We hope you enjoyed JUST FRIENDS Please enjoy this bonus preview of DOM VS. DOMME, set in the same universe and starring the characters Ian and Kathryn.
Dom Vs Domme #1: BITE ME
CHAPTER 1
KATHRYN
Do you see that guy over there in the Armani suit? No, no, not the balding man with a bit of a hunch. I’m talking about the much younger, much better looking guy who looks like a spoiled prince on the verge of getting his way again.
Yeah. That guy.
That’s Ian Mathers. And I hate him.
Sounds childish, doesn’t it? I admit being around that man makes me feel immature as hell. Whenever I see that smug face, all I can think about is screaming at him that he’s really not all that.
I wish I didn’t have to see him today. I told my dad that this was a terrible idea. Not that the Mathers don’t have their shit together. By all accounts, they’re doing fine, even for an empire ran by a divorced couple and their only son. That old balding guy there is Dominic Mathers, Ian’s father. He’s not a bad guy, I guess. Hell, I really like the ex-wife Caroline. There’s a woman who knows her worth and doesn’t take shit from nobody. My kind of role model.
Somehow, though, those two seemingly decent people managed to raise an insufferable son. See? He’s noticed me. Now he’s coming over here and…
“Morning, Kathryn.” If the man had a fedora, he’d be tipping it. “Haven’t seen you around in a while. How are you doing?”
My assistant sneaks through the conference room door with my coffee. Anita isn’t much younger than me, but you would think a decade separated us from how mousy and demure she is. A lot of people mistake her for my little sister even though I’m the only child in this branch of the Alison family tree.
I take the coffee from her, grateful to have something to occupy my body with. When I’m annoyed I get fidgety, and I really don’t need Ian seeing me anxious around him. We may be on the same side during this meeting, but I don’t need him holding my nerves over my head.
Because he totally would.
“I’m decent.” At least that’s the truth. Things could be worse, but things could also be way better. I only have so much patience in the day. “Are the Andrews here yet?”
Ian looks at his watch, as if that will answer my question. “Doesn’t seem so. We still have fifteen minutes, though.”
I can already tell that this is going to be a long day. The Andrews, a power couple who own multiple properties in the city, are looking to do something with one of the downtown hotels. Just so happens that the Mathers are up the ass of hospitality. So, it makes sense that Dominic and Ian are interested in buying The Grand, if only to add it to the many hotels in their domain.
When my father approached me about it, however, I thought he was nuts.
“Dominic and I had drinks the other night,” he said two weeks ago, lying back in his leather chair smoking a cigar and drinking his nightly brandy. He was in his office, one of the coziest spaces in the family house on the outskirts of town. We’re one of the only billionaire families who keep our roost in the city limits. Most of the others have houses up in the Hills, farther out in the mountains or in other states – meanwhile, they keep penthouses, apartments, and even small manors in the city for when they stay here. I moved out a long while ago to set up residence in the cutest three-bedroom overlooking the river… oh, right, my dad.
Where was I?
“The Mathers want to buy The Grand, but they’re not just going to overhaul it like they do everything else. They want to turn it into a cultural center. Part hotel, part museum. That’s where he brought me in, see? They want to buy the property, but Dominic wants us to help with the remodel and get the public on board. They’re particular about their historical sites.”
Yes, yes, sure, a historical site. Just because a couple presidents stayed there in the 19th century…
“This is a huge chance for us. For you. I don’t have time to deal with this on top of my other projects, so I want you to take control of our side.”
I had been excited at the time. My father has trusted me more when it comes to the family business ventures. Right now I run the show at multiple art galleries, since the Alisons are all about the cultural arts. My mother, before she moved to Germany, used to joke that my father’s family had three hands: one dipped in museums, another dipped into art galleries, and the third one patting themselves on the back for enriching the cultural prospects of the little guy. The most annoying kind of philanthropists.
Regardless, I was pretty stoked to take on a project like overhauling the museum part of The Grand. I may only be twenty-seven, but I have a double degree in business and art history. I am a master of grant writing. I single-handedly, I shit you not, recovered government funding for the local libraries in one of the low-income neighborhoods around here. Nobody else was going to do it, and I wasn’t going to stand to see more kids go without books and educational internet access while the local fat cats smoked more cigars. Sure, I could’ve cut them a check. Except this was better for their long-term bottom line, and I try to be a bit more active than taking a passive interest in donations. I mean, who do you think I am… a Mathers?
“Kathryn,” Ian says as I attempt to turn around and go fiddle in the women’s restroom for fifteen minutes. “I trust that you’re ready for the meeting?”
I look over my shoulder, right into those troublemaking hazel eyes. Ian cleans up well, but I know how much he stinks beneath those nice threads. “What the hell do you think? I haven’t spent the past week piecing together proposals and investments because I’m bored.”
“No. Hardly. I don’t expect a woman like you to be bored.”
“What does that mean?”
He shrugs, as if nothing about me really matters. “Calm down. I know you haven’t dropped the ball on this. I’m giving you a hard time.”
It would be reassuring if it weren’t so damn condescending. He’s so good at that. Talking to you and making you feel ten times dumber about a subject than you did before. Like I don’t know I work my ass off! Just ask Anita. She works ten hours a day cleaning up after me. If it weren’t for Anita, my schedule would be a total mess.
Just to make matters worse, the jerk winks at me before turning around and going to reconfirm something with his father. A wink. A fucking wink.
A wink shouldn’t bristle me.
A wink is nothing. More condescension.
More… whatever it is he sometimes does to me.
God, I can’t stand being around the man. When he’s not making me want to gag on his toxic smug, he’s making my knees tremble from those quick looks and quicker grins.
I can’t believe it. Even after twelve years, I’m still hot for the bastard.
***
Hang on, let me back up a minute.
Once upon a time, back when a horny teenage girl named Kathryn was getting as much action as she could, she went to a gala hosted by Dominic Mathers.
Ian was there. Ian Mathers, the seventeen-year-old heartthrob that every girl in our academy was throwing themselves at. Rumor was he had a good dick. Of course, to a stupid girl, a “good dick” meant anything that we could at least feel. Since Ian is two years older than me, I hadn’t seen much of him at school outside of the soccer games I went to in the autumn. Ian never stood out to me until I saw him up close at his father’s gala.
Even back then he was clean-cut and muscular. Nah, he’s not a body-builder, but he’s got some nice, cut muscles that make most women salivate. I sure did when I was fifteen. Since our dads were school friends, my father went out of his way to introduce me.
