Текст книги "Bite Me"
Автор книги: Cynthia Dane
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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 15 страниц)
Chapter 13
KATHRYN
It’s four on a sunny Sunday afternoon. I’m in my apartment, enjoying the breeze through my open window as I curl up on my couch and drink hot tea. Green. Just the right temperature.
Sure, I’ve got work crap sprawled across my lap. And sure, I’m watching the same movies I always watch on my days off. If you can call this that. I mean, I am working.
Yet everything feels so peaceful that I’m about to fall asleep on my couch with this mug of hot tea in my hand, and I don’t caaaare.
I’ve been in this state ever Friday night. Have you ever been so sexually satisfied that everything inside your body – and mind – has recalibrated, refocused your perspective, and now feels so at peace that you can barely even stand yourself? That’s me right now.
It’s been a helluva long time since I last felt this way after sex. Let alone two days after. Usually by now I’m starting to feel antsy again. Not enough to go stalking for some man-prey, but enough to curl up in bed with my plastic boyfriend and take a tour around a masturbatory world. Nope. I don’t even want to do that. In fact, I am so satisfied that the mere thought of having sex again abhors me.
Until I think about the way Ian slammed me against the wall, anyway. Or I think about how he sounded when he had me. Touched me. Kept going even after I came God knew how many times. Okay, so maybe I could have sex again. With Ian.
I laugh, because that’s stupid. We had sex because clearly we needed it. Not just because we’re two younger people with hormones raging in our 20s, but because it’s something we’ve both thought about over the years. Now we know. Now we can move on.
I’ll probably be ready to play by this weekend, after the public presentation. I’ll go to The Dark Hour and find Mr. Handsome again. This time I’ll finish the job. All over his face.
Cackling, I drink my tea and look over my notes for the presentation.
My phone buzzes. Someone is texting me. I already know who.
“Get me out of here. This is the most boring party e v e r.” Poor Eva. Dragged to the Mathers’ party along with her brother. Eva only likes rich people parties if she’s half-drunk or it’s likely to end in an orgy for her to amuse herself with.
“You made your bed. Lie in it.” I think I’m going to follow my tea up with some wine at dinner. There’s this Thai place I love. I think they deliver?
“I overheard Lana Andrews and Ian Mathers. They were talking about you.”
My heart stops. I put my tea on the table and sit up, blankets falling away from me. “Oh, yeah?” What is Ian saying? Surely he’s not going around bragging about fucking me. Or is he? No. He’s not the type. I haven’t even told Eva about it. I’m not sure I will… unless I have to.
It takes way too long for her to get back to me. During that time, I start sweating. So much for my relaxing afternoon. “Lana’s mad about you screwing up your presentation last week and is convinced it’s going to happen again. She wants Ian to be your keeper. That’s what I got out of it, anyway.”
“Fuck her. Only not really. Don’t actually fuck her, Eva.”
“Yeah, right. I ain’t going near that. She’d try to eat me alive, and then get her husband to film it. You hear they might be starting an adult line of something or other? God help us all.”
No, I hadn’t heard that, but it doesn’t surprise me. They’d start an escort business if they could get away with it. “Has Ian been saying anything weird about me?”
“Huh? No. Why? You guys have a row?”
“You could say that.”
“Don’t worry about that jackass. He’s probably preoccupied looking for his next blond squeeze. Hey, maybe it could be you!”
I don’t say anything for a while. Not until I see her getting ready to type something else. “Don’t even joke about that.”
Eva disappears for a while. Probably talking to someone. Probably drinking. Probably answering for the umpteenth time that, no, she wasn’t there to watch her brother fuck his girlfriend in public. Why do people ask her that? I was there. No way Eva would have hanged around for more than five minutes after the festivities began. Speaking of, I have yet to get a wedding invitation from the Warrens. I’m slighted.
My evening is ruined. Not because something bad has happened, but because now I’m no longer able to enjoy the afterglow I’ve been simmering in since Friday night. I don’t want to have sex, but I’m thinking weird things about Ian. And my work. He’s going to ride me hard about my presentation all this week. What will happen when we see each other tomorrow? Will we acknowledge what happened? Or are we going to pretend it’s all in the past… like what happened a decade ago?
Against my better judgment, I text Ian.
“We need to talk. About Friday.”
I hit send before I lose my nerve.
