by Cynthia Dane
Ian likes to think he was practicing a perfect poker face, but I felt him waver. I saw him consider what I told him. And even though I’ve spent the past few weeks convinced that I no longer wanted to dominate him, I now know how wrong I was.
That man needs a Mistress to keep him in line.
Ian was the first person to see the potential to submit within me. He wasn’t wrong. What he didn’t see, however, was the potential inside himself as well.
To be fair, I didn’t see it at first either. When it comes to men, they tend to know exactly what they want, whether that’s dominating, submitting, neither, or both. A man who has been in the scene for as long as Ian is fairly locked into his role. Doms especially don’t like to ever give up power. They’re souped up alpha men who want the world to contour to their whims and needs. I can’t blame them. I often want that power as well.
Can’t you see it? Ian Mathers, treating me like the goddess I deserve to be. From head to toe, I will be adored,
I will feel truly loved.
Oh, I don’t doubt that the man loves me, but he’s asked so much of me already that I can’t imagine giving more of who I am and taking nothing back in return. The man wants me to be a switch? Fine. He’d better be willing to do the same for me.
I tell Eva as much over lunch at her place.
She whistles, shaking her head over an empty plate of spaghetti and salad. “He’s never going to do it,” she says with hesitation. “The man has no real reason to question his own identity like you have.”
I give her a look.
“Don’t do that. You may have told him that the only way to keep you was to try it, but he’s still a man at the end of the day. This isn’t some lesbian ranting. This is cold, hard reality. You know it as much as I do… he’ll cry about it for a few weeks until he finds a new, more inclined sub to do what he wants. She’ll probably be blond, if it makes you feel any better.”
Hardly.
“You don’t know him like I do.” Pasta swirls on my plate as I push it into the design of a smiley face. Meatballs are eyes. Some parsley creates a cute nose. “He’s head over heels in love with me. Plus, his family really needs that money. He’ll definitely consider it.” There. A perfect Italian smiley face, now with extra oregano for seasoning. “Whether or not he bites… well, I’ll find out by tomorrow.”
Eva studies me, shaking her head slowly. “Please don’t set yourself up for heartbreak. I don’t understand what you see in this guy, and I doubt I ever will, but I care about you. You deserve happiness. Please be careful.”
That is perhaps one of the sincerest things Eva has ever said to me. Usually she layers her words in jokes and crude threats, but this is the genuine concern of a friend and confidant. Not that I never trusted her in this capacity before – we wouldn’t be best friends otherwise.
But hearing her like this makes me reconsider what I’ve done.
No, I’m not taking back my ultimatum. I can’t show that kind of weakness in front of Ian. I don’t want him thinking that he can wait for me to get over my Domme snits and then back to business as usual. That would not be sustainable in a relationship with me.
And it shouldn’t have to be.
However, let us face the facts. I love Ian. Ian loves me. We’re two stupid assholes in love and yet fundamentally incompatible. Something has to be done about that.
This is me attempting to take control of my life and heart. It’s the least I could do for myself.
Halfway through helping Eva with the dishes – because this is a woman who is too lazy to hire a housekeeper for more than one day a week, and if I leave the dishes here, they will pile up with the rest of them until next Monday – my phone buzzes with a text message. I think nothing of it as I walk over and pick it up, staring at Ian’s name with a black and white picture of a rose in the background.
Fitting, isn’t it?
“I’ve made my decision. Meet me for dinner tonight so we can talk about it.”
I show Eva the message. She frowns, soap suds hanging from her hands as she lets faucet water beat one of our plates from lunch.
“What?”
She shakes her head again. “He’s going to tell you no. Or if he says yes, there is going to be a huge stipulation. I am telling you.”
I text Ian back for more details. “Say what you will.”
“I will. And tomorrow when you call me up, I hopefully won’t be saying I told you so.”