I had met Ian before, but that was before puberty, when he was a scrawny kid who looked no more interesting than a beanpole with shaggy hair. Post-puberty Ian, on the other hand, looked like a young prince ready to sweep a girl like me off her feet. I was used to boys who thought they would get whatever they wanted from me. Sure, I indulged some. I wasn’t a virgin when I saw Ian that night. I’m not proud that I was having sex by fifteen, but I don’ regret it.
So there was this guy. Ian Mathers, the guy everyone said was sweet and handsome and well talented if you know what I mean. One of my friends said she was lab partners with his ex-girlfriend. “He makes her come twice in a row,” she exclaimed more than once. I was lucky to come from my own hand at that age.
Do you see where I’m going with this? When I shook Ian’s hand that night at the gala, I batted my eyelashes and made sure one of the sparkly black straps of my dress fell off my shoulder. Oh, trust me, he looked at it. And then he looked at my body as if he were going to devour it whole.
A half hour later he asked me to dance. His hands felt strong and sturdy on my frame, even though we danced a respectable distance apart. We didn’t say anything. I think he barely knew my name, and I didn’t care about any of his details. All I cared about were his eyes on my chest and his hand on my ass.
We were horny teenagers, okay?
Another half hour later, we were in a coat closet making out like bunnies. Or is that humping like bunnies? Either way, I was feeling things I rarely felt with any other boy. Like the burning need to fuck.
It was gonna be quick and dirty. The boy had a condom with him, and he was putting it on before I could offer him a blowjob.
Guess what? It’s a good thing I forwent that, because his dick had barely touched my thigh when he groaned and that was the end of everything.
That’s right. Ian Mathers, everyone’s bachelor darling, prematurely ejaculated when we tried to hook up as teenagers.
I shouldn’t hold it against him. Happens to the best of teen boys. Wasn’t the first time a guy did that on me, either. But holy shit, I was so incensed that night that I darted out of the closet, leaving him behind with his shame and embarrassment.
We didn’t see each other for two years, not until I graduated from school and went off to college. Neither of us brought up that night. We haven’t talked about it since. Sometimes I wonder if he even remembers that it was me he did that to all those years ago.
It’s embarrassing. This man has only gotten hotter with age, and now here I am at ten on a Friday morning with a hot coffee in my hand and memories of making out with Ian Mathers in my head.
“Kathryn!”
I nearly drop my coffee. There’s that booming, commanding voice in my head. I turn, meeting Ian’s gaze from across the large conference table.
“They’re here,” he says, settling in a chair next to his father. “You ready?”
Fuck him. I’m never ready when he’s in the same room as me.
Chapter 2
IAN
Lana Andrews walks through the door, dressed like a runway model with hair as perfect as a movie star’s. That’s not unusual for the women around here, but you have to understand that Lana is about forty, a relative young age for someone with so much business power in this region.
I mention what a bombshell she is with her hip-hugging red pencil skirt and flowing strawberry blond hair because the first thing she does is wink at me before extending her hand to shake my father’s. Lana Andrews is an infamous flirt, and she knows how to deck a man right in the groin.
So does her husband, Ken Andrews, a man barely older than her and as good looking. I shouldn’t feel embarrassed. They’re notorious swingers who even share a mistress, if the rumors I hear are true. Of course they’re going to flirt with me. I’m not into guys, but even I blush when Ken Andrews, carrying himself much taller than his relatively short stature should allow, flashes me a man-eating smile. Look, I have a college friend who said he and Ken got so drunk one night that a couple fantastic hummers may have been swapped.
These two gods of the Pantheon of poly-pansexual sex are currently the richest real estate couple in the whole area. Classic love story of two big-shot real estate salespeople ending their rivalry to join forces and take over the world – and a few asses, if I believe this same friend.
My dad’s got it in his head that we’re going to buy The Grand from them. Turn it into the best historical hotel this state has ever seen. That’s quite a feat when you consider how many other famous hotels there are around here that are more than a century old. May sound like babies to you Brits, but as Americans we get excited by anything claiming to be older than our grandparents.
“Dominic. Ian.” We trade handshakes with the Andrews, my father’s knees creaking as he forces himself to stand up. I tell the man he needs to retire to the Bahamas, or maybe San Francisco if he insists, but he won’t hear anything of it. I don’t think he’s that enamored with business anymore – I simply suspect that he doesn’t think I’m ready to take over everything. That and he doesn’t want his ex-wife to get more of her hands on assets.
“Lana,” I say with a stupid grin, as if I can’t help myself around a pretty woman like her. “Lovely to see you again.”
Her grip tightens around my hand. Well, I’m in trouble.
Behind me, Kathryn freakin’ Alison chokes on her coffee.
I had forgotten that she’s here, because…
Wait. Wait. I see that look on your face. What the fuck has she been saying about me? I know you’ve been talking to her.
What?!
Hang on. Back the fuck up. Why am I not surprised that she brought that up in her first conversation with you? Is that the first thing she thinks of when she thinks of me? When she sees me? That stupid time we tried to hook up in a closet and my dick got way too excited about it?
Uuuuuuggggghhhh!
I can explain. I will have you know that I am perfectly competent in that department. Sure, I get a little excited sometimes. But shit like that only happens every great once in a while. I hate to burst you ladies’ bubbles, but even we suave bastards get a little premature sometimes.
What? Of course I remember that day. How does a horny teenage boy not remember a pretty girl like Kathryn Alison sauntering up to him and swaying those come-hither hips and sending sex-signals with her eyes? I asked her to dance because I wanted to see if she was serious. While we danced, she kept talking about lingerie shopping and her favorite things to do in the bath. I don’t remember what I said to invite her into that closet, but next thing I remember I had my hands all over those breasts and hips and…
Well, you know the rest.
She’s grown quite a bit more since then. I daresay I barely recognize her. I only do because I have seen her off and on since that day. She’s taller now. Wider hips and bigger breasts she hides beneath designer pantsuits. Her stringy light-brown hair is now completely blond, sometimes bobbed above her shoulder, sometimes pulled back into a long ponytail, but today worn straight and long. Never seen it curled. Too high maintenance for a busy gal like Kathryn.
Her face is thinner, more pronounced. She wears subdued makeup that pops out her features without making them garish. Yeah, lots of men notice those things. Including me.
Because I look at Kathryn Alison. A lot.
Not because I’m plagued with that ugly memory of losing my business before I could even stick it in her, but because she’s a beautiful woman. My exact type, honestly. Confident, blond, can hold her own in a conversation or regular argument…
Fuck, she’s my perfect physical type. I can’t help but steal glances at her when we’re in the same room. Yes. Physical type.
