Dom Vs: Domme: The Deluxe Trilogy: A Billionaire Romance (Dom Vs. Domme Book 0) (75 page)

“I could give you the money. God knows my family has some stake in that place, what with us putting our name on a side-piece.” The way she slowly crosses her arms, creates a barrier between us, does not ease my nerves. “I don’t feel like it. That would be too easy… for you.”

“Excuse me?”

She steps closer, her perfume so strong that I almost gag. “You always get your way, don’t you, Ian? Since the dawn of your life you’ve never had to be more than Mr. Alpha, strutting around, taking what you want and leaving people crying in your wake. How many women have you broken the hearts of? Half a dozen? More? I would like to know some of their names one day, if you can remember them.”

Ouch.

“Yeah, you worked hard in school to qualify for the positions you have in your company, but let’s be real, nepotism was 75% of that perceived hard work. I worked twice as hard as you, at least. I’ve sweated more. I’ve taken bigger falls and more flack. For the love of God…” she shakes her head, clicking her tongue, “I’ve gotten on my knees in front of you, let you spank me, come in my ass, and call me a fucking slut. Normally I would castrate a man for doing that, but for some reason you have also charmed me into letting you get away with whatever you want.”

I remain silent. Don’t feel like being castrated, after all.

“So here’s the deal, Mathers. I’ll give you money. I’ll give you everything you need and then some. Except you have to do something for me. Do you know what?”

I know.

I dare not say it.

Her hand touches my chest. My breath catches inside my ribs, bruising them from within. This touch is Kathryn, and yet it’s not the touch I know from her at all. She’s squeezing me, clutching my shirt, getting ready to pop my buttons open.

Tear me apart.

Ruin me.

I swallow, hard.

“If you want the money so badly…” Her mouth twists into a smile that makes my cock annoyingly hard. Fuck me. “Earn it and submit to me.”

Haha.

Hahahahaha. She said words.

My throat is dry. My cock is harder than it has any right to be. My heart is pounding in my chest. Did I mention that I’m hard?

“What?” I ask, drolly. “Right now?”

“Ha. No.” Kathryn releases me. “That wouldn’t be fair. You gave me time to mentally prepare for your brand of domination. Now I give you time to prepare for mine. I want your decision by Thursday. If you say yes, I’ll give you half before and then half after. No getting out of it, unless you want to go find seven and a half million dollars elsewhere.”

“I can give you my answer.”

She glances at my crotch.

“No.”

I meet surprise. “No?”

“No.” I can throw that smile right back at her. “I don’t do that.”

It’s a duel of the willful smiles. “Maybe money isn’t enough to sway you, but…” she unbuttons her jacket, showing me her cleavage. Almost compelling. “Do you love me, Ian?”

I want to touch her, but I don’t. Instead, I curl my fingers into the jacket I’m holding, hoping it’s enough to hold me back. “Of course, my love. I love you. And I don’t say that lightly.”

“Do you want to be with me?” Her voice is so soft that I almost don’t hear the plea within it. “Do you want me?”

“That should go without saying.”

“Then do this at least once. I want to dominate you, Ian. I want to see you in front of my feet, worshiping the ground I walk on. I want to take you to the edge and back again. I want you to feel the way you make me feel.”

The way I make her feel…

“Once. If you really don’t like it afterward, then I’ll never ask it of you again.”

“And I’ll get the money for my business.”

“Funny how that all works out.”

Funny, indeed.

“Like I told you, you’ve got until Thursday.” Her arms wrap around my shoulders, and I smell her breath on my lips. When she kisses me, it’s like a one-two punch to my heart and my hard-on. “After that,” no, come back, kiss me again, “I will assume you’re not interested. In the money.” Katie pulls away, sullen. “Or me.”

I leave in a daze, my senses full of Kathryn Alison. Her scent in my nose, her voice in my ear, her touch on my lips and the taste of her tongue on mine. Her image remains in my brain all the way down in the elevator.

“I will assume you’re not interested in the money… or me.
”

I text her.

“You know I’m interested in both.”

It’s not my final answer.

Chapter 22

KATHRYN

I’ve been feeling such a rush for the past few days. From the moment I told Ian my terms, I’ve felt myself coming back to the person I always knew I was.

No, not like that, silly. What I mean is that I’m back at top form. The Kathryn I always present myself as.

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.