by Cynthia Dane
Being thousands of miles away from the man you love has all sorts of fucked up consequences on you. For one, well, you’re away from the man you love. You swear that you can feel his heart beating in bed with you… an ocean away. You think you hear his voice calling you from the bedroom when you’re in the shower. And you want to strangle every man calling a woman Catherine, Cat, or heaven forbid, Katie.
On the other, having that distance allows you to stand back and take a hard look at your life choices.
They say you can’t help who you fall in love with. No matter your preferences, who you actively go looking for, or the kind of people you surround yourself with, you’re probably falling in love with the last person you expected.
Until a few months ago, I always assumed I would either marry a “normal” man, or a bedroom-sub. I don’t want a lifestyle Dom/sub relationship, on either end. I had fun during my stint with Ian wearing the collar almost 24/7, but that’s not for me in the long run. I can’t give up that kind of control for so long.
And that brings me here, standing in my apartment on Sunday night after returning to America. I saw Ian tonight. At the Dark Hour, when I went there with some of my old friends, all Dommes. It was fun being around my usual brethren again. I was reminded of the thrills, the fun, the passion we could instill in one another, especially when some male subs stopped by and entertained us with their witty tongues and promises of pleasure. Eva and I were the only ones who didn’t go home with one of them. Not Eva’s cup of tea, and I’m not sure if I’m still seeing Ian. It felt like cheating.
After seeing him? After hearing him call me his darling? I now wonder if it was wrong to ignore all the texts he sent me when I first left that restaurant.
I’m sure he’s thought of me as much as I’ve thought of him. I think of him as I pour myself an Old Fashioned, the drink I had when we made that bet. I think of him as I feed Sinéad, petting her soft fur and thanking God she’s over her kitten-diarrhea phase. I even think of Ian as I wash off my heavy makeup and let down my hair.
There were two things I walked away from Europe with. The first is that I absolutely, in at least some life-altering capacity, love Ian Mathers. I love our banter, how he challenges me, how he makes me laugh at the most unexpected times. His taste in movies is suspect, but it’s not about watching the movie itself. It’s about curling up in his hold, kissing his five-o-clock shadow, and reveling in his smart aftershave.
Thinking about those little things tells me again, as I get into the tub, that I love the bastard. I want more moments like those. I want to make love to him. I even want to… dare I say it… submit to him at times.
Ian has transformed me into the switch I never knew I could be. That much is true.
You know what else I want? Of course you know what I want. You’ve probably been yelling, no, screaming at me for weeks now. “Kathryn!” you’re yelling right now, getting ready to reach through whatever you’re reading this on. “Don’t you see? The only way you could be happy with any man, and not just a man like Ian, is if you get to show him who’s boss sometimes!”
That’s right. It’s not enough to spank a woman here and there for his titillation. I can’t live off him knowing I’m a Domme, let alone one who is exclusive to him and can’t take out her controlling frustrations on someone else. Listening to my Domme friends, watching them interact with subs, reminded me of how much I used to enjoy that.
My mind keeps going back to Ian. While he was training me, I was content to indulge in only my forbidden fantasies. Well, now I want to indulge in the really public ones. Push that man down. Tie his hands behind his back so he can’t get grabby. Take his cock to the edge and back. Ride his fucking face, feeling his stubble all over my pussy as I inform that asshole that I am the woman who commands his heart and loins.
That is the source of my frustration. My heartache.
Ian Mathers will never submit to me. I know it like I know I love him.
And now I’ve gotta go back to work. I have to look him in the eye, overcome my feelings for him, and tell him why we would never work.
I’m probably going to have to move after the ball next weekend. Fuck the museum. My dad can do it. I… won’t last another day around Ian. Even though I have to. For now.
Life, right?
***
I check myself in the bathroom mirror one last time before going out into the ballroom.
Blue dress I bought at The Crimson Dove? Check. Diamond clasps in my hair? Check. Minimum makeup with a smack of pink lipstick? Check.