Emotionally? Ha. Hahahahaha. Ha!
She may be hot, but we are as compatible as peas and gasoline. She was forward and domineering back then. Now it’s been amplified times ten.
Shit. She didn’t tell you, did she? That she’s a Domme?
Yup. Kathryn Alison, that pretty, feminine blonde sitting over there trying to clean up her coffee and not fuck up this deal is a Domme. Everyone who would know that, well, knows that.
And I would know.
Because I’m a Dom.
So, you see, we’re not really… compatible.
“Kathryn.” Neither Lana nor Ken is keen on holding her attention for much longer. No flirting with Kathryn Alison. Well, to be fair, she’s not the one involved with the buy, although my father is bringing her in for a part of our plan. It’s all our money going into the buy. Kathryn is here to help convince the Andrews to sell.
It’s kinda funny. The Andrews are willing to flirt with me, but they completely overlook Kathryn. Guess I’m that irresistible!
Sure enough, the four of us are cornered on one end of the table, our assistants perching with recorders and analog methods of note-taking. I don’t have my assistant here with me. Instead my dad and I are sharing his, a middle-aged woman named Bertha. I kid you not. My mother never allowed my father to have young assistants.
And then there’s Kathryn Alison, sitting by herself – well, with her assistant – down at the far end of the table. It’s cute. They look like they’re having their own conference about butterflies and ball-cutting.
“I hope you realize our hesitations,” Lana says twenty minutes into the meeting. Finally, we are cutting to the chase. “The Grand is a staple to the community. One of the reasons we haven’t done anything with it is because, quite frankly, we don’t want to deal with any backlash that comes with compromising a historical institution, no matter how much help it needs right now. Sure, we could simply sell it to you…” She leans back in her chair, cleavage on full display in her button up black blouse that isn’t really buttoned up. My father is looking. “Even if you screw it up, it’s our asses people will flay forever. For selling it to you.”
“We completely understand.” My father, who thinks he’s Earth’s greatest diplomat, sits up straight and spreads out his hands. You think Kathryn told you that I have a smug face? Nothing compares to my father’s. Only he looks like a grandfather now, so people think it’s cute. I know the truth. Deep down, he’s as capable of being slimy and cunning as anyone else. Yes, even me. Well, maybe not slimy. “That’s why we’ve brought you the full proposals for you to take home and consider. Ian?”
That’s my cue. In my briefcase I have the full proposals we and the team at my father’s offices put together over the past few weeks. I display them now, carefully, each sheet of paper impeccably laid out so both Andrews can see the full picture, so to speak.
“As you can see,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “We have put every attention into the details. Wright and Co. are the designers we’re working with. Together we’ve concocted this historically accurate design. We don’t want to update The Grand. We want to take it back in time to its former glory.”
The couple glances over the pictures. They exchange looks. Whatever they shared in that second… I have no idea. I don’t speak Couple, let alone Married Couple With A Business. It could be good. It could be bad.
It’s probably something Kathryn should be paying attention to, but she’s knee-deep in her own briefcase looking for her part of the project. Before the Andrews can notice this, I lean in and put my elbow on the table, effectively blocking their view of her. Never say I don’t look out for her. Or my own ass.
“These are lovely… sketches.” Pursing her lips as if I showed her a clown juggling a litter of puppies, Lana pushes from the drawings with a dramatic sigh. “Doesn’t really matter what we think, Mathers. What matters is what the public thinks. The community board.”
“You have to admit that it’s very true to the original design of the building.”
“Sure. And people thought we should bring back bell-bottom pants.” Lana shrugs.
Her husband isn’t much more committal. “Besides, there’s another part to your plan, isn’t there? Something about a local museum. We have to take that into consideration as well. It sounds good on paper, but depending on how it’s executed…”
“Ah, yes. I believe Ms. Alison is heading up that end of the bargain.” My father motions behind me to the young blond whispering to her assistant. The plain girl dressed in a plainer sweater dress lets out a squeak and starts searching through her own bags for whatever the fuck it is they’ve misplaced. Probably their designs for the museum, because of course.
“Um…” Kathryn thumbs through a stack of papers but doesn’t seem to find what she wants. “Just a second…”
My father has that look on his face. The fake look. The fake look that says, “Kathryn Alison, I’m smiling, but if you don’t get your shit together in two seconds I’m firing your ass.”
“Wright and Co. is a spectacular design firm.” I point to the picture nearest me and make further comments on the aesthetic Houston Wright picked. Everything is decorous, with grays and beiges accentuating the true-to-time-period stone and woodwork that remains in the building. The wood will have to be replaced, since the inspector said there’s rot. The stone’s still good, but it was important to us that Wright understood to keep the old wood in the design anyway. It will be replaced. Copied, but replaced.
Guests won’t know the difference. They think they will, but…
“Found it!” Kathryn slaps a paper on the table. A single paper.
Is she kidding us? She has to be kidding us. Did they even use a designer? It looks like a kindergartener scratched some shit together while waiting for its parents to pick it up from school. The lines aren’t straight. The shading is… nonexistent. I’m almost embarrassed for her. Except I can see a look of disappointment on her face…
This is not what she’s supposed to show. This is probably the rough draft the designer provided, and either Kathryn or her assistant have botched bringing the real thing.
I could scream at her. Except I don’t scream. I’ve picked up my parents’ ability to sit and silently judge with a single stare. I hope she feels it burning through her sinew.
Because she might have fucked this all up for us.
The corner of Lana’s mouth twitches. “How… quaint. I can really see the vision coming into play.”
Oh, God.
Kathryn Alison, I hope you can hear me right now. I hope you know how much you fucked up. I hope you can appreciate that I am sitting between you and my father right now. If my father was close enough to you? He would pull some 1960’s shit and snatch that crap you call a design draft, crumple it up in his hand, and force your incompetent assistant to eat it.
I know you’re better than this. I know what you did for that library out east. Or was it libraries? Doesn’t matter. Point is, I know you are better than this. You don’t forget things. You hold grudges and still judge a man for premature ejaculation ten years ago. You’re impeccable. You graduated at the top of your high school class because of how organized you are and how much attention you pay to details.
So what the fuck is going on?
And why am I so flustered?
I get it! This is my ass on the line, and I’m embarrassed by extension. Embarrassed for you right now, and embarrassed for my father, who practically hired you through your father to make this happen. I’m embarrassed for your father. I’m embarrassed for my mother, and she’s not even a part of this right now!