Unsurprisingly, I don’t hear from him for a long time. He’s at his family’s party, and I’m here working to keep me distracted. I order in dinner and double up on that wine to settle my nerves. Soon enough I’m in the bath, relaxing in a plethora of bubbles and staring at my Ziploc-covered tablet trying to read a book.
My phone, which is perched safely on a shelf, buzzes.
At first I forget that I texted Ian. Which is good, because otherwise I may not have picked up my phone and looked at his message.
“What is there to talk about?”
Seriously?
I’m gonna I don’t even know.
“You know what. Unless it was so terrible that you’ve blocked it out of your mind.”
“Hardly.”
That’s it for a minute. He wants me to continue the conversation.
“Is it going to be weird tomorrow?”
“Only if you’re the one making it weird.”
“So we’re good?”
“We’re good.”
I watch my bubbles bob on the water, my teeth playing at a hangnail. “See you tomorrow.”
“Good night.”
For some reason, this exchange hasn’t made me feel better. If anything, I’m more anxious than ever. Because… well, you know. Ian and I had sex. Not just any sex. Really, really hot sex that nearly ate me alive and left him absolutely breathless afterward. I don’t care who you are. I don’t care if you’re the most hardened man in the universe – emotionally, that is. If you have that kind of sex with a woman, it’s going to affect you. You’re going to treat her differently.
And this is Ian Mathers we’re talking about here. A man who, even back when I first decided to sleep with him, is known for going through a lot of women quickly. That doesn’t mean he treats them with disrespect, of course. I have never heard about that, but it does mean that I’m no longer an interest to him. He’s conquered me. He knows what it’s like to fuck Kathryn. He knows what my nipples look like and what I sound like coming from his cock, and what it’s like to have my stupid horny cunt squeeze him half to death. Fuck me. I am so stupid.
Excuse me while I try to finish my bath in peace. It’s going to be a long week, and I need all the relaxing I can get right this second.
Chapter 14
IAN
Monday morning. Cloudy. Drizzly. Enough to make me carry an umbrella until I reach the building we’re still sequestered in this week.
Naturally, I run into Kathryn in the elevator.
The operator hits the button for our suite and then steps out again, the doors closing in front of us. Kathryn is fighting between looking relaxed and tensing up around me. I don’t blame her, but I wish she wouldn’t. It’s making me tense.
“Good morning,” I finally say, wrapping the plastic wrap around my umbrella as securely as possible. I text my assistant – who is in the building with me this week – to bring some coffee from my favorite café down the street. The coffee pot isn’t going to be enough today. “Have a nice weekend?”
She glances at me before looking at the mirror paneling. She’s very business. Heavy coat, minimal makeup, and that silky blond hair pulled into her French twist. When she wears her hair like that, it makes her neck look longer, especially when there’s no jewelry there.
I briefly remember kissing that throat three days ago. How warm she had been beneath her skin. Her heart beating furiously as I rubbed her slit and parted it for my cock.
Great.
It’s eight in the morning, I haven’t been properly caffeinated yet, and I’m already getting hard standing next to this woman. Please put me out of my misery.
“The weekend was fine,” she says. “I hear you had quite the garden party at your estate.”
The numbers tick away the floors as we pass them by. “Let me guess who told you that.”
“Not your mother. I haven’t seen her in a while.”
The idea of Kathryn and my mother conspiring about something makes me want to vomit. “The party was fine. You and your father’s absence was noticed.”
“We had a meeting earlier that day. Sorry.”
Why is she sorry? Not like I missed her this weekend.
We arrive at our floor. The doors open, and I see Valerie my assistant waiting to ride down to get that coffee I asked for. Good mornings are exchanged. Kathryn walks ahead and hails her mousy assistant who cowers at her boss’s feet. If Kathryn Alison swung that way, I would assume she was in a BDSM relationship with that poor girl. (Or would it be lucky girl?)
Reaching the office space is a mistake… because right there, mocking me, is Lana Andrews dressed in her tight red skirt and chiffon black blouse.
She’s stunning. She knows it. She smiles at me.
Fuck.
“Ian.” Her sweet voice chaffs my ear. “I’m glad you’re here. There’s someone I want you and Kathryn to meet.”
The woman of the moment is behind me, and even though we face the woman standing between us and our project, I still tense at Kathryn’s presence. Apparently, fucking her only made certain things worse. Who knew?
“And to what do we owe this pleasure, Lana?” I ask. “I thought that everything that needed to be said was exchanged yesterday?”
