Текст книги "Fight You"
Автор книги: Cynthia Dane
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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 14 страниц)
Chapter 3
KATHRYN
This morning all I could think about was what I would wear today. Whatever it was, it had to be functional for work, but also good for a date.
I don’t know what Ian and I are doing. After our lunch the other day, I’m not sure I want to know. I’ll either be so horny that I don’t care about what’s going on until he fucks me, or I’ll be so over his shit that I leave early and call everything off.
We’ll see.
The way I ended up dressing… you’d think I was trying to impress him. My dress is a crimson halter that matches nicely with my black flats I have to wear around the construction site. I decided on a plunging necklace to make sure Ian stares at my cleavage all day – without realizing that everyone else will be looking too. Oops.
It’s fine. I’m a professional. They… try to be professional. I could do without the foreman and his cronies muttering to each other with stupid smiles on their faces every time I walk by, but thems the breaks of being female in the presence of men.
At least Ian is looking. Although the only thing he’s commented on is my hair, worn up for work. What he doesn’t know is that I’m now in the bathroom, after work, getting ready for our date.
First thing I do is take down my hair, combing it out so it falls nice and straight on my shoulders. Then I open my purse, searching for my makeup kit, because sometimes a girl needs to put on some red lipstick, light blush, and thank the heavens for liquid eyeliner.
Once I’m convinced I’m the most beautiful woman on Earth – for five seconds, anyway, until I notice a zit on my chin and promptly freak out – I collect my stuff and meet Ian in the foyer of his gutted hotel.
“Aren’t you a lovely vision?” He doesn’t take my arm. We’ve decided to keep this relationship a secret for now. Not because we’re ashamed, but because it’s so complicated that we don’t know how long it will last or if it’s worth the press we’d get. I can already see the papers discussing our marriage date – and how long it would take Ian to cheat on me – and I want to barf.
“Thanks.” I walk beside him out of the building and to the curb, where Ian hails a cab. He lives close enough that he’s been walking to and from the site every day. Saying something about needing the exercise if he’s not able to hit the gym.
I’m glad he’s keeping his physique in check, because I know under all these clothes he’s strong enough to, well, pick me up and carry me to his room.
I hide a grin of excitement as he closes the cab door behind me. Within ten seconds he’s sitting beside me, telling the driver to take us to the restaurant I stood him up at. As usual, we have things to prove to one another.
Although it takes one small glass of liquor to get me settled, I’m soon relaxed enough to laugh at one of his stupid jokes. So far he hasn’t said or done anything that implies domination. The more I think of this as a regular “vanilla” date, the more I’m able to see him as my equal in all areas, including sex. Remember, Kathryn? You are capable of this with a man like him.
Not always, but usually.
“There was this guy in my house,” Ian says, referring to his stint in a high-class frat in college, “who dated a new woman every month. Except you’d never guess, because all the girls looked the same. Red heads. Freckles. Some of them dressed differently, and a lot of them had the most basic names you’ve ever heard, but once we caught on… shit, we never let him live it down. The guy had a real fetish.”
I smile over my half-eaten dinner. “You mean like you and your thing for blondes?”
“Why do people keep saying that?”
“Because it’s true. By the way, how was Stephanie’s pussy?” I drink some water. “I know you think she’s me and all, but…”
“Why you gotta go there?” Ian is too relaxed from his drink to be offended. “That happened one time.”
“Yes, but it happened.”
I’m flirting with him for the first time in weeks. Probably because this is the first time in a long while I’ve felt comfortable around him. He has yet to make a move, let alone do something that makes me uncomfortable. I sit here thinking, “Well, we’re more than likely having sex tonight.” As the night wears on, I feel better about it. Not that I didn’t feel okay with it before – plus, I could always say no if I decide it’s not in the cards. There’s a good amount of power in that, even if he’s calling the shots.
Tonight, he is totally not calling the shots!
“I think you like tormenting me,” Ian says, leaning across the table. We’re sitting opposite one another, but the table is small, and it’s not difficult to slip my foot out of my heel and play with his ankle. The smile that instantly lights up his face as he realizes what I’m doing spurs me on to tuck my toes beneath the hem of his pants. “Yes. You like tormenting me.”
