Dom Vs: Domme: The Deluxe Trilogy: A Billionaire Romance (Dom Vs. Domme Book 0) (19 page)

Just, you know, I hope she keeps the sharing to before and after the main event. When I’m sinking my shaft into a woman, all I want to hear is her moans and her lips begging for me to give it to her.

You think she’ll give me that much? A man can dream. In the shower. I must be going.

Chapter 20

KATHRYN

I stood Ian up.

When Wednesday came and the instructions were in my texts, I couldn’t do it. Don’t ask me why. Not because I don’t know why, but because I know too
well
why.

I can’t do it. I can’t submit to him.

It has nothing to do with him and everything to do with me. It’s not who I am. Not only do I not have a submissive personality, but I don’t have the fortitude to do something like that, even for a night. What I do to my male subs is completely different from what happens to female subs… from men.

Now, I’m not about to tell a woman who is of sound mind and body what kinks she should not engage in with men. Especially if that woman knows what she wants and understands her mind well. Lots of women get off massively on a guy dominating them. I get that. Superficially. Only superficially. Beyond that? I have no idea what they’re thinking or what goes on with them physiologically.

I don’t want to know.

Look, I know what that dinner was going to be. It would be Ian smarming all over me, trying to get me in bed. Submissively. Ever since that bet happened, I’ve been wary. He’s looking at me as a potential sub now. I’ve gone from a good fuck to a good
time.
If all Ian Mathers wants is sex, that’s one thing… but I know better.

He wants me to submit now. That can’t happen.

I don’t mind sharing some control. I don’t mind him getting on top of me in bed and thrusting at me like an animal. That can be… well, it sounds really hot. Yet I can’t stand the thought of him thinking of me like that. As a submissive. I won’t let Ian think of me as anything other than I am.

Who am I? Right now I’m the type of date who stands a man up, waiting until the last minute to send him a text curtly saying that I can’t make it, and then preemptively blocking his number so he can’t bother me.

I don’t feel good about it. I should at least talk to him, but right now I’m so fucked up in the head that I think it’s best to let it cool for a while. I’ll have to see him eventually anyway.

See him, yeah. For work. That’s it. We should probably stop having sex.

It’s Thursday night and I’m at The Dark Hour. Alone. I didn’t invite Eva because, one, I knew she would be busy, and two, I want to decompress on my own terms.

Usually the club isn’t too busy on weeknights, but Thursdays can be different. Lots of businesspeople take a three day weekend and start the party on Thursday night. Tonight isn’t different in that regard. Every time I look out from my VIP perch, I see more people filing in and out. The place isn’t packed, but it’s not empty. If I wanted, I could find a sub for the night.

Probably, but I don’t want to.

I’m here to have a drink and watch others. I am definitely more of a voyeur than an exhibitionist. I prefer to have my slice of paradise behind closed doors, where it’s me and my partner. I can’t say I’ve ever had the desire to have someone watch me as I come – unless that person is the one making me come.

So here I am, sitting alone in my booth with a glass of whatever and watching others have a good time. It’s a good way to unwind most nights, but my mind is plagued with thoughts.

Like the thought of Ian Mathers curling his hand around the back of my neck and whispering into my ear,
“Bend over, Kathryn.”

What does that mean, anyway? That he wants to spank me? To fuck me from behind? You know, Ian, I would let you fuck me from behind anyway. Just know that you’re not holding my head in the pillow and using me as a sex toy like you Doms do sometimes. You would hear every moan leak from my lips. You would see my pupils as I look over my shoulder and into your striking hazel eyes. The closest you’d get to holding me down is climbing on top of me and pile-driving me. Ha! You think I wouldn’t let you do that if I was in the right mood?

Just don’t think of me as your sub. Think of me as the virile, stubborn woman you’re taking for five minutes.

I don’t like playing mind games in bed. This is why I like submissive men. They know what they’re going to get from me. They respect me. They make me feel like the greatest woman in the universe.

Being submissive can’t do that for me.

Nevertheless, you can probably guess what kind of people I’m watching in this club. It’s always the same. Aside from Eva and myself, there aren’t that many single Dommes who frequent this place. Most of the women are submissive, whether they’re paired or alone. Besides, it’s easier for submissive women to get access to the club. The owners are always looking for more subs for the unique tastes of we rich Doms.

Always.

Oh, the third reason Eva isn’t here tonight? Her brother and his fiancée walked through the door. Eva always makes a point of not showing up at the same time for obvious reasons. Like icky incestual-feeling reasons. Can’t say I blame her.

Especially when your brother and his fiancée are, you know, two of the most famous (infamous?) kinksters around.

If you were to ask anyone in this club who the most well-known submissive is, almost all of them would say Monica Graham, the woman who owns and operates a BDSM pleasure house in the countryside. I’ve never been, but Eva says it’s everything I’ve heard about and more. Apparently that’s where Henry and Monica met a few months ago. Caused quite the scandal, since Monica’s ex-Dom is none other than Jackson Lyle, a snot of a man whom nobody likes but everyone does business with because he’s so insanely rich that there is some debate between him and Bill Gates when it comes to wealth. It was the stir of the century when Monica and Henry had an exhibition and earned millions of dollars in one night.

I know. I was there. I may or may not have been convinced to throw a cool million in their direction because damnit, Monica Graham is a ridiculously talented sub.

And gorgeous.

They make a beautiful couple. Henry Warren is tall, blond, and always the gentleman. Monica is petite, brunette, and carries an effortless grace that begs to be examined.

So I examine her.