***
Ian finagled reservations at the French place downtown. I say “the” French place because, even though there are at least three French eateries around here, only one is worthy of our attention. Naturally, it is the most expensive one.
Dressed in my best, which to most means a black dress, I enter the restaurant with my head held high and my hair pinned higher. After all, I’ve garnered over the past few weeks that Ian Mathers finds me particularly intimidating – or sexy, depending on the night – when I wear my hair up like this.
“I’m here to meet with Ian Mathers,” I tell the host. “He’s expecting me.”
The hosts at these places are paid well. Partly because they have to be discreet, good actors, and polite to a fault. This one is no different, but I catch a look of disbelief in his eyes as I tell him who I’m meeting. That’s right, buddy. Your bigshot Mathers – wherever you’re keeping him – has a date with this looker.
“Right this way, ma’am.”
I’m led through the belly of the restaurant, past friendly and not so friendly eyes. Nobody I recognize offhand. I’m sure they recognize me. This is high society. This is middle-class couples who have saved up all year to come here on birthdays and anniversaries. A full meal here costs at least a couple hundred dollars, and that doesn’t include drinks.
I hope Ian got us some wine. I’m parched.
When I step into the small but private room, I find out why the host is so surprised at my presence. Or at least my sultry look.
The room is dark. The table is littered with candles and flowers, rose petals creating a romantic trail from the door to my chair opposite Ian. More petals dance around the scented centerpiece. A glass of red wine waits for me, my plate already filled with salad.
Ian sits on the far side, welcoming me with a raise of his glass.
“Your meal has already been ordered, ma’am,” the host says, taking the door handle and closing me into this room with a fucking Dom. “Please ring if anything is needed.”
Yeah, I need a stiffer drink than wine.
“Kathryn.” Ian gestures to the seat across from him. The one covered in rose petals. “Thank you for joining me tonight.”
Warily I sit, my purse slipping off my shoulder and landing unceremoniously on the floor. There’s a wooden basket provided for bags, but I can’t be assed to place mine in there. I’m too dumbfounded.
Well, I guess I know his answer.
“It was the least I could do.” I keep my manners proper as I fix my purse and sit up straight in my chair. I’m even gladder that I wore my hair up and out of the way. “Especially after what I asked of you.”
“Yes. Let’s talk about that.”
I stare at the salad, picking up a fork and stabbing a piece of spinach. I sort of hate that Ian knew exactly what I would want and then had the gall to order for me. I’m not his sub tonight. I’m not even here as his girlfriend, really. And yet I feel… taken care of.
I’m sure he’s paying tonight.
That is the one appealing thing about having a Dom, or at least a very alpha boyfriend. He will take care of you. Dote on you. Make sure you have everything you need and then some. Not just financially – not that I need help with that – but emotionally. Ian never has to order for me. He does it as a way of coddling me. I’m guilty of thinking this as controlling many years ago, back when I first got into the kink scene. Now I get it. It’s comforting.
I did not come here to be comforted.
“You’re radiant,” Ian says in a smooth manner that makes me think of being seduced in the club. Seduced as a sub. “It’s a shame we’re here to talk business.”
“The rose petals and candles say otherwise.”
Ian leans forward, the glow of the centerpiece candle illuminating his steely visage. Those hazel eyes penetrate my brain, and his self-assured grin… so arrogant. So arrogant. So fucking arrogant and drop-dead gorgeous.
“Who says that business and pleasure can’t mingle?” He snorts. “Certainly not you. You’re the one asking this man to prostitute himself for fifteen million.”
“I wouldn’t put it that way…”
“You’ve got the biggest balls of any woman I know. I admire that. I also admit that it’s fairly sexy.”
“Thanks.”
Salad enters my mouth. I chew methodically, keeping my eyes neither downcast nor locked on his. I don’t want to look avoidant or too interested, after all.
“I’m not easily bought, even by you, Kathryn. I will need something from you if I am to deign to do that…”
He’s kidding. Asking more of me? Hasn’t he asked enough already? This whole relationship has been him asking things of me!