I’m embarrassed for everyone. What a way to go down, Kathryn. What a way.
The Andrews are gracious people. They may be perverts, they may be flirtatious jerks, but hey, they’re gracious. They’re nice enough to overlook this for now, because they also know you’re better than this. Plus, they want to sell that property, and will give us a second chance.
“Tell you what, Mathers,” Ken says to both my father and me. “We have to talk this over with the community council anyway. We’ll arrange for you to make a presentation.” He looks at the sorry excuse on the table. “A proper one. It’ll be two weeks from now. If they sign off on it, we’ll talk numbers.”
My father contains a sigh of relief, but I can tell from his twitching arms that he’s shaking inside. Watch out, Kathryn. He might come for your throat at this rate. Me? I’m glad this is ending as well as it is. The Andrews are reasonable. They know this is a mistake. My father only sees incompetence.
I’m going to have to talk him down from this, aren’t I? As soon as we’re out of here, he’s going to launch into a tirade about what a mistake it was to trust your father. You’re too young. You’re too inexperienced. Your father should be handling this, or at least one of his trusted employees. Not his daughter, who is only getting this job because of nepotism. Hey, it was true for me too, a few years ago. But I proved myself. I proved myself like you have yet to do.
I would give you a hard time, Kathryn, because I love seeing you flustered and being reminded of how far you have to travel until you’re ready to play with the big boys. Yet I’m not going to. Not because I’m a better man or something, but because I can see in your baby blues that this is killing you inside. It doesn’t matter what I say. It doesn’t matter what my father says. We’ll only be reaffirming what you already know. You don’t need our punishment. Anything you do to yourself will be more than enough.
Because you’re a Domme, aren’t you, Kathryn? You know how in control you’re supposed to be. That’s one thing I can sympathize with when it comes to you. So I won’t mention this. I will, however, make your life absolutely hell in the days leading up to the presentation in two weeks.
Enjoy that. I will.
Chapter 3
KATHRYN
I don’t know what the hell happened. I swear to God, I had my shit together this morning when I left home. I double-checked my bag to make sure that the papers I needed to bring were in there. My father called to make sure I didn’t forget anything. Even Anita had doubles of everything, and she couldn’t find a damned thing!
I’m so embarrassed. In no way am I usually this disorganized. You should have felt my pulse when I realized I didn’t have those pictures. Those stupid pictures that I found on my dining table when I got home. Just laying there, mocking me, the woman who is supposed to be in control and on top of everything.
The moment I saw those blasted things right there, I started crying. Not full-out sobbing, but there were definitely tears of frustration that I haven’t felt since I finished my last degree and pulled twelve-hour work days to make sure I graduated as well as I did. Sleep? What sleep?
It’s impossible for me to tell you how much of a failure I feel like right now. The Mathers were counting on me. My father was counting on me to pull this off without a hitch. Not only did I botch it, but now I’ve been given a pity retry. Two weeks from now I will be presenting these images to the fucking council to get their approval. I’m not sure we need it, legally. The Grand may be a historical cornerstone of the community, but the property is privately owned and the Andrews can sell it to anyone they want. But I understand. The Mathers understand. Everyone’s reputation with the community is on the line. Community members we want to continue to do business with.
Shit, will I even be able to do that?
I can’t think like this. It’s a Friday night, and I need to unwind. So after a glass of wine to get me started at home, I texted my friend Eva and told her to meet me at The Dark Hour, the perfect place to unwind.
Get drunk and unwind.
I love The Dark Hour. It’s not just a sex club. It’s a place to live your lifestyle without the fear of shame or retribution. There’s an unspoken rule – actually, you a sign a paper swearing to follow it – that you don’t expose anybody there. So if I saw, say, Ian Mathers snorting blow and fucking a woman on a table, I’m not allowed to tell anyone about it. Like, you know, a reporter or something.
I mention that because a couple years ago there was this guy who brought in blow and fucked someone. The blow got him in big trouble with the establishment. Sort of illegal, you know. The fucking? Oh, that’s common. From the moment you walk into the main room past a thousand bouncers and security guards, it’s a free for all. Guys getting their cocks sucked and women being fingered beneath tables.
Mostly, though, it’s a bunch of drinking with friends and business associates. Doms and subs hook up, but aside from the exhibitionists, things are taken home or into private rooms that people reserve. The club provides implements in case you forgot yours at home. Isn’t that nice?
I like the club because I feel like I can be myself. I can relax here, especially with my friend Eva, who is a Domme like me.
A lesbian Domme, so, you know, she’s got a few more things to be wary about.
“You need another one of these,” she says, holding up our empty shot glasses. She flags a server dressed in a tight leather skirt and a shiny tube top. Soon Eva and I are taking another shot. I don’t know what the fuck it is, but it burns my esophagus and numbs my brain. I’ve already told her about what happened today, and holy shit am I glad I have someone to unload on right now… and someone to load me up with alcohol.
I don’t really want to get drunk. What I want is sex. That’s the high I prefer.
Pretty sure though that Eva is here to get plastered. She’s in grad school, and taking it seriously so she can be like me and join her family’s business… and grad school is no joke. I don’t envy her. Like I said, the last time I cried like I did today was when I was in school. Eva doesn’t cry, though. She gets shitfaced.
“This shit is great.” I turn down one more shot, but she gets another, downing it in one gulp before relaxing in her chair with a cigar. All right, I admit it. She’s damn hot, especially when she’s throwing her weight around and acting like a bigger big shot than me. Personality wise, that’s how Eva Warren is. Butchy, commanding, and not afraid to get in someone’s face if they give her shit for who she is. There aren’t many lesbians in our circles. Something she’s all too familiar with.
I like her not because we’re similar in age, but because she’s hilarious and knows how to make a girl feel better after a shit day at work.
“The Andrews will forget about it soon enough, Kat.” She’s the only one who can get away with calling me that. I’m pretty sure any lesbian can refer to me as a kitty and get away with it. I ain’t sleeping with them, but come on, what girl doesn’t like to feel special by non-threatening people? Eva kicks ass, but she’s one of the least threatening people I know. Well, as long as you’re not a man trying to fuck her over. “They know you’re good for it. As long as you don’t blow the public presentation, they won’t give a shit. Everyone knows they wanna sell that place. Even my brother thought about buying it until he heard the Mathers were lifting their legs on that hydrant.”