“How do I torment you?” My arms are crossed on the table, pushing my cleavage forward so he sees deep into it. His eyes are not on mine. “Spare no detail, Mr. Mathers.”
“You damn well know how.”
We hold our mutual gaze until I break with a snort. I don’t get it. I’m Kathryn Alison, Domme extraordinaire, and yet staring down this guy makes me weak in the knees and want to hide my blush in wine.
“You are so stunning,” Ian murmurs across the table, fingers trailing up my arm. His light touch makes me shiver, although I do an admirable job containing it. “Women like Stephanie May don’t even compare to you because you are so much more… woman?”
“So suave.” I pretend to be disinterested in his explanation. “So good with words. Ian Mathers, the man who will transform The Grand, ladies and gentlemen.”
“Another testament to what you do to me. I can’t even find my words anymore.”
Wrapped around my wrist is his hand, not tight, but definitely noticeable. I imagine his hands all over me, squeezing my breasts, fondling my thighs, and of course… this time I can’t contain my shiver as I think about him spanking me, fingering me, and holding me down like…
Like a sub.
Fuck. See what he does to me? I’m not myself.
Apparently he isn’t either.
We could talk about it. We could sit here, over dinner, discussing why it is we act like this around one another. He and I both know that it won’t end well. At present we’re feeling pretty comfortable around each other. Why would we disrupt that with talk of Domming and subbing? Why would we want to drag that up when this is supposed to be a date night? This is as good for him as it is for me… right?
I think he knows to avoid the topic. So he talks about his mother’s latest shenanigans dating some retired European soccer player and going on some sex blog to talk about this guy’s big dick and how mortified her son would be to read it.
“I don’t really care,” Ian says, his hand still wrapped in mine as we ignore our cooling dinners. “My mother’s been dating guys left and right since the divorce almost a decade ago. Probably before that. They weren’t exactly monogamous… ever.”
“They told you this?”
“Hell no! I heard it from other people, and they’ve both dropped hints. Did you know they still hook up?”
“Why in the world did they get divorced if they still like each other and are okay with seeing other people? That makes no sense.”
Ian shrugs in that lackadaisical way that’s starting to turn me on more and more. This is a man who gets his shit done and still knows how to relax. That’s admirable. “Principle of the thing. They weren’t in love apparently, and their prenup said my mother got half the fortune if she stuck it out for at least twenty years. I think it was an image thing for my father.”
“So when they hit twenty years…”
“She filed the day after their twentieth anniversary. They were on a second honeymoon in Italy when the paperwork arrived!”
“what?”
“I’m serious. Dad was angry for about two seconds because of the inconvenience she caused. Not to mention she sort of ruined the vibe of their supposed romantic getaway.”
The Mathers are certainly interesting people. Everyone knows how unpredictable Caroline can be, but you don’t hear much about Dominic. Ian has always taken more after his father, but I think I can see streaks of his mother in him.
Would he spring a divorce on me if we got married? Like that?
What the hell! Why am I thinking about marriage?
My hand falters in his, and the next thing I know I’m shoveling food in my mouth while Ian peruses the dessert menu. He orders a piece of gourmet chocolate cake, which is promptly brought out the moment I push aside my empty plate.
“Didn’t ask me if I wanted anything,” I tease, picking up the dessert menu before the server can leave.
The cake slides in my direction. “I got it for you.”
“Hm?” He’s kidding, right? Why would he assume that? “I mean… we could share…”
“Why? Not on a diet, are you?” Ian grins, Shit-eating. He knows he’s pressing a volatile button. “Eat the fucking cake.”
The server backs away. I pick up the tiny fork and stab the corner of the fluffy, melting cake. Oh God, it looks so tasty. I can barely speak before the delectable chocolate hits my tongue. “I’m not on a diet, per se, but girls can rarely keep a nice figure eating whatever they want. This is a splurge.” I stick my tongue out so he can see all the half-digested cake on it.
He doesn’t flinch. “Most women would be as hot if they weighed a few more pounds. You have no idea how good it feels to thrust between a pair of soft thighs.”
Is he flirting? I keep my eyes on him as the fork plays with my lips. “That’s nice for you. I’m the one who has to find clothes to fit those thighs.”
Ian brushes his hand against mine again, and I feel it – that electricity shooting through me, demanding I throw myself onto the table and let him take me. I’m barely horny, really. It’s purely mental, and I’m kinda freaked out.