A woman I’ve never met turns around and stands in the office doorway. Tall. Self-assured. Older than my mother. She extends her hand with a fake smile. “Colleen Woodrow,” she introduces herself. “You must be Ian Mathers.”
The way she looks at me says she damn well knows me. Probably from tabloid trash.
We shake hands. Kathryn introduces herself next, and Colleen Woodrow is as inexplicably cool to her.
The same registers in my head. After what Lana said yesterday, I went home and did research on the council. I was going to have to do it anyway, but that was a perfect impetus.
Colleen Woodrow is the co-chair of the council. A big deal when you consider she had to be voted into the position. One of those positions you never think about because you’re too busy deciding on who you want to be mayor or governor. But no, at some point in my life I probably checked the box saying that I voted for Mrs. Woodrow. And now I’m probably going to regret it.
“Mrs. Woodrow had a few ideas about the presentation that I would like you to hear.” Lana gestures to the office, and Kathryn and I can’t help but give each other a look.
This is going to be hell.
Sure enough, our impromptu meeting at nine in the morning has everything to do with Friday’s proposal. As one of the council leaders, Mrs. Woodrow wants to make sure we know what to expect and what we should do to prepare. I can handle that. Kathryn’s twitching, her dominant personality at complete odds with this woman. So is mine, but I’m better at covering it up. Kathryn looks like she’s about to slap the woman.
I’m not sure I would stop her.
The rub comes about twenty minutes into this farce of a meeting. A farce because it’s keeping us from getting to our real work.
“As it is, Ms. Alison and Mr. Mathers…” Colleen primps as if we’re her mirror. “The double proposition is a good one, but I’m afraid both the community and the council will not be in the mood to approve both ventures at the same time.” When she’s met with our bemusement, she explains, “Either the museum or the functioning remodeled hotel will have to come first. I’m afraid that asking for both at the same time will put people… on edge. As it is, we think both are fantastic ideas if done tastefully, and we look forward to seeing both of your presentations.”
“But?”
“But only one will be selected, if either of them is to be at all.”
“So let me get this straight,” I interject, putting my hand in the middle of the table. “You want us to continue with our presentations… but only one of us will be ‘selected’ to continue forward as planned?”
“If either is selected at all.”
“Oh, well then.”
This is bullshit, and we all know it. I don’t know whose rad idea this is, but either Kathryn or I are going to be in big, big trouble with our fathers. Either my father is going to come down hard on me for not securing us the money-making hotel, or Kathryn is going to be further humiliated because her family doesn’t get their museum.
It’s not fair, and we all know it.
This business isn’t fair. We all make our peace with it, but sometimes you come up against something that is so stupid and arbitrary that even this hardened heart is amazed by it. This is one of those instances. Does she seriously expect me to believe that the community is too sensitive to having both a renovated hotel and a new museum at the same time?
“We know that neither of you want to hear something like this,” Lana says, patting Colleen’s shoulder. They look like bosom buddies, all right. “But I’m afraid it’s how it has to be. If the community decides to accept a renovation, it can only be one or the other for now. The other can come later once it’s been proven that the first is a success.”
Kathryn shakes her head as if she’s ridding her brain of an evil spirit. “So Ian and I are essentially competing against each other.”
“Don’t think of it that way,” Lana says with that ridiculous air of superiority. “Unless of course it makes you work harder!”
Her laugh is enough to make me curl my first and for Kathryn to sneer into the back of her hand.
Long after they leave, we’re left sitting here in the office, our spirits fucked. Not even our bubbly assistants can bring us back from the dead. There isn’t even time or energy to think about what happened Friday night. The only good to come out of this is that I no longer want to think about nothing but having sex with Kathryn.
Apparently she’s my rival now.
We’ve gone from being partners in this endeavor to vying for different things. Kathryn wants to prove herself, and I want to not fuck up my father’s investment. Before, that fueled our teamwork, or what there was of it. It probably fueled the whole sex thing too, but that’s neither here nor there.
Now we’re competing. I don’t care how they spin it. We’ve gone from either all in or all out, to only one can survive.
This is going to be great for our relationship.
Chapter 15
KATHRYN
Do you know what it’s like to be grounded? Because that’s how I feel right now. Trapped in a shitty situation where there is no real winner.
I am so fucked. My level of “fucked’ is that of a porn star’s. Minus a good dicking and getting paid for it.
You see, I cannot win in this farce of a situation. No matter what happens, I am boned.