“Thanks for the visual.” Last thing I need to imagine is Ian unzipping his pants and pissing on the side of The Grand. Prematurely. “You don’t get it, though. It was so embarrassing. I don’t know how I left those papers on my table like that. I must have taken them out when looking for something else.”
“Probably. When you get nervous, you can be forgetful.”
“Aren’t most people?”
Eva shrugs, lining up our empty shot glasses and counting them with her fingers. Over half of them are hers, because that woman can hold her liquor. Not me. I’m flushed after two shots and that glass of wine. Think I’ll order a martini to nurse for a while.
“I know what you need.” Eva wags her finger across the tiny table. “You need a honey for tonight.”
Well, duh, why does she think we’re here? We could get a drink anywhere. I could’ve driven to her family’s house out of town or to her in-town apartment if I wanted to shoot the breeze and drink. Instead we’re at The Dark Hour, because this is where people like us come if we want to take out our problems the healthy BDSM way.
The place is crawling with men. Most of them, whether they Dom or sub, aren’t bad to look at. The Doms wear their cut suits made of fine Italian materials or shit as good. You can smell their cologne from a mile away, and it smells amazing. Their hair is pressed. Some of them are here with their lovers. I can see James Merange and his long-term girlfriend Gwen. They’re regulars here like me. They’re having dinner with another couple, but from my vantage point up in the balcony I can see Gwen’s hand making a run for James’s cock beneath the table.
Dude’s got a nice one. I’ll give him that.
There are a few other people I recognize from the rich world of the elite I was born into. Stock traders, bankers, businessmen, politicians, movie stars, pretty much anyone with the pedigree or paychecks to qualify for a place like this. The Dark Hour takes its safety and confidentiality seriously. You’re not getting in unless you make multiple zeros at the end of your bank account. Basically, not unless you’ve got some serious prestige to lose if word gets out. Collateral damage.
We understand that. We don’t care. We need a place to party and fuck like anyone else.
Those are the Doms, anyway. The submissive men come from a very different walk of life. Sure, some of them are rich. Others are guys who are working their way up. Others are professional subs who make their living off performances. There are so many Doms in this world that the club encourages subs of lesser means to join and make regular appearances to basically get laid. It’s a great gig if you’re poorer and looking for a hot sugar mama or daddy. The club doesn’t discriminate. Gay, straight, bi… it’s all good as long as you’re respectful about it.
There’s one guy I’ve got my eye on. Guy’s ripped in that male model sort of way. Probably is a male model. He’s wearing leather pants, shirtless, sitting cross-legged on a pillow with his shoulders slightly slouched and a simple collar around his neck. The kind that says he subs but has no permanent partner. I assume most of those guys are gay, since they usually are, but this one has put out his feelers on a couple of women already and I’ve got a good feeling. In my pants, that is.
All I want is a hot guy to crawl on top of and ride until I forget how much today sucked. I don’t even need to whip him, unless that’s what he really wants. Maybe that’s what I’ll put out tonight. “Hey, you,” I’ll say, “I’ll give you a great handjob and wrap my pussy around your cock if you shut up and let me.”
Eva follows my gaze down into the main gallery. “Someone wants to get laid,” she says. Cigar smoke filters past my nose, but I’m too lost in my fantasies of Mr. Handsome down there. I bet he has a big one. I’ll make him eat me out until I’m wet enough to take all of him. “Can’t say I blame you. If I weren’t cramping like a bitch I’d be out of here already.”
Too much information, but that’s Eva. You should hear her story about the time she went down on a… never mind. “I would ask if it’s that obvious, but…”
“You asked me here, didn’t you? If you say let’s go to The Dark Hour, I will assume that you’re looking for some cock to ride. After hearing about your day? I’m shocked you’re not already getting out your crop and smacking some ass down there.”
“I need to gather up the energy to do that first.”
Eva finishes up her cigar and stands, straightening out her suit and checking her impeccable hair with her hands. If I were into girls, I’d be into someone like her. Sometimes I grumble that I can’t force myself to be bisexual. Eva and I would be a hilariously kinky and troublemaking couple. Now that gay marriage is legal? Can you say bigger power couple than the Andrews? Ugh, now I’m thinking about today again.
“Stick around, Kat. I’ll scope out some pretty boys for you.”
“Not too pretty. I like muscles on mine.”
“Muscles and a big cock. Should be easy enough to find. Hang tight.”
I don’t think she’s going to actually find me anyone, but Eva saunters off, half-drunk but putting on the air of sobriety. She needs the alcohol if she’s going to survive this club by herself. Although with my luck, she’ll find a woman and leave me in the dust. If Eva can sniff out someone willing to get Topped by her, she will find them.
That martini I’ve been thinking about is mine within five minutes. I attempt to enjoy the peace I now have in an otherwise loud club. Helps that Eva and I got here early and secured our quaint VIP space upstairs. Looking back down into the main gallery, I see a nice party has started. Business dealings are over. Now people are plastered enough to holler at every blowjob and spanking they see.
More high profile people are arriving. I focus on a familiar face, and soon recognize up and coming actress Stephanie May. If you don’t know her, she was an indie darling for a few years before a big director casted her in a moderate success. She got a few accolades, and because she’s a hot skinny blonde she gets lots of offers now. There’s talk she’s going to be in the adaptation for one of those YA dystopians. Don’t ask me which one. The only books I have time to read anymore are business insiders and the occasional erotic short on my tablet. Last time I read anything with substance was, I dunno, Gone Girl? Fuck, what happened in that book?
I can’t remember. Partly because the man holding Stephanie’s hand is no one else but Ian Mathers, and I’m trapped between pure surprise and disgusted.
Of course he’s dating a young movie starlet. I mean, Ian is a total freakin’ playboy. Everyone knows it. He goes through girlfriends – sometimes more than one at a time – like I go through chocolate when I’m PMSing. I can’t keep track of these girls….
…Not that I am, mind you. It’s not like I care how many women he parades around, or who he gets photographed with for Page 6. He’s one of those guys who is super public with his life. Doesn’t hide from cameras. Isn’t afraid to get up and say something. He’s always been that way too. For a while he was on the student council in high school. Captain of the soccer team. He is a natural leader like that, and nobody was surprised when he started doing so well in his parents’ companies. Why wouldn’t he?
I’m the opposite. I didn’t run for anything in high school. I barely played sports past some stints at volleyball. Thing is, I was riding the coattails of my parents. There was never any doubt that I would get into the school of my choice – my dad only needed to write the right check if I couldn’t get in on my own merits. Don’t get me wrong. I got good grades. I applied myself where I felt like it. Only now I have to apply myself harder to prove to myself, my parents, and the business world that this woman can do just as well as anyone else. And then I do shit like I did this morning.