I don’t consider myself bisexual. There may have been some times in which I
indulged
and explored certain sides of my sexuality, but for the most part, women don’t give me the satisfaction that men do. (Sorry, Eva.) That doesn’t mean I don’t care to look at a beautiful woman, especially one dressed in a see-through negligee with silk underwear on beneath. Only in this club could you get away with that. And only Monica could get away with walking around as if it’s no big deal everyone’s seen her nipples and pussy before.

She’s the perfect example of a confidant sub. She knows what she wants, and she knows how to get it from a Dom. Right now she’s sitting on Henry’s lap in the main gallery, serving him and his business associates some drinks. A hostess could do it for them, but Monica is the type to get off on doing it herself. She’s the
ultimate
in pleasing someone like that. I’m not sure that’s the kind of sub I look for. I want to feel like a goddess, but that doesn’t mean my sub is my slave or servant.

Many men see their subs like that.

I’m back to thinking about Ian. I imagine that’s us down there, me barely clad in his lap while I say “Yes, sir,” and pour everyone enough drinks to get them fucking plastered. He’d grab my ass in front of everyone, call me a pet name, and cop a feel on my breasts. He’d want everyone in the club to know that I belonged to him.

I shiver. It’s not in pleasure.

Still, it’s interesting to watch a woman who is so comfortable in her skin, in her role that she makes it look completely natural. From a feminist perspective, I find it interesting. Monica Graham was meant for a life of servitude, sexual or otherwise. In the hands of a good Dom, she’s the happiest woman in the world. She’s also incredibly vulnerable, and I don’t like that kind of vulnerability.

Vulnerable women are easy to manipulate. To use. To
hurt.

Monica is the perfect example of that as well. We’ve all heard her story around here. Not everyone gets the kind of happy ending Henry Warren provides.

I look away as he pulls her close and whispers something in her ear, making her giggle. Don’t get me wrong. I’m happy for their happiness, but I feel so uncomfortable right now that I can’t help but turn toward anyone else in the room.

Like the Andrews, hanging on each other as they enter the club and say hello to everyone they know – which is
everyone.

Lana Andrews isn’t like Monica at all. She’s a switch, like her husband, and that’s almost rarer than a Domme around here.

I don’t know what they’re celebrating – probably The Grand – but they’re buying a round of drinks for a table. Lana is in Ken’s lap, draping herself like an ornament for everyone to admire. There’s a couple who likes swinging and being watched. I told you, they’re weird.

Everyone loves them because they’re always a guaranteed good time when sex is involved.

It doesn’t take long in this club for things to heat up. After only a couple of drinks, Lana has her mouth all over Ken, the two of them acting like teenagers as people cheer them on and incite them to be bawdier in their display. We all know what’s going to happen the minute the stage opens up.

Sure enough, once the pro show is over, Ken hauls his wife to the stage and announces that his flushed sub of the night is going to take one for the whole team. Glasses are in the air to toast their antics. I’m sitting here stewing in the reminder of what happened with The Grand.

I’m also too intrigued for my own good.

Another drink is on my table before I realize I’ve ordered it. Nothing hard. Just enough to relax me as I shift my concentration from “those people” to “
those people.”

This isn’t the Andrews who turned my life upside down with Ian these past two weeks. These are the Andrews who forget themselves once in a while and let everyone around them partake in their sexual escapades.

The club is quiet, aside from the music playing all around us. Another hostess comes by and asks if I need anything. I shoo her away and tell her I want to be left alone until the show is over. Time for Kathryn the voyeur to go into full throttle.

Like Ken, who spanks his wife’s ass and watches her shake in his grasp. Shit, that’s hot.

They’re both hot, when I allow myself to take a good look at them through the eyes of a sexual being. A handsome couple, the Andrews have always been known for their impeccable styles and flaunting what they have to their advantage. Even though Lana’s self-satisfied laugh annoys me, I can’t deny that the way her voice trills when her husband caresses her skin and whispers into her ear is erotic. Probably because she’s not meaning to be self-satisfied right now. She’s purely at Ken’s devotion and mercy.

He slowly disrobes until his open shirt is on display for the likes of me to see. He’s not as cut as Ian, but as far as Lana’s concerned, he is a fucking Adonis. When she gets down on her knees and lets him stroke her face, I know she’s so smitten that she’ll let him do whatever he wants in front of these people. And Ken Andrews wants what a vast majority of men want at any given moment.

He wants her to blow him.

I’ve seen a ton of cocks in my day, mostly here in this club. Ken’s is nothing special – not small by any means, but not
special
– and yet Lana is kneeling before him, sucking him off as if the sun rises and sets on everything he possesses. She’s lost in his eyes as he gazes upon her, hair in his hands and her skirt riding up her bare ass.

I’m sure they’ve done a performance like this a ton of times. It’s not uncommon for exhibitionists to perform once a month for the thrill of it. Most of the time we get bored after seeing the same tits and cocks do the same ol’ thing. The Andrews are different, because they feed off each other’s obsessions so well. I don’t doubt that they enjoy a very healthy sex life at home and see The Dark Hour as an extension, not a cure.

Briefly I wonder if they switch equally… or if Lana is usually the submissive wife in the bedroom, begging her husband to fuck every orifice and to make her come again and again.

My nipples brush against the edge of the table. Shit, this is turning me on. These two people I can barely stand in business, and yet in private I can’t stop watching them make love, Ken Andrews pushing his wife off his cock so he can bend her over and spank her.

“Were you a bad kitten today and need to be punished?” Ken’s guttural growl fills even me with tingles. “Tell everyone what you did today.”

Lana
looks
like she’s humiliated, but the edge in her voice suggests that she’s getting off so hard on this. “I made a bad stock investment and lost us a few dollars…”

Wonder how much
that
is.

“Yes, kitten, and now you have to look over the entire portfolio again, don’t you?”