Dom Vs: Domme: The Deluxe Trilogy: A Billionaire Romance (Dom Vs. Domme Book 0) (18 page)

Hm. You think Ian will let me take him there to fuck with him?

I’m settled quite comfortably into Eva’s couch, the channels changing on the big screen in front of us. There’s some glare from the window, but it’s nothing. There’s glare everywhere in this huge studio. Technically Eva lives in her family home out of the city, but she rents this place to have somewhere to crash – and right now, to get away from her lovey-dovey brother.

She lands on a local business channel, and hovers there, because we’re so used to watching it for five minutes at a time to keep abreast of the news.

Wouldn’t you know it? Dominic Mathers is on TV, making a live announcement to the types of people who would care about what he has to say.

“Wait,” I say, putting my hand on Eva’s to keep her from changing the channel. “I think this is about The Grand.”

Sure enough, the headline on the screen reads, “The Grand’s Fate Decided.”

“It’s with great happiness,” Dominic begins, his salt and pepper hair handsome in the soft light of the sun, “that I can say the sale of The Grand is going forward. As of this morning we are in serious discussions with Mr. and Mrs. Andrews about a final sales price.”

“Turn it up,” I say. Eva knows when to obey.

“Furthermore,” Dominic continues, the cameras of the local press flashing in his face, “we have been given the blessing of the community council to go ahead with our restoration with the intent of returning The Grand to its former, hospitable glory…”

Eva turns the channel.

“Tough luck, lady.”

My throat is dry no matter how much wine I drink. Nope. I’m choosing not to hear any of that. Not even after I phone my father right away and wait five rings for him to answer.

“Did you see the news?” I ask him.

“Sweetie,” he begins, and I already know it’s bad news. “You did a fantastic job Friday. I’m really proud of you and look forward to seeing what else you can do…”

“Did you
see?
”

He chokes on a word. “It has nothing to do with your abilities, Kat. It makes more sense to do the hotel first…”

No, he doesn’t understand. How can he? Is his sexual fate tied to this sort of thing? Hardly! Oh my God!

I’ve lost the bet. When I hang up, dumbfounded, the first thing I see on my phone is a text message from none other than Ian Mathers.

Gulping, I open and read it.

“How about that? Bend over, Kathryn.”

Chapter 19

IAN

I don’t care how necessary it is in the business world, if there’s anything I hate with such great tedium that my teeth hurt, it’s
negotiations.

And when it comes to buying things for multiple millions, it’s fucking 24/7 negotiating.

Like I said a few days ago, the Andrews are asking for a stupid sum of money. We hoped that when we entered “negotiations” on Monday morning that they would be coming down to about seventy. Nope. From the moment we sat at the table, Ken Andrews said, “$80,000,000.”

The man’s an idiot. In this regard. He’s damn smart about a lot of other things.

Nevertheless, we have to play the game. The Grand is probably worth about half that. We already have an inspector and an appraiser in there checking things out, but it will be at least a week before we hear back. Doesn’t help that the Andrews have the upper hand, as well. This is an incredibly public transaction. The whole city knows about it. People know that my father and I want to buy. It’s only a matter of how much money the Andrews can squeeze out of us.

“Seventy,” my father says. No way we’re even going that high.

And yet, here we are! We’ve begun this massive charade.

I let my father do most of the talking. He’s the negotiator in the family. If he needs it, he’ll bring in the bigger guns – my mother. She knows how to charm people like the Andrews. She’ll sashay in with her sexy dresses and bright red lips, bypassing Ken and going straight for Lana’s juggler.

“Come on, lovely, cut us a break. We know how much you wanna sell…”
I can picture it. Gag. Gaaag.

We haven’t reached those levels of desperation yet. Besides, my father doesn’t want to put my mother through that. They may be divorced, but they’re still
friendly.

Whatever that means these days.

Take, for instance, my relationship with Kathryn. We’re friendly. Yeah. Friendly. Even before all this bullshit with the sex and bets and whatnot, our banter was laced in a mutual understanding. We were sore about what happened against that wall ten years ago, but it’s not like we made our business decisions based on it. Far from it. It was more like… let’s avoid each other, if we can help it. Avoid the embarrassment. In public, however, we were friendly to each other.

Now that we’ve had sex… twice? Shit, we’re past friendly. We’re practically melting in each other’s arms when we’re in the same room. I think. I haven’t seen Katie since we hooked up in an empty room on Friday.

Fuck, that was so
good.

It makes winning our stupid, drunken bet bittersweet. I’ll tease her about it, but I don’t expect her to put out. It was a bet. We were drunk. Whatever. I’m content with never bringing it up again. I mean, if
I
lost by some stroke of shit luck, I would never go crawling to her with a leash in my mouth. Ha! So why would I expect that from her?

I make dumb bets when I’m drunk, but I know when to cut them off. So I won. Whatever. As beautiful as it would be to pin that woman down and make her
mine,
I will hold off. There are other ways to court her.

Oh, don’t you see? I’m making my peace with the fact that I want her again. And again.

I don’t know how to approach her about it yet. Suggesting, hey, maybe we should have something casual until we end up in “real” relationships with other people? We’re not going to “play,” as much as I want to. But I need to get that out of my head. Kathryn’s a Domme. And no matter how close we may skirt to her begging for my cock, it’s not going to be in the way I ultimately like. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to keep sticking it in her, however.

Or take her out on a real date.

Or invite her into my home for wine and sex.

It could work. Keep it simple. Couple times a month. We might run into each other with other partners at The Dark Hour. Maybe I’ll watch her and she’ll watch me. Once in a while we’ll hook up when we can’t take it anymore. Yes, I think I’d like that.