I look away from Ian and his arm candy. They’re talking to a few other people, and he’s got his arm wrapped around her like they’re gonna bone any moment. Probably will. Ian is no stranger to the private rooms in the back.
Neither am I. That’s beside the point. See, it’s okay if I sleep around. It’s totally different when he does it.
Don’t ask me why. Just… every time I see him with a woman, I’m angry. Not on a tirade, but definitely uneasy.
I’m not jealous.
Jealousy would imply I wish I were Stephanie May. Let me tell you, the type of woman who wraps herself up in a man’s arms, coos in his ear, and begs to be bent over and pummeled right in the pussy? That ain’t me. That won’t ever be me.
Excuse you, I am not protesting too much.
Chapter 4
IAN
The party is alive tonight. From the moment I walked in with Stephanie, we’ve been bombarded with slews of people who want to say hi and buy us drinks. Normally I’m the man buying the drinks. I am definitely buying Stephanie’s drink.
Let me introduce you to my date for the evening. Stephanie May is a lovely woman, and not just on the outside, although that certainly attracted me first. She’s got a model’s body. Not the kind you’re thinking about. I’m talking ‘90s model, with perky breasts and the kind of hips you want to clutch and squeeze. The way she saunters in her shimmery dress is so enticing that it’s a wonder I’m not caveman dragging her to one of the private rooms right now.
Later. She knows what this place is, although it’s her first time here. Furthermore, she knows why I brought her here.
We haven’t had sex yet. This is only our second date, the first being the night before she had an early morning movie shoot, so we didn’t get any farther than some kissing and me groping that hot ass. Don’t ask me where this ‘relationship’ is going. It’s not one yet. I’m dating around with other women, and she’s linked with some producer in the tabloids. We’re casual right now.
Casual, but I have every intention of seeing her on my cock by the end of the night.
She laughs at one of James Merange’s jokes. Her voice is mirthful, if not a bit shrill, but right now I can overlook that. Honeymoon phase, if you will.
We’re sitting in an open area. Our tables are covered in drinks. Mostly we’re lounging on leather couches and silk pillows that allow us to kick up our legs, fondle some thighs and breasts, and pretend that nobody gives a shit. Most of the sexy action is happening in the back, but up here it’s not unusual to see a woman stroking a guy’s cock through his pants or for those same women to suddenly go topless. Stephanie isn’t gonna do that, but…
Yup. Gwen’s tits are out within a half hour and two drinks on her part. James is a lucky bastard. He knows it, too, gauging how he can’t take his eyes off them and whispers shit about sucking her nipples in her ear. Get her another drink, James, and she might blow you right here in front of us.
If Stephanie is uncomfortable, she’s not letting on. I pegged her as kinky, or at least curious about kink, and tonight I hope to see how submissive she’s willing to go. I do love regular sex with the right one-night-stand. Yet if Stephanie and I are going to keep dating, I need someone who will offer me…more, if you will.
“How’d the meeting with the Andrews go today?” James asks, acting as if his girlfriend’s breasts aren’t doing anything for him. Brother, I can see what’s going on in your pants. I’m not saying I’m looking, but it’s rather hard to not notice. “Everyone’s been talking about this project of yours. And the Alison’s, I suppose.”
I sit up, dangling my drink between my legs since we’re apparently talking business now. Stephanie remains beside me, sipping her own drink and also trying to not stare at James’s erection. The only person staring at it is Gwen. Down, girl!
“I have no idea how to describe that meeting. Everything went swimmingly until Kathryn Alison botched her end of the presentation.”
“Really? That doesn’t sound like her.”
“You say that, but you don’t know her as well as I do.” We’re a bit before James’s time. I can’t remember how old he is, exactly, but he must be mid-30s. Even I’m not thirty yet. “Kathryn Alison can be a bit absentminded.” The woman is stressed out of her mind. I give her hell, but I’m not blind. She thinks she has a lot to prove, and I don’t doubt she almost threw up when her father assigned her that presentation.
“That’s too bad. Did you lose the bid?”
“No. Worse. The Andrews want to get community approval on the project, so we have to present it to a public council two weeks from now.”
“Wow. Brutal.”
“We can handle it.” By “we,” I mean my father and me. No doubt my father is talking to Spencer Alison right now about his daughter’s momentous fuckup earlier today. With any luck, Spencer will come out of semi-retirement to deal with the next presentation.
Gwen wraps her hand around her boyfriend’s thigh and whispers something in his ear. He clears his throat. I look at Stephanie, who is politely checking her phone messages from the depths of her purse.
Sure enough, within a few minutes tipsy Gwen has convinced her Dom to take her onto the empty stage in the middle of the lower gallery and play with her. I knew the woman was an exhibitionist, and I meet Stephanie’s eyes to gauge her response.
“She’s pretty,” she says, slowly scooting toward me. There’s a magnet between us. My hand goes over hers the moment Gwen gets a slap on her ass and a groan in her throat. People are cheering. Why not? Every time Gwen is spanked, her tits jiggle, and that makes everyone happy. “This place is fun.”
My date has no idea.
We stay in the gallery long enough to watch Gwen be stripped naked and have her nipples clamped. The look on her face is exquisite. Pain. Pleasure. Her undying love for her Dom as he strokes her hair before pulling it. The moans falling from her lips sound so heavenly that I can barely contain myself. I’m a man. I’m human. Between seeing that woman’s nipples harden with every spank and hearing her excitement when her Dom bites her shoulder…
“You enjoying the show?” Stephanie’s hand is on my leg. My cock is halfway to full attention, the blood rushing to it as it realizes it’s in a room full of beautiful, horny women who want exactly the sort of thing I serve. “Because I think you are, Ian.”
I don’t have to ask. Stephanie May, one of the hottest actresses in the world right now, has her hand on my dick and is purring in my ear. Now I’m 100% hard, and it’s killing me.
Don’t listen to what Kathryn tells you. I have full control over my erectile faculties. I’ve had twelve years since that incident to learn how to control myself. And I can. I’ve gone without orgasm for hours while my balls turned so blue I nearly rammed my cock into my partner so hard that she cried – in a good way, thanks.
So it’s no problem for Stephanie to be nibbling on my ear and stroking my cock through my pants while I watch Gwen have her clit rubbed to erupting orgasm on the stage. We’re in a sex club, for fuck’s sake. Plenty of these people have seen me being pleasured before. The tabloids are always running stories about me, one of the world’s most eligible bachelors if you believe them, getting hummers and anal from this model or that businessman’s hot daughter. Sometimes they’re true. Usually they’re… exaggerated.