“You could weigh fifty more pounds and you’d still be the hottest woman strutting around, making me so hard and hot that it takes every bit of self-restraint to not throw you down somewhere and fuck your damned brains out.”
That growl in his voice is so intoxicating that a fog clouds my mind, containing images of him doing just that. Right now. He could take me right now, and I would let him.
But no. Ian likes to play his long games.
You know what? I can play long games too.
With his eyes bearing down on me, I cut some cake and hold the fork up to his lips. Within a second he bites down on it, still staring at me, those piercing hazel eyes taunting me as his tongue wraps around the fork. Shit, that’s hot. It’s not hard to imagine that tongue plunging down my throat, in my pussy, all over my body, over and over until I’m so tired from coming that I have to shove him away.
“Are you trying to seduce me?” My voice is nothing short of husky. It’s the voice I use on my subs when I’m about to reward them. Perhaps not the most appropriate voice, but… what other one do I use? This feels most natural. “You’re doing an admirable job, Mr. Mathers.”
“I try to seduce you every fucking day, Ms. Alison.” He plucks the fork from my hand and attempts to serve me a bite next. I’m more docile in my acceptance. Just a quick bite, pulling the cake off the fork with my teeth bared.
You’re seducing me, Ian, and while it’s working, I’m not going to let you think I’m anything but who I really am.
Whoever that is.
Presently, Kathryn Alison is someone who bites.
I’ll bite his ear, his shoulder, that stupid bottom lip that pushes out when he’s pouting – but totally thinks he isn’t pouting. I’ll bite one of his nipples, and then… ahaha, I’ll give him the thrill of his life when I bite his fucking dick.
Not hard, of course. Just enough to graze my teeth over his skin, to make him tingle, worry a little bit, and then realize that I’m that good.
This oral fixation going on between us is working, if that’s his game. I’d love to crawl beneath this table and blow him.
For real, this time. None of that coming on my face bullshit.
Great. I shudder, uncomfortable.
“You all right?”
Not really, but I lie. “It’s a little chilly in here.”
“We need to finish up here anyway. We’ve got a show to catch.”
“Oh? The cinema?”
“Better. Symphony. If you want to go, anyway.”
“I love the symphony. Especially if you have a private balcony.”
“We have one named after my family. Let’s go.”
The check arrives. You can imagine what happens.
“I’ve got it.” Ian tries to take it from my hand, but my grip is firm. “Let me. It’s a date.”
“And that means you pay because you’re the guy, right?”
“It’s not like that. Just let me pay it.”
“What’s wrong with me paying it? Not like I can’t afford it.”
Here’s the scoop: the Mathers and the Alisons have a similar net worth when you put us together, but I’m sure Ian’s fortune is larger than mine. He works more high-profile jobs while I run around doing charity. I’ve made quite a bit of money on my own thanks to my family, but I admit, a lot of my fortune does come from my family. So does his. We’re pretty even no matter how you slice it.
Sometimes a woman wants to buy her date dinner.
“You’re taking me to the symphony.” My smile is so terse I must look sarcastic. “So I’ll pay for dinner.” When he still won’t release the check, I growl, “Give it.”
He drops the check, hands in the air as if I’ve raised a gun.
The air is tense as I open my purse, pull out my wallet, and fish for a credit card to give to the server. It’s a motion I go through often enough. But with Ian sitting there, watching me, it feels somehow… dirty.
In our world, gender roles are fairly solid. I’m an outlier in that I’m a daughter who wants to work as hard as the men in her family and can pay her own way – and pay for her dates. Most of the women guys like Ian date are either too poor to even think about it, or they’re coming from that state of mind that says “men for everything.” I don’t like it when men pay for me. Not if I can afford it.
Like I said. He’s taking me to the symphony. That makes us even.
Except I need him to stop looking at me like that. As if I’ve insulted him and threatened his masculinity.
We leave, disconnected thanks to trying to keep a low profile from people who may recognize us… and because the feeling between us has changed. We’re no longer flirty. He doesn’t act like he’s itching to touch me as we get into a cab. In fact, we’re pretty quiet as the taxi rolls down the street and takes us to the concert hall on the other side of town.