How to ask her, though? I think the best way would be to seduce her a third time and then bring it up when we’re post-climax and she’s thinking about how good I feel both in and on her.

I mean, it wouldn’t work as a
relationship,
but it could work casually, right?

Shit, I’m supposed to be paying attention to this meeting.

We are nowhere near reaching an agreement by the end of the long day. Valerie’s fingers are going to fall off from all the notes she’s taking. She mentions her husband and toddler and how much she wishes to get home to them. I don’t blame her. She just came back from maternity leave a few months ago. Our company is generous with it, but it was still less than a year. She wants to be with her son and husband, who works from home so he can take care of the baby. They’re a sweet family. I feel bad returning Valerie all frazzled, but what can I do? This is capitalism. This is business.

This is… something strange I feel.

I still haven’t shaken those endorphins from Friday. You know, the ones that say I love Katie and want to tell her so. This is what has led me to making decisions about asking her to be my casual partner.

I’m home by seven, weary and tired of listening to other people. Once my father has a hand on the negotiations, I’ll be left to talk to the designers and contractors about what we want to do first with The Grand. We’re going to be speedy about the whole thing, but it will take weeks nonetheless. Weeks I’ll be working my ass off and needing lots of stress relief.

Odds are good that I’ll need to find a semi-permanent sub during those times to keep the edge off. Not even Katie will help after a while.

Fuck, Katie.

Kathryn, I mean. I can’t let her be “Katie” until she’s in my presence and we have some privacy. Gotta keep some distance between us.

It’s as if the universe is listening to me. Not five seconds later, my phone buzzes with a message from her.

I never received a reply to my playful banter yesterday. Who knows why. Maybe she’s mad. Maybe she’s busy. Maybe she couldn’t think of something witty to retort with. Could be any number of things, but most likely this is what I’ve been waiting for.

My chance.

“Don’t know what you could possibly be talking about.”

Before I can think of anything to tease her with, I hit the call button, sit back, and let my overinflated sense of self-worth take over.

“Yes?” Kathryn’s voice nearly shakes. What in the world am I interrupting?

“Am I bothering you?” I ask coolly, sitting in my favorite chair with my leg draped over my knee. “I can call back later if now is a bad time.”

Kathryn isn’t an easy woman to seduce, really, but I keep my tone flirtatious so she knows this isn’t about business. Well, not that kind of business. The other kind. The fun kind.

“Now is fine. Don’t have much to do at the moment since somebody took my job.”

“Sorry about that. If it makes you feel better, they’ve got us by the balls in negotiations.”

I don’t get a response.

“I’m calling because we have something to discuss.”

Still, silence.

“I think you know what I’m talking about.”

She clears her throat, and I imagine her sitting at home, whatever it looks like. I figure Kathryn would have an impeccable place full of clean lines and feminine accents. So, lots of white, bright colors, and some navies to balance it all out. Marble tiling. Leather furniture. Frilly lace on the curtains. I don’t care about that. I care about what her bed looks like. Furthermore, I care about how
I
look in her bed. Think I’ll have a chance of finding out soon?

“I know what you want, Ian.”

Good. Because I want you, Katie. I’m smiling to myself thinking of how I should say it. “Let’s discuss it over dinner.” Her, me, a candlelit dinner in my favorite Italian restaurant. I’ll have to get us the private suite, assuming that blasted Ethan Cole hasn’t reserved it every night for the next millennia. Do you know how hard it is to get that room? They should name it after him. Build a different room for the rest of us billionaires, because we’re not getting his scraps anytime soon.

Ahem.

“Dinner?”

I’ve piqued her interest. Yes, Katie, I’m asking you out on a date. I’m going to pour you wine instead of letting the server do it. I’m going to brush my hand against your arm and my foot against your leg. I’m going to entice you to put your hand on my thigh again, because I like it when you do that. God, I want to eat you up. Eat you out. Whatever.

“Yes. How about this Wednesday?” It’s the one day this week the Andrews are too busy to negotiate. Seems like a safe bet. “I’ll make the reservations. I’ll even come pick you up.”

“Wednesday… that’s soon.”

“Is there a problem?”

“No.” She’s trying to keep her resolve, but I feel her loosening. Am I seducing you that easily, Kathryn? “I’m free Wednesday evening.”

“Let’s say seven.” We need to have dinner early if I’m going to use most of that night to explore every inch of her body. God willing. It’s about time I take, my uh,
time
discovering what kind of crevices a beauty like Kathryn has hidden beneath her clothes. I’ve taken way too many detours to her thighs and breasts the last two times.

“Seven. Okay. Should I dress…?”

“Dress? Dress however you usually dress to a restaurant.” I’m sure it will be fine. Kathryn is the type to have a closet full of designer clothes in various fashions. She’ll look great in anything she wears, and always be appropriate.

Until I rip her clothes off at my place, anyway. Or we could go to hers. I really don’t care.

I want to be inside her again. To smell the nape of her neck and the shampoo in that soft hair. I’m getting tingles thinking about it. I know what I’m doing in my shower after this…

“Ian,” she suddenly begins. I don’t care how many times she interrupts my thoughts. Spending time with
her
is always better than my fantasies. “I agree. We need to talk.
Talk.”

“Of course. See you then?”

“Sure.”

“I’ll text you any details before then. Oh, and Katie?” It feels so good letting that name roll off my tongue. “I’m looking forward to our time together.”

A delicate sendoff. My goal is to fill her head with images of me, of the things we can do together, even if they’re fleeting and not really what we want from a long-term partner. I don’t care about the long term right now. I care about what I want right
now.
And I want her. I want her body, her voice, her scent, and anything in that wild mind of hers that she feels like sharing.