“All right. I’ll bite. What is it you want from me?”
Ian’s eyes burn into mine. Now I can’t look away. I’m stuck with carrots in my teeth, but I don’t pick them out in front of him. Perhaps if this were a regular date. One where I could covertly cover my mouth with the handkerchief and pick until my teeth were sparkly clean. Holy shit, I do not dare. I cannot compromise my demeanor. I cannot be any less than perfect Kathryn Alison, the woman who can go toe-to-toe with Ian Mathers.
I’ve been that woman before, and I will continue to be her.
And yet… shit, look at him. He wants to eat me alive. He wants to devour me, consume me, suck the soul right from my body and hold onto it for all eternity. He would, too. I’ve had plenty of sex with him now to know that he would do that if he was in the mood.
The sub in me – Katie, let’s call her – wants that to happen. She wants to blush, smile, giggle, and get ready for a night of being whisked away into a hot BDSM fantasy.
Kathryn is squishing her down for now. There is no room for sub Katie at this discussion. Sub Katie is great at getting Kathryn in trouble and derailing the original subject. So, fuck Katie. Not literally, Ian.
“There’s only one last thing I want from you, Kathryn.” Ian’s voice is laced in controlled desire. For me. The shivers I feel can get the hell out. “I want the world to know that you submit to me.”
I pick up my wineglass and sample a taste. It beats looking him in the eye… plus, I get alcohol. Because what he suggested is from another planet.
Me. Being publically declared his sub.
“Before you twist the lacy panties I’m sure you’re wearing, I’ll remind you that Dommes have debuted as subs before with no repercussions.” I’m gonna reach across this table and slap the smug right off his face. “Remember Helena? She was in a relationship with that male sub for years. After they broke up, she fell in with Jay Spader, the west coast Dom. Her debut as his sub was… enchanting. The man was the envy of every other Dom in the club that night.”
“Of course I remember dear Helena,” I say sweetly. “She used to be a friend of mine.”
“Before she moved out west with Jay?”
I butter a biscuit and pick off a flake. “Before she turned traitor.”
The silence falling between us could slaughter an army.
Helena used to be a friend of mine, years ago. She partied in my circle of Dommes while she dated that sub. Nobody ever pegged her as a switch, since sometimes that comes out after a few drinks or it’s given freely. Like I’ve said before, nobody gives a shit if a Domme also switches with the right partners. Being a Domme is a lifestyle, but it’s also intrinsic to our personalities. As Ian has shown me, however, sometimes we want to let go of control too.
No, what happened was she started dating Jay Spader out of nowhere. Everyone knew he was a hardcore Dom. More hardcore than Ian. That man wanted a life of domination and submission. Normally we wouldn’t bat an eyelash, but the fact Helena volunteered to be his Monica Graham sent more than a few ripples in the group of Dommes I know.
I don’t go into these details with Ian, however. He needs to understand what I’m possibly giving up. Like a social life. Business dealings.
For what? Love?
How much do I really love this guy?
“Your apprehension is noted,” Ian says. “Don’t get me wrong, Kathryn. I would want to do it right. I want to debut you properly as my permanent sub.”
“Your permanent sub… you may have opened a little black box and asked me to marry you, but instead of a ring, it’s a tangle of thorns.”
“I mean my permanent sub in the sense that you’re the only woman I Top, not that you’re a full-time sub now. Please, I know how much you’ve enjoyed our times together.”
I purse my lips. “That’s neither here nor there. I wouldn’t have kept up my training if I didn’t enjoy it.” Before he can interrupt, I continue, “You’re asking me to dedicate my life to being a switch. What are you giving me in return?”
Don’t let him know how much you want that, Kathryn. Don’t let him see your knees shaking and your loins aching to have him fuck you, hard and rough, his hand pulling your hair and his mouth telling you what you are.
His.