The show has already started when we arrive. The usher recognizes Ian and escorts us to the private balcony right away. My family was never much into music. I was the strange child buying up CDs and then MP3s later on. So, unlike the Mathers, we don’t have anything named after us here. Sometimes even this rich bitch can have a new thrill.
The balcony is small. Seats maybe five people. So it’s plenty cozy for two people sitting next to one another and enjoying the darkness as the lights focus on the orchestra below.
The moment I sit down, I feel Ian’s hands on me. He touches me under the guise of removing my coat, but his hands linger – right on my breasts, his mouth in my ear.
“When we’re done here, we’re going back to my place. I have plans for you.”
Bristling, I decide to play his coy game. “Sit your ass down, Mathers. I’ve got plans for you first.”
Chapter 4
KATHRYN
This is the most talented orchestra in the region, and the conductor has won several awards over the years. In fact, he’s so famous that he headlines the entire event.
I don’t care.
I only care about Ian.
He’s even more handsome in this lack of light. There are a couple of nightlights on the ground so we can see our way in and out of the balcony, but for the most part it’s so dark that I can barely make out his profile in the shadows. Something mysterious surrounds him, and I realize it’s that I can’t tell what he’s thinking if I can’t see his expressions.
This is a date, Kathryn. You don’t have to keep your hands to yourself.
If we were a sweet couple, I would hold his hand. Except I gotta admit the thought of holding his hand makes me laugh. Who am I? Some doe-eyed virgin?
No. Hell no.
At first I feel no reaction as I slip my hand between his legs and feel his thighs. His trousers are hot, full of his body heat and so luxurious that I get caught up in the feel of fabric as opposed to my mission at, uh, hand.
Namely grazing my fingers against his cock, which isn’t erect… yet.
“Kathryn,” he mutters, loud enough for me to hear above the music. “This is a fancy place. What you’re doing does not carry a lot of propriety.”
I curl my hand around his cock, feeling it harden in my hand. If only he could see the grin on my face.
“Fuck propriety,” I coo into his ear. “I’m on a date with a handsome man and want to spoil him. Doesn’t he want me to spoil him?”
“I’m supposed to be doing the spoiling.”
“You’re not supposed to be doing anything.” My fingers find his zipper and lower it before he can protest. He’s definitely not protesting when I feel the length of his erect cock. “Besides enjoying yourself.”
“That can certainly be arranged.”
This isn’t my first time giving a guy a handjob in a theater or concert hall. When I was younger – too young to get into places like The Dark Hour – the best way to get a guy off outside of the house was to find a dark abode and get a mutual fingering. In fact, I learned most of my oral skills in dark places like this.
Currently I’m content to watch him and the orchestra – and to feel his thick cock in my grip as I massage his length and pinch my fingers over his tip. He tenses and relaxes, his hand rubbing my knee beneath the hem of my dress.
“Did you know that the conductor has performed in over fifty different countries?” That factoid comes from a poster down in the lobby.
“Hush,” Ian says, gravel in his throat.
“Now, don’t be a Dom, remember?”
“I don’t tell you to the shut the hell up as a Dom. I tell you to be quiet as a man listening to music and getting a handjob.”
“Maybe I don’t want to be quiet,” I tease. “Maybe I want to constantly remind you that I’m here.”
“You know what would shut you up?”
“Indeed I do.” I hold my grip on him, pushing my ass back to the side of my seat as I toss my hair out of the way and lower my head toward his lap. He wants me to shut up? I need to find other ways to keep my mouth preoccupied.
I’m glad we’re not playing kinky games. Not our kind of kinky games, since I’m sure many vanilla people would find what I’m doing plenty kinky. Ha. They have no idea.
But those kinky games? They would make me feel uncomfortable at the moment. Especially after what happened the last time I gave this man a blowjob. In private.
I don’t worry about him pushing me off him so he can come on me, let alone my face. I don’t worry about that because he’s assured me over and over that tonight isn’t about domination and submission. It’s about what feels right. Right now? This feels so fucking right.
Ian’s tip is wide. In fact, it’s one of the widest parts of his cock, which is so delightful that it gives me trembles thinking of him fucking me between the legs. That initial point of penetration always makes me cry out the loudest. All those nerve endings right around my opening… ah, I’m squirming in my seat!
