man who is having to work for it.

  “Aren’t you a sexy little stud muffin?” Kathryn’s voice drips in sarcasm. The half-naked man is gobbling up every drop. “What are you going to do for me, Stud? You gonna whip out your cock?”

  This, of course, is impossible, because the guy’s hands are tied behind his back. He’s wearing white briefs that show his whole erect package, though. Damnit. I think this guy is bigger than me. Goodbye, pride. It was nice knowing you.

  I can’t hear what the guy says, because the cheering from the all-female audience is almost deafening. Kathryn pets the top of the guy’s head and whispers something in his ear. Now I know why everyone is cheering. The guy is sporting the erection of a lifetime in his briefs.

  What I watch unfold in this ten minute video almost looks like art. Okay, I take that back. It is art. If a Dom can say what he does is akin to performance art, then so can a Domme. Just because I’m torn between awe and agony watching my girlfriend tie up a guy and making him grovel for sexual relief doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate what it is. How many times have I brought a woman to the edge of orgasm and told her she’d only get to come if she held back? How many times have I done that to Kathryn, the woman spanking a guy’s cock with a crop?

  My hand covers my mouth. I blow air between my fingers. What the fuck am I even trying to dissuade? I’m not…

  No way.

  I’m not aroused.

  I look down. Little Ian is an asshole, and I’m chalking this up to har har hot woman har har my girlfriend being sexual L O L time to fill with blood and be an obnoxious bastard!

  Over the months I’ve learned a lot about Kathryn’s dominating style. When she enters a scene as a Domme, she wants to be worshipped. She wants to feel like the queen of the world. She wants nothing more than the man she’s with to turn the tables of power and bestow all his privilege, all his rights upon her. That’s what it means to submit to Kathryn Alison. Leave your privilege and preconceptions at the door, boys. Your goddess waits.

  It’s why I’ve taken to calling her such things when we’re really into it. Even when I’m Topping, I’ll call her things like goddess. Never princess or something that could be seen as “you’re not #1 in your league.” I may be dominating her in a scene, but I still recognize her needs. She wants to feel like the most important woman in the world? I will deliver that, in my own way. Besides, who said she wasn’t the most important woman in my world?

  This guy in this video? The one she had just met maybe ten minutes before their scene began? It’s different. It’s so different from what I had gathered that I’m second guessing everything I thought I knew about my beloved Kathryn.

  The video ends with her jerking the guy off. She looks right into his eyes, says something I can’t make out, and finally steps aside as the guy loses it all on the stage in front of him. The crowd is cheering so loudly that I have to pull my earbuds out.

  I turn my phone off after making sure there are no traces of that video. Don’t want Kathryn accidentally seeing it, after all.

  This doesn’t mean I run straight out and go to her. Far from it. I remain sequestered in the bathroom, thinking over what I saw. It’s one thing to know that your girlfriend can be a majestic Domme. It’s qu
ite another to think about what this means for you.

  One of the reasons Kathryn is so hung up about getting married – and keep in mind I’m not even thinking about marriage right now – is that she thinks being with me is some kind of sacrifice. Whether she admits it or not, I can see it in her eyes. She’s scared of losing the biggest parts of herself. Becoming a Domme was a way she coped with the pressures of the world and her sex. I know better than anyone that she is also submissive and gets a lot of pleasure and joy out of our Dom/sub scenes. Last night said it all. For a woman who loves to feel worshipped, she has no problem worshipping the man she loves behind closed doors.

  Kathryn is all about egalitarian relationships. She’s made that so clear I could recite her spiel to you right now. How can I deny it? Part of the reason I love and admire her so much is because she’s ridiculously strong inside and out. She’s the kind of woman I would gravitate toward if I were a submissive male.

  I’m not. Aside from a few trial runs with Kathryn, I’ve never had an urge to submit to anyone. Those few times we did dabble? I knew she was holding back. I knew she was going easy on me, not wanting to freak me out and send me screaming.

  Have I been making her resentful?

  Admit it, Ian. You’re a coward. You’re afraid of giving your girlfriend all the happiness she deserves. For what reason? Your pride? Your precious male ego that makes women laugh? Haha, he can’t even stand the thought of a woman bossing him around for an hour! I’ve been so conditioned to only be alpha that I can’t imagine a world where I am anything but. How natural is it, really? How many of us Doms are only Doms because we think that’s the one real option we have? Look at Martin. He’s as beta as they get – when he’s not being a passive aggressive dick, anyway – and he’s still successful. How many submissive businessmen out there prove that you don’t have to be an alpha douche 24/7 to get your way?