Stephanie May unzipping my pants and moving her lips from my ear to the head of my cock, however, is not an exaggeration.
I don’t care who sees us. Stephanie is hot, relevant, and I’m not gonna lie, boosting my ego as much as she’s easing the tension in my erection. I hear her murmur in surprise at how big I am. That’s right. I’m bigger than the average guy – and I’ve seen a few other guys hanging out of their pants in this place. You can’t really tell looking at it, but I have it on good authority from multiple women that it feels a lot bigger than you may initially take it to be. That’s a good compliment, if I do say so myself.
This is also a good suck. Stephanie’s beautiful blond hair is falling to the side, covering my knees as her hand wraps around my base and her head bobs up and down my whole length. I glance between Gwen’s erotic high and my red tip disappearing in and out of Stephanie’s mouth. She’s not holding back on the sounds, either. Between the other woman’s moans and Stephanie’s sucking, my ears think they’re in heaven.
Don’t get me wrong. This feels great. My cock is having the time of its life right now. But I’ve had enough practice since then to know that it’ll be a while before I come. Besides, I don’t orgasm in public. I’ll take a blow or handjob, but I prefer to save the finale for private.
I don’t want to disturb her beautiful hair. She looks so perfect, so serving, that to touch any part of her would upset this wonderful vision… but I want to touch her. I want to rub her skin and comb my fingers through that gorgeous blond hair. I’ve always had a thing for blondes. Something about the shade sticks out in such a pleasant way and gives my eye a treat. There are beautiful brunettes in this world, sure, but I love seeing a head of blond moving through the dark.
I lean my elbow against the chair. My hair feels frustratingly soft between my fingers, and it’s because every touch to me right now is making me inch closer to coming. I’m tempted to empty myself in Stephanie’s throat. I can get hard again soon enough to fuck her elsewhere. And the idea is even more tempting when she eases me down her throat and everything is so damn wet and warm and tight around me that I fantasize about bursting over and over again.
My eyes gaze upward for a split second. That second is all I need to catch someone staring at me from a private balcony.
Kathryn Alison.
I didn’t know she was here. Why didn’t you tell me? That makes everything interesting.
She doesn’t know I’m looking back at her yet. But she’s staring. What is it, Kathryn? Waiting for me to arrive prematurely? It’s not gonna happen. I’m in total control here. Now that I know you’re playing the voyeur up there? I’m even more determined.
My hand strokes the top of Stephanie’s hand, reassuring her that I’m pleased. She’s good at what she does, Kathryn. I’m not saying you wouldn’t be good, but I have a hard time imagining you like this…
You’re both blond, though. Blond and svelte. It wouldn’t be hard to imagine it’s you instead of Stephanie. You’d be impressed, really. It’s too bad you didn’t get to feel me inside you all those years ago. My finesse has improved since then, of course, but even at seventeen I had a good idea of what I was doing. I was fully grown too, if you know what I mean. You would’ve writhed against that wall like the best of them, your tits in my face and that pretty blond hair ripping out of its holding.
Oh, damn. I’m close.
Is this turning you on, Kathryn? Do you like watching another woman suck my cock? Is it getting you wet? Making your nipples tingle? Do you wish you were either one of us? I know you’re a Domme, but you could be like your friend. That would be hot… wouldn’t mind watching you get sucked off by a woman like Stephanie. Maybe she’s bi.
Kathryn?
What are you…
Ha! Here I am, king of the fucking world, drinking one of the best glasses of brandy I’ve ever had in my life, with a hot, young movie star swallowing my cock and fantasizing about me coming in her throat or in her pussy. And here I am, having this all happen to me, while Kathryn fucking Alison flips me off from her private balcony.
I guess she saw my gaze after all.
“That’s good.” I tug on Stephanie’s hair to get her to let up. Her lips kiss my tip before she smiles at me, clearly pleased with how hard she’s made me after all that. Yes, very admirable, but I’ve got other plans for us. “How about we get some privacy?”
She kisses my lips, her tongue flicking against mine. She smells like berries. I don’t know what perfume this is, but I like it. “Whatever you want, Ian,” she says softly. “I’m yours.”
“That’s what I like to hear.” I squeeze her shoulder as she covertly puts me back in my pants so I can walk through the club without hanging out. “You into what I told you about earlier?” Stephanie knows I’m into BDSM. I told her she didn’t have to do anything she didn’t want to, especially since she’s inexperienced beyond some spanking and dirty talk. I always like to go easy the first time, anyway.
“Sure, sir.”
Definitely what I like to hear.
We walk, my arm around her waist. I hail one of the employees and ask for a key to a private room. They’re almost filled up, and as we go down the back hallway I hear one woman crying out in such pleasure that Stephanie delightfully shivers in my grip.
The moment I close the door to our room behind us, I have her against the wall, my mouth on her throat and my cock begging to drive into her pussy.
“I’m on the pill, sir,” she tells me, enjoying the bit of role play. “Please go for it.”
I slowly undress her, running my tongue over her round breasts and inhaling the scent of her arousal as it emanates from her bare thighs. “You need to beg better than that, Precious,” I tell her. I turn her around, pressing her against the wall as I rip off her dress and squeeze her firm ass. “I’m gonna fuck you full right now. And then we’ll play.”
She’s shuddering, nipples brushing against the wall and wetness running down her thigh. I don’t need a condom. We’re both clean and I believe her when she says she’s on the pill. She’s a hot actress of the moment. No way she’s risking getting pregnant – but that doesn’t mean she’s not indulging in a hot fetish.
Stephanie moans, shrinking before me as she begins to fulfill the role of a good sub. Her ass is hard against my cock as I slip it between her folds. She’s hot, wet, and so damned tight at this angle that it takes two attempts to find her depths.
I’m ready to disappear into bliss. And I do, my nose burying in that pretty blond hair. As I growl against her throat and thrust into her from behind, I think…
I think back to that woman watching me from her balcony, irate, but turned on.
Kathryn Alison, I don’t know why you’re in my head right now, but I’ll take it. I’ll think about you while I fuck this starlet’s pussy. I’ll think of your flustered, flushed face as my cock empties into another woman, making her shriek against the wall as her tight pussy opens up to take everything I’m offering her.
After all, I’m fantasizing that you’re in this room, watching. I don’t know why, but I am.