Oh, don’t forget your clutch on the bathroom sink, Kathryn!
I’m not the only woman in here. The women’s restroom in the main hall of the renovated Grand is stuffed with well-to-do women checking their hair and makeup, looking for panty lines beneath their dresses, and gabbing about their dates. While I see a lot of women from my social circles here, I also see some new faces. Rube-type girls trying to blend in with their lower-class dresses and heels that break with too much ease. Their language isn’t that great either.
I assume most of them are escorts, paid for by men who were in need of a date for the evening. The way they gather around one end of the sink and mutter about Johns… ahahaha.
There is one woman who pops up beside me, however, who is neither escort nor high society. She’s both.
“I was hoping I would see you here.” Judith, dressed in a sexy black number, black pumps, and with hair as big as her tall body, appears with a smile in the mirror. “I had heard you jetted out of the country.”
My lipstick almost falls into the sink. “You…”
“Am both working and having fun.” She winks. “My patron brought me as a date. Sorry. I’m unavailable tonight.”
She’s joking, but I can sense she’s intrigued by me. I should hope so. She only got half the usual effort in the Kathryn Special when I rubbed her clit and spanked her ass at the Château. Not a bad first run with a woman, if I do say so myself.
Something I pretty much did for Ian. I sigh.
“Was hoping to see you up in the mountains again. You and your charming boyfriend.”
I can’t tell if she’s making small talk or genuinely missing my touch. Is it the same way I miss Ian’s touch right now? I don’t know. Eva would know about lesbian sin better than me.
“He’s not really my boyfriend.” I lower my voice as two women walk by, leaving the bathroom. “We’re on break, anyway.”
“Aw. You’re a hot couple. Can only imagine what it’s like when a Dom and a Domme collide. More than sparks flying, right?”
“You could say that.”
“I am saying that.” Judith turns, leaning against the sink as she watches me pat down errant hairs on my scalp. “If you hadn’t kicked me out of my own room… well, only reason I let you do that is because y’all paid me such a nice tip to fuck on my bed. Was a shame to change those linens the next day. I had to sleep in a guest room.”
I’d feel for her plight, but I highly doubt Ian and I were hardly the only ones to ever do that. “Our relationship is complicated.”
“Totally! You know, it’s not nice to gossip behind someone’s back, but you two were the topic du jour for a few days around the place. Me and another girl got into a heated discussion about whether a Dom and a Domme could really have a functioning relationship. We figured they’d either have to be poly and get their kicks elsewhere, or be switches like the Andrews.”
She looks at me, waiting for me to confirm one or the other.
“I wish it were that simple.”
“Nothing about love and sex ever is, right?” Judith steps away, waving a hand in my direction. “I’ve gotta go. Ol’ man is waiting for me. Says something about wanting a dance while the night is still young. Try to enjoy yourself.”
The bathroom door swings shut, and I’m alone on my end of the sink. Before the silence can get to me, I grab my clutch and vacate.
The Grand has
come a long way from the sheet-covered spectacle it was months ago. The Mathers and their subcontractors did an amazing job transforming it so quickly, and without compromising quality. That means they paid a hefty sum for it. I hope they had the funds to cover it.
Haha, who am I kidding? They’re richer than my family!
I’m rather late to the party, so people are already dancing and mingling. People dressed in the uniform the Mathers picked out for the employees make the rounds with trays full of champagne. I grab a glass and look for my father, currently talking to Dominic Mathers.
“What a fantastic display of ingenuity and historical accuracy,” my father says, cheeks flushed from too much champagne already. “I’m impressed you made it this far, and on such short notice.”
Dominic smiles, but there’s something hollow about it. Maybe he’s turning into his son, wherever he is.
Yeah, he’s turning into Ian. Because here comes Stephanie May, sashaying in a pearly-white gown and up-do.