His hand strokes the top of my head before gently tugging on my hair. He’s not pulling it. He’s not being a Dom. Like he said, he’s being a man getting a blowjob.
Good.
My lips tease his tip, my tongue tasting precum. The more I take into my mouth, the more I try not to smile – naturally, as my teeth graze his skin as I promised they would a while ago. So many shivers rip through him, my hair pulling against my scalp beneath the pressure of his grip. Right now, my only thoughts are on Ian’s cock, which is slipping nicely down my throat, past my relaxed gag.
I’ve sucked thick cocks before. Best part about male subs is that most of them are packing. (If they’re not, they want to make sure I tell them they’re not. Different strokes for different folks, even in the kink world.) Yet Ian’s is different. Of course it’s different! Why would it be like anyone else’s? What I mean is that it fills my mouth in such a unique way. His strong scent relaxes my mind and makes me hunger for more. His sack feels so nice beneath my fingers, and they dig to find it within his trousers.
Let me tell you how satisfying it is to ease my mouth off him, to feel my puckered lips kiss his tip before parting to take him in again. Quiet groans of approval filter into my ear as Ian learns to sit back and enjoy it. However, I know he’ll only last so long.
I look forward to destroying him in this balcony.
Soon. It’s definitely on its way. The man probably hasn’t come yet today, and here I am, blowing him away with everything I’ve learned over the years. I up my tempo, swallowing him, pulling off him, sucking on the head of his cock while jerking his shaft. My teeth tug at his flesh; his hands tighten on my shoulder and scalp. Pretty soon, Ian’s thrusting upward, fucking my lips, my mouth, my throat. Precum spreads across my tongue.
I hum when he’s in my throat. A louder groan echoes in the balcony, and soon Ian’s hips are jerking, thrusting so fast that I can barely keep pace with my breaths.
Do it, Ian. Come in my throat. Make me swallow your fucking load.
His fingers dig into my scalp. His breath stills in his body. One grunt erupts, then silence, his cock pulsing in my mouth as it gets ready to come.
Ah, there it is. His scent overwhelms me. I’ve got one second to get ready.
My throat is full, not only with his cock, but with the first gush of seed to overtake me tonight. I don’t choke. I’m ready. My nails are in his thigh as I brace myself for more, swallowing it as quickly as it enters my throat.
I know by now that Ian will burst up to four times. The first is a warning. The second is the largest, coating my tongue and the back of my throat so it’s so slick. Then the third comes, everything that couldn’t come with that second one. The fourth one is the remnants. I take it all, letting it wash down my throat and across my tongue, his taste so, so strong.
As he relaxes into his seat, spent, I pull my mouth off his cock and give it a couple more strokes. It’s softening in my hand. Some seed falls from the corner of my mouth and I let it drip across his tip, falling down his shaft and touching my fingers. My fingers spread across his abdomen, my signal that I want him to give me some affection.
He does. A simple rub on the head, fingers brushing against my cheek as he pushes my hair out of the way.
When I’m satisfied with my handiwork, I sit up, letting my covered lips touch his throat as he puts himself away. He doesn’t stop me. Ian isn’t shy about his seed, unlike a lot of guys I’ve been with.
That turns me on.
“Shit, Katie.” He lets me rub his chest and suck lightly on his throat, his hand touching my arm and then my leg. “That was amazing.”
I nibble his ear. His hair tickles my nose. Hair that smells so good. I don’t know what products he puts in it, but I hope he never stops. “I love it when you call me Katie.”
His mouth turns to mine, and he tastes himself on my lips. “I love calling you Katie.”
“I need something to call you.”
There’s a growl on the corner of my mouth. “I can think of something.”
Sir. I bet that’s it. Does he feel me grimace? “Not tonight, Mr. Mathers.”
“That works too.”
To the sounds of a lovely crescendo down on the stage, Ian kisses me with such passion that I practically melt in his arms.
It feels so good feeling safe in his embrace.
“Let’s get out of here,” he whispers. “I want to take you back to my place and have all sorts of ways with you.”
I giggle, letting him see a more delicate side of me, but I don’t forget his promise from earlier.
He has plans for me.
A part of me is filled with dread. The other is filled with lustful anticipation, and I follow him out of the balcony, thinking about taking his hand into mine.
I don’t.