Chapter 5
KATHRYN
“Look what I got you!”
Eva returns with Mr. Handsome trailing behind her. He may be a sub, but he’s still male, and the arrogance is radiating like never before. This man knows his worth. I like that.
“I told him that there’s a hot Domme looking for some tender cock.” Eva flops back into her seat, kicking up her feet on the table while Mr. Handsome gets on his knees and looks up at me adoringly. I like what I see now that we’re this close. Boy has got some hard muscles. I put one hand on his shoulder and leer into those baby blues. He’s still smiling. “Also, I checked it out. Should be big enough for someone with your tastes.”
“Thanks.” I don’t want to know how Eva knows. She may be gay, but she’s not against cupping a guy’s balls and either laughing or calling him a stud right in front of me. “So what’s your name?” I ask the sub.
“Please call me Fox, Mistress.”
“Now that can’t be your real name.” Yes, I’ve seen the X-Files. Yes, this guy is young enough that his parents could’ve been big fans and made an unfortunate name choice. I still don’t believe it. “And I don’t give a fuck what your name is. You looking for someone to control you tonight, Fox?”
His smile is both reverent and full of itself. “My wish is for whatever Mistress is giving.”
“Yeah, well, Mistress would really like someone to shut up and do what he’s told.”
Eva raises her eyebrows at me. Fox bows his head and rests his head against my knee.
Oh, bother. Well, whatever. I can work with this.
“Catch you later. I’ll text when I’m done with this one.” I wave at Eva as I take this guy by the collar and yank him toward the private rooms. I don’t have any time to waste.
I need to purge my mind.
From today, from what I saw five minutes ago when I looked down and saw Ian Mathers getting his cock polished by some woman I’m gonna see in the theaters next summer.
Could’ve lived my whole life without seeing that. Just because I know what Ian gets up to with all these hot women, doesn’t mean I wanna see it for myself. Even if he is hot. Even if that controlled look on his face as he caught my gaze said that he didn’t give a fuck, and not giving a fuck is hot in itself.
Look, I know that I’m in a sex club. I’m gonna see people I know from around the rich neighborhood engaging in all sorts of sex acts. Can’t be helped. How the world works, etc. I don’t do anything in public, but Ian does. When he walked through those doors, I ran the risk of seeing something like that.
I’m unnerved that he looked back at me for that long. It wasn’t menacing. In fact, he looked amused by the situation. Like we… shared a moment. Like we were Lana and Ken Andrews fooling around with their mistress.
That must be why I flipped him off and made him get up and leave with his date.
“Heel,” I say, yanking on Fox’s head. He gets up and follows me down the stairs and into the main gallery, where drunken rich people are setting up hookups or already making out. Gwen is on stage having her pussy pleasured by her boyfriend, but James is sending out an open call for a “lucky lady” to come up and give Gwen oral until she comes. This party is heating up, and Fox and I need to get a room before they’re all booked.
I’m told that there is one left. #5, in the middle of the hall. Fox and I go in. As I close and latch the door, I tell him to undress and grab a free condom. This is gonna be quick and dirty, which is pretty much how I feel right now.
“Touch yourself. Get hard. Jerk off for me, Fox.”
I lean up against the wall, arms crossed and only half interested in my sub of the night reclining on the silk-clad mattress, his pants coming off and his half-erect cock saying hello. Sheesh, Eva wasn’t kidding. Man was keeping an anaconda in his pants.
Good.
Fox is an experienced sub. Experienced enough to know that jerking off is a show for me, his Domme. I hold my martini up and drink the last of it as I watch him grab his cock and start pleasuring himself.
I’m trying to focus on that. I’m trying to imagine myself taking off my clothes, riding his face until I’m wet enough to fuck him. Then I’m gonna hop on his dick, grab his chest, and tame that bronco until I come so hard that I forget everything that happened today. Considering how uptight I am right now, it’s taking me a bit to get into the fantasy, even with Fox letting out the hot moans that would normally turn me into a naughty Domme.
Not tonight. All I can concentrate on are the sounds coming from the other side of this wall.
There’s a woman losing her breath, her vigorous moans bouncing into the wall on the other side of me. She must only be five inches away, depending on how thick this wall is.
Not thick enough. These walls are supposed to be soundproofed, but I doubt they’re thicker than Fox’s dick.
I don’t mind having a woman’s sex moans as ambiance. Rather hear a woman have a good time than a guy doing something that turns me off.
Her panting increases. Pretty soon, words tumble with her breaths.
“Ian…” Oh, fuck me. “Ian!”
Are you kidding me?
What are the odds that I’m leaning up against the same wall that Ian Mathers is currently slamming some other woman against? What are the damned odds? Since, you know, what I could really use right now is listening to this happen. After seeing him get a blowjob. After what happened today.
After what happened over a decade ago.
“Come on, sir.” Gag. Gag! “Fuck me, sir!”
I hear a smack. Based on Stephanie’s moans, I’m guessing she got spanked. Hard.
“Please, sir! Give it to me!”
I’m standing here, listening to this while some guy I barely know is naked in front of me and yanking on his cock until I tell him to stop. At this point I’m not going to. I’m too distracted. Stephanie May is begging for Ian to finish inside of her, and…
“Oh! Ohh!”
Stephanie isn’t the only one climaxing tonight. Suddenly Ian’s voice is there too.
“Fuck, Kathryn!”
I’m frozen against the wall. Stephanie’s moans subside. Grunts that I can only guess are Ian’s dissipate. It’s so quiet, I can’t even hear Fox groaning on the bed.
“Who the fuck is Kathryn?”
Me.
I’m Kathryn!
“I’m ready, Mistress.”
Fox’s voice has blown me back into reality. “Did I tell you to speak?” I snap at him. I’m shaken. Fox is staring at me. It’s silent on the other side of the wall.
Four people have been embarrassed.
I still can’t believe this is happening.
Ian Mathers.
Ian Mathers…
…Just said my name while having sex with a completely different woman.
“She’s nobody,” I can barely hear Ian say. “Forgive me. I don’t know what happened.”
Me neither. All I know is that I heard something that I should have never heard. And now I’m trapped between wanting to run and wanting to pound on the wall and tell Ian to… to… I dunno. What do you say to that?
I’m here, Ian. I’m over here. Come finish what you started all those years ago.
I tell Fox it’s not happening tonight. I grab my shit and leave The Dark Hour, praying that I don’t run into Ian out in the main gallery. Thank God I don’t. We’re already way too embarrassed. Again.
We bring that out in one another.