“Kathryn,” she says, lips dripping with venom. “So nice to see you. I heard you went on a trip… I hope it was nice. That would explain why I haven’t made contact with you recently.”
Fuck her. She’s talking about the fact I haven’t paid her off this month. I would have arranged it while I was gone, but Caroline was insistent that she would “take care of it.” So far, nothing seems to have been taken care of.
“It’s nice seeing you too.” I turn to my father, avoiding both Stephanie and Dominic’s gaze. “Daddy, you should try the wine they have around here. I sampled the same brand in Germany, and it was divine.” Finally, I glance at Dominic, a sour smile on my face. “You have good taste, Mr. Mathers.”
“Oh, I didn’t select that. Ian did.”
“Of course he did.”
“If you see that bugger, let him know he needs to dance with someone before I throw Stephanie into his arms.”
“Oh, Dommie, you needn’t be so awkward.”
Everyone except Stephanie is stiffening, and she’s playing up the image of her and Ian in case I missed it.
Yes, honey, I’m jealous.
And annoyed that Dominic is not-so-subtly suggesting I dance with Ian. A man I haven’t touched since we last fucked.
I see him out of the corner of my eye, weaving in and out of people, servers, and reporters. He stops to kiss an elderly woman’s hand and to compliment her husband. He pulls aside a server and informs her that there’s a run in her tights. He steals multiple glances in my direction, probably shitting himself over me talking to Dominic and Stephanie.
Time to make my escape.
My salvation is in the form of Eva, who is here because I begged her to be, and because her family is here, checking out their investments. She’s talking to her brother Henry when I appear, offering her a glass of champagne I stole off a tray and asking if she would like to sample some hors-d'oeuvres.
“I’d like to sample the clams around here, if you know what I mean.” She’s eyeballing a woman in a green dress as we stand next to a wall. The orchestra finishes a piece and begins another, creating a scuffle of people in the middle of the ballroom as they leave, find new partners, or decide to have “just one more.” In a way, it reminds me of the gala I went to twelve years ago, where Ian Mathers and Kathryn Alison first charged into a relationship from hell.
A dozen years in the making, folks!
“Try to contain yourself. This is a family affair,” I joke, wishing I got more champagne. What this party needs is harder booze.
“Oh, whatever. Like you’re faring much better than me.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I see all your favorite people here. In fact…” She tips her drink up, motioning beyond my body. “Here comes your ultimate favorite.”
“Evangeline.” Ian stands a mere few inches behind me, nodding to the both of us, acting like he’s all business. “You look nice.”
She glances down at her suit. “This old thing? Clearance rack at Kohl’s.”
“Cute.”
Eva downs the rest of her champagne. “That’s my middle name. Evangeline Cute Warren. Anyway… what the hell do you want?”
“Not you, surely.” Ian turns to me, and I can smell that cologne he was wearing the last time we made love. The time before that. Before that. “I came by to ask Kathryn to dance.”
I pretend that we have no romantic history. It’s the only way I can look him in the eye and channel the old Kathryn who would be tempted to rip his balls off and present them on one of the champagne trays running around.
“Your father was telling me that you need to dance with someone. I guess it’s because you’re young and single.”
Boom. Right in the fucking gut. Yeah, I can play dirty.
Yet his expression only flinches. Not the change I was hoping for. “I heard the same thing from your father. Funny, that.”
Either Ian is lying or my father has some explaining to do.
Regardless, some man landed on my shit-list yet again.
“And why would I dance with you?” I keep my champagne glass to my lips, letting it act as a buffer between us. Get any closer, Ian, and I might touch you.
It’s not like… I don’t want to touch you…
It’s a terrible idea.
“You would dance with me because it’s not something you get to do every day. Meanwhile…” he jerks his thumb in Eva’s direction. “You can talk to her anytime you want.”
“Not true. I’m in grad school.”
“All right, whenever she feels like fucking off from class. Which is every day, I’m guessing.”