Let’s look at the first possible outcome. Ian gets the initial deal for remodeling The Grand. Great. That shuts me out, and once again I look like a dumb girl who can’t keep her shit together. Sure, I may have held my own and was able to overcome my previous fuckup, but I still fucked up! Yay!
Now let’s look at the second possible outcome. I “win.” Except not really, because what good does it do everyone if we’re only building a museum? Will the Mathers even want to buy the hotel then? Sure, they can make some revenue off museum admission and a gift shop, but their bread and butter is going to come from the hotel itself. That is their main line of business.
You see? It’s an impossible situation, and I’m the one who suffers the most from it.
I don’t think Ian sees it that way, though. He’s plugging ahead as if someone named Colleen Woodrow hasn’t turned our lives upside down. Well, of course. He doesn’t have as much to lose as me.
Isn’t that how it always goes? I’ve been feeling this ever since I was old enough to realize that being a girl puts me at a huge disadvantage. Every day there’s some new reason for a man – or other woman – to put me down and make me feel like shit, all because the doctor said I had a vagina when I was born.
I felt it when I was a little girl who barely understood the world. You see, I was my parents’ only chance at a kid. They tried for years, and then finally had me. The pregnancy was so hard on my mother that the doctor told her that trying to have another would probably kill her, or at least kill the baby. Both of my parents wanted a son for all the reasons we rich people want a bunch of sons. Proof of fertility, passing on the family name, knowing that the fortune will “stay in the family” and a bunch of other asinine bullshit that doesn’t mean anything these days.
Still, even though my parents loved me, I knew they would’ve felt better having a son. They discussed adoption, but by that point their relationship was strained. They’ve never divorced, but I wasn’t surprised when my mother peaced out and moved to Europe.
Then I felt that shit at school. Boys harassed me. Teachers let the boys harass me because “boys will be boys.” I hated myself for having crushes on boys because I already knew how toxic they could be. It wasn’t until I was in high school that I realized I could control some of my destiny. Back then, that only meant sexually. I was a bit wild. New boyfriend every month for about two years. Would’ve been more, but I lived in such an insular world that I had to be careful who I boned while sowing my wild teenage oats.
Dealing with doctors and birth control. Being told that my goal in life was to be some guy’s blond trophy wife and have his kids. Everyone expected me to go to college, but nobody expected me to do anything with a degree. Bit of a shock when I decided to follow the family business. My father went along with it – I think he was relieved, actually. I know he’s often worried about what’s going to happen to his holdings when he goes. If his daughter is there to take over, he feels a lot better. What he thinks I’m going to do with my life on the other hand…
My family is the least of my problems. It’s the rest of the world. Nobody takes me seriously. When I fuck up, I’m rarely given a real second chance like men are. Nobody thinks I can really make it.
When I get hung up on these thoughts, I also get pretty down. I need alcohol. I need my friends. I need a man to kiss my boots and let me whack on his ego for a change.
So now I sit here, in this office on a Wednesday evening, looking at Ian across from me and wondering what the fuck I was thinking when I grabbed his dick and begged him to fuck me.
Ian’s not going to solve my problems. He’s going to exacerbate them. Even though he’ll never say anything about me or to me, he is going to stay silent on the other issues. He’ll hold up the status quo around me. He’ll never treat me as his real equal in the bedroom. At some point, he’ll break – and ask me to break for him.
As much as I hate being alone, it’s better than throwing myself at the feet of a Dom.
“You holding up over there?” He doesn’t look at me. He flips papers over, laptop lit up with spreadsheets. We’ve reached the point in the day where he whips out his reading glasses, a thick-rimmed pair that would look ridiculous on any other man, but not Ian. They’re square and sit nicely on his nose, framing those hazel eyes that I sometimes can’t help but stare at.
His sleeves are rolled up. His top two buttons are loose. This is how he looks by five every damn day, and every damn day I think about how nice it would be to finish undressing and lie on top of him. My bed is really comfortable. If only I had someone like him to share it with.
Shit, I’m pathetic.
“I’m fine,” I lie. My notes are a train wreck. Even I can barely read my handwriting.
He looks at me again. If he didn’t look so young, I would think he looks like a father, or a professor. The kind of man who judges you with one glare.
Ian whips off his glasses. “You wanna go downstairs and get a drink?”
I snort. “On a Wednesday?”