“I’ll give you a night, Kathryn.” His hands fold on the table. Is he even eating anything tonight? “A night of me doing whatever you want. You want me on my knees like I’ve had you on your knees? Fine. One night. That night will give you the bragging rights of being the only person in this world who will ever dominate this man.”
It should be music to my ears.
It isn’t.
“That’s not good enough.” I drop my utensils, my handkerchief, half of my honor. “I’m not taking some half-hearted sub to bed, Ian Mathers.” The chair screeches as I stand, forcing him to behold my form in candlelight. I am a goddess. He is a mere boy. He should be quaking in his leather shoes to be in my presence, fighting with this table to get to me and begging my feet to worship who I am.
“Fine. I’ll give you bragging rights,” doesn’t come anywhere close.
“If you want me to give myself to you, Mathers, then you need to fully give yourself to me. Not just your body, but your cold, ragged little heart. Oh, and that deliciously pitiful ego of yours. I am going to devour it.”
He opens his mouth.
“No, no. I do not belong to you until you belong to me. You must know that.” I pick up my purse. “If you want me to switch, then you need to switch too, my sweet. Let me tell you, too…” I flash my evilest smile at him. “Like you saw potential in me to serve… I see it in you too. Don’t let fear get in your way, Ian. If you want this… if you want me… then you’ll really come to me like I went to you. Think about it. We could be a formidable team.”
I leave. Not angry. Not bitter. Simply amazed that I had this much of a backbone around him. Usually I am fighting back my inclination to defer to him. I would do anything, and all that. But now, even though I am certainly fantasizing about hopping in his lap and riding him until I come three times, I can hold back.
He will come to me.
Chapter 23
IAN
I’m tipsy as fucking hell in The Dark Hour, one day after Kathryn’s spine-chilling ultimatum.
“Tipsy” is an important designation, because it’s dangerous to be drunk, as much as I want to be. Trust me. I want to down a few hard drinks and be an ass to anyone who crosses my path. I’ve got a chip on my shoulder and no way to safely get rid of it.
“Another round for my friend here,” James says, motioning to my empty glass. “He’s having women troubles. It’s only right we get him drunk.”
Yes. Women troubles. That’s what I told James when he a
greed to meet me here tonight. Women troubles.
Troubles with Kathryn, the Domme who won’t let me take her unless she takes me first.
All around us are Doms and their gorgeous subs. Some women are rail thin, others are what we would politely call curvy or a big beautiful woman. They’re all glowing. Whether they wear leather, lingerie, or cute cocktail dresses, they only have hungry eyes for their Doms, the lucky men so in love with them.
They kiss. They slap ass. They curl up together in chairs and on couches. Some whisper naughty things into each other’s ears and slink off to private rooms for fun and games. Others spoil the rest of us with free shows, including but not limited to fingering pussy and blowing cock in front of God and all his sinful folk.
There’s one guy with a blond sub. Blowing him. I can’t help but imagine Kathryn doing that for me.
“So, tell me what’s happening with this lady friend of yours,” James says, slapping a card on the table between us. We’re playing a rousing game of War. Not much else to do with only two people. “I didn’t even know you were seriously seeing somebody.”
I produce a two while he beats me with a four. Doesn’t make me feel like the alpha boss of the room. “It was a secret. This woman isn’t someone big on being seen with me like that.”
James looks up at me. “Would this hot lady happen to be named Kathryn Alison?”
“Is it that obvious?”
“Only a little. Gwen and I suspected as much. Plus, last time we were here, I heard the Andrews murmuring about you two. Wasn’t sure how true it was.”
I sigh, beating his ten with a Jack.
“So… how does that work out between you two?”
“You mean me dating a Domme?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Do you really want to know?”
What a cheeky ass grin. Is this how I look to Kathryn half the time?
Nevertheless, I mumble a detail or two about my relationship with Kathryn. I leave out a lot of details, but leave in how she was submitting to me until it got to her.