“Speaking of fucking off, Mathers, isn’t that what you should be doing?”
God, listen to us. A bunch of high school children standing in front of the lockers and acting like this is the most important moments of our lives. I’d blame these two immature imbeciles, but I’m not helping the situation any. In fact, my indecision is making things worse.
“All right.” I hand Eva my half-empty glass. I’m sure she’ll finish it off for me. “One dance, with enough room for Jesus, as Mrs. Caruthers in high school would have said.”
“History?”
“Biology,” Ian corrects my friend. “Mrs. Caruthers was an odd choice for a biology teacher, let’s say.”
“You two need Jesus, that’s for sure.” Eva stalks off with two glasses in her hands. “I want the full report of how many times you called God tonight. And five Hail Marys for every time you feel bad about it.”
Once she’s gone, I snort.
“How about it, Ms. Alison?” Ian extends an open hand to me. “Dance? The good news is that the song is probably half over by now. Though it’s hard to tell with orchestras. Ever hear a five-minute cello solo?”
“Yes.” I take his hand. It’s warm. A warm reminder of what he can do to me with that hand. “There was one during that night at the symphony, remember?”
Ian leads me away, my hand still in his. “No. I was distracted by other things.”
Yes, like my mouth on your cock. You know what I remember the most from that night, Ian?
Surrendering myself to you for the first time. The first time without screaming, anyway.
His lips touch my knuckles when we reach the center of the ballroom. Couples are spinning, dipping, and laughing all around us. Under any other circumstance, this could be a whimsical time.
Naturally, he leads. Because he’s a man. Because he’s a Dom, and even as a Domme, I must defer to his lead.
It’s a petty thing to cling to. I’ve been feeling pretty petty lately.
“We haven’t had much chance to talk since you’ve been back.” Ian keeps a respectful distance between us as we turn on the dance floor. Other couples are dancing closer than we are. “Tell me all about Europe.”
My hand squeezes in his, and I chock it up to the movements of the dance as opposed to him trying to be forward. Or is it me init
iating this contact? Sometimes I have no idea what I’m doing.
“Europe was fine. Rainy in London, but when isn’t it?”
“London? I thought you went to Germany to see your mother.”
“I did… for as long as I could bear it.” I briefly tell him about my mother waking up “hating everything” and throwing her bedspread from her second floor balcony and onto the street for “the urchins to pick up.”
“Yikes.”
“Yes, that was the day I decided to fly to Stockholm.”
“Private?”
“Commercial.”
“Yikes, again.”
I shrug. As long as I fly First Class, commercial airlines don’t bother me all that much. I only spring for private when I really feel like it or are taking people with me. Since this was a solo trip, even sans Anita, I opted for some headphones and my tablet to keep me preoccupied as I went from Berlin to Stockholm and then Stockholm to London.
“What was in Sweden? Ah, let me guess.” His hand detaches from my shoulder and brushes against my hair. “Family?”
“You’re assuming that because I’m pale and blond that I’m Scandinavian.”
“Would I be wrong?”
“Not too far off.” We are, in fact, Swedish on my paternal grandmother’s side. That’s why I first had an interest in Sweden, but not why I went this time. When I was in college I studied abroad for a semester and wanted to see the old sights again. Talk to some friends. See what was going on in that part of the world. “You know what they say about assumptions, Mr. Mathers.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, They make an ass out of you.”
“I’m not sure that’s quite how it goes.”
My foot doesn’t turn fast enough, my heel catching and threatening to take me down. Ian clenches me closer to him, hand pressing against the small of my back. My chest is pressed against his. Some people are staring.
“I missed you,” he whispers in my ear.
Jolts of electricity explode within me, reaching my extremities, filling my loins with desire for him. You think I don’t remember what it’s like to feel him in my grasp, breathing hard, resisting the urge to kiss me. I don’t doubt for a second that he’s sincere. I bet he did miss me, like I missed him.