“We’re not coming in tomorrow. And tonight’s as good a night as any since we have to be ready on Friday morning to sell our souls. Let’s relax with a drink. My…” He stops. “My treat” doesn’t mean anything when the woman you’re talking to is almost as rich as you in her own right. “The bar in this building is pretty good. The stock is everything my father likes, but about half his tastes passed down to me, so…”
Sighing, I close my laptop lid and shove my notes back into their respective folders. ‘Sure. But no wine. We know what happened last time.”
A dry laugh fills the room. “I don’t think that was necessarily the wine.”
That’s all he says on the subject. Honestly, it’s all he has to say, because I know what he means. All the wine did was give us an excuse to relax and loosen up.
We pack up our things. This will be one of the last times I’m here, so I make sure that Anita is able to come in tomorrow morning and grab everything neatly before bringing them over to my place. After that, we grab our coats and jackets before hopping into the elevator and enjoying the long ride down in silence.
The bar is one of those abodes that works for either relaxing with a date or shooting the breeze with coworkers after work. I like those types of places because you don’t feel like you owe anyone anything. Hell, I would probably feel fine bringing work in here so I can have an Old Fashioned while finishing up the last of my projects for the night. Sure enough, I see a couple of middle-management guys with their tablets out. They could be reading a book or surfing the web, but it’s more likely that they’re putting in a final hour of work before heading home. Only one wears a wedding ring.
Ian and I sit right at the bar. People must recognize us, because they give us plenty of room, deciding to sit closer to strangers than anywhere near us at the bar. It feels weird at first, but then I come to thank them because I really need some room to breathe.
I order my Old Fashioned while Ian makes room for straight bourbon. “I like a woman who can appreciate whiskey,” he says to me. My drink is served first, and he eyes it with a bit of jealousy. Since getting a drink was his idea, I can only assume that it’s been on his mind all day. Can’t blame him. I have more to lose, but he’s frazzled as well. He’s also a lot like me in the sense that he would probably love to get laid to take the edge off. Too bad I’m not making myself available tonight.
We’ve crossed that bridge. We don’t need to go back over it.
“What can I say?” I sip my drink. Damn, it’s delicious. Smooth, too. Ian’s father must love whiskey too, because this is the good stuff. “My father raised me to appreciate the finer things in life. Like what you’re drinking.”
The glass appears before him, right on cue. “You want a sip?” He slides it in my direction. “Go ahead. I don’t mind the backwash.”
“Har har.” I pick up his glass and sample a taste. It’s almost as good as my drink. Almost. “You’ve had plenty of my backwash already.”
“Indeed.” Ian takes his glass back and has his fill in one gulp. Yup. The man wanted a drink. “Nothing sacred now.”
A part of me is relieved that we can joke about it. Another part of me wonders why we keep bringing it up. Haha, what am I talking about? We keep bringing it up because it’s the only thing we have in common right now… besides work.
And besides the fact we’re both drinking like fish.
I only intended to have one drink. But then Ian chugs his back and orders another. Then I chug mine and order another. You ever have two whisky drinks back to back? Oh ho ho. I’m in hell. Sweet, tipsy hell.
The world is warm and my body is warmer. Ian’s body ain’t so bad either. He lets me slap my hand on his arm after he tells me a joke about a nun and a CEO. Fuck all if I’ll remember it later. Right now I’m on my third drink and I’m not doing a great job holding it in. Ian holds his liquor better than me. No surprises there. The worst that’s happening is a few yawns and some talk about going home and going to bed. It’s not a bad idea.
I think about collapsing into bed with him. Maybe not for sex, although I’m sure we could drunkenly paw at each other and maybe get off a little. Mostly I’m imagining curling up against his firm body and inhaling the scent of his skin as I drift off into blissful sleep. My hand lingers too long on his arm. He looks at it until I yank it away.
“You know what?” I say, giggling as I lean against the bar and half-ass hailing the bartender for one last round. “We had fun last Friday, didn’t we?”
“Fucking hell.” Ian continues to mumble as I sit here giggling like an idiot. “Yes. Fun.”
“I’m glad you think so, because you have a great cock.”
I’m patting his leg, and he’s looking at me as if I’m five steps away from falling on my face and puking all over the floor. Hardly!
“Thanks.”
“You think about doing me again?”
I don’t know where the question comes from. Neither does Ian, gauging the way he looks at me. “Every day.” I feel better knowing that his speech is slurring almost as much as mine.
“Oh my God. We should have sex again.” It’s a great idea! Me, Ian, a big fat bed that squeaks every time we thrust against each other. I’m sweating like a virgin over here. “You want a blowjob? Because I have it on good authority that I’m awesome.”
He’s looking at me. Judging me. The kind of judgment that sizes up how good it would be to take another plunge in my body. His sleepy, alcohol-ridden eyes look as good to me in my likewise drunken state. “Fuck that, Katie. I would lick your pussy wide open first.”
“Oooh, you smooth talker!” I lean in closer, and I know my whisky breath is all over his face. “Take me to bed right now.” My mouth is dangerously close to his ear. I grip his upper arm and think about licking the base of his neck. Even though I’m drunk, I know that’s a bad idea in public. I’m pushing it already.
His fingers play with the ends of my hair that have fallen out of my twist. “I want to tear this bun apart and pull your hair while I fuck you,” he growls into my ear.
We’re so close to kissing. His hand is on my thigh. My hand is searching for his. The bartender comes up and then quickly turns around when he sees us. We’re lucky the bar is so empty now.
“I was thinking of something a bit different,” I say with a different grin. “How about I tie you to a chair and slam my pussy in your lap?”
Chuckling, Ian picks up my empty glass and licks the rim. “Tie me up, huh? I’m not into that. I’d much rather tie you up and bite those pink nipples of yours. Oh yeah. I remember what color they are.” Before I can admonish him, he breathes into my ear, his voice deliciously deep. “I want to bring you to the brink of orgasm so many times that you beg me… beg me… to finish you off, your screams echoing off my bedroom wall while I completely lose myself in you.”
I shiver. It almost sounds good. Minus the tying me up part. “Ian…” I sober up a bit, but not enough to save me from my oncoming folly. “I’m not sure that would work.”
“No, it wouldn’t.” He’s serious. Too serious. “We’re both Doms. It wouldn’t work out, Katie.”
He takes a tentative drink and puts his glass back down. His hand is still on my thigh, and it tightens there, invigorating my lust but not satisfying my heart. “Not even for a little while?”
I don’t know what’s come over me. I really shouldn’t be lusting over Ian like this. Wanting him to hold me, to kiss me, to give me a hard time both in and out of bed. I feel like my high school friends swooning over him. Are any of my high school friends here with him like this right now? No. It’s all Kathryn Alison.
Domme.
I can’t ignore who I am. Ian isn’t going to submit to me, and I’m not going to submit to him. It would make us both too uncomfortable. We want completely different things from the other person. We really should end things here. Maybe we’ll hook up a few more times… why couldn’t tonight be one of those nights?
I ask him as much, and watch his brows furrow.
“Because I won’t be happy with just sex, Katie.” His voice is soft, but I can hear a Dom’s sternness in it. Already he’s talking to me like a sub, and I don’t care much for it. “If we make this a regular thing, then I want to dominate the fuck out of you.”
I bristle.
His tongue coddles my earlobe, and I feel myself turning into mud all over him. No. I have to resist. I have to push away from his inviting embrace. “I want to slowly strip you and bite every part of your body. I want to make you suck my cock until you choke on everything I give you.” Okay, man… okay… “I want to spank your pretty ass until it’s so pink you can’t sit for a week. And then I want to bend you down, listening to you shriek in ecstasy into my pillow as I fuck you bareback, your tight cunt growing tighter until you draw me in so deep that I can’t help but be siphoned by every muscle in your body. And then I want to watch my cum drip out of you and onto my bed. Then make you clean it up while you call me sir.”
My brain is gone. I don’t even know what the fuck to say.
“Does that sound good, Katie?”
He knows my answer. He knew it before he started describing that shit. Even though my body is shivering at the images, at the way his voice spills into me and fills my chest with nerves, I say the first thing that comes to my mind. “I don’t think I’d like that.” It sounds suffocating. Demeaning. Also, I don’t do bareback.
“No? Then I guess it can’t happen. I’m not going to do anything you’re thinking of right now. Let me guess. Cock rings and calling me a bad boy?”
He’s not making fun of me. He knows how a Domme like me rolls. I don’t really do humiliation, but I can be a harsh Mistress depending on the sub’s wants. Ian wouldn’t want that. If he were a sub, he’d want me to make him worship me. That’s what I want, anyway.
To feel like a queen.
A goddess.
Not a slave. The one without the real power.
Lots of women love that shit. That’s fine. I get it on a superficial level. But it’s not me. I get off hardest and feel freest when I’m the one calling all the shots. The thought of a man, even one like Ian, holding me down and pounding me until I scream a safe word makes me nervous, not exhilarated.
