Anita stumbles in behind me. I tell her where to put my bags and how I want my work station set up. Also, to get herself a cup of coffee. Girl looks ragged.

I notice that there’s no sign of Ian’s assistant anywhere. Unheard of in our line of work.

Within an hour I’m completely set up at the other end of the table. Within an hour Anita has her own cubby in the far corner, where I have her doing the menial shit that doesn’t need my personal attention. The girl has been working so hard for me lately, helping me with this stupid project of my father’s, that I think I’m going to treat her to lunch today. And every day until the presentation is over and I can breathe again.

My first order of business is to make multiple copies of the proofs from the designers. There will be copies permanently in my briefcase. Some in my apartment. Some in this office. Ian happens to look up and see me store the office copies in a cupboard.

“See? I’m on top of things.”

His lips grow taut. “I wouldn’t think otherwise.”

He’s been silent the whole day. The only time we speak is if he needs me to pass him something or if one of us has a quick question about some boring business aspect of what we’re doing. We’re sterile. We’re careful.

I don’t know why. I mean, I’m not hurting to talk to Ian Mathers about anything, but it’s weird that a guy who is usually so chatty to people he knows isn’t talking to me. He talked to me before the meeting on Friday. So why not now? Is he angry at me? He… couldn’t be. Not after what I heard Friday night.

God, I had almost forgotten about that. I don’t know how. My brain must be trying to save me.

“Where’s your assistant?” I finally ask, taking a five minute break to lean back in my chair and drink the latest cup of coffee Anita has deposited in front of me. “I know you’ve got a hottie or two running around doing your bidding somewhere.”

I never meant to be sexual in my banter. And yet there it is, an implication rolling off my tongue, which I quickly hide in my coffee.

Ian stares at me, hand covering his mouth in that lazy way. Oh, sorry, am I boring you, Ian? The thought of me apparently wasn’t boring you the other night.

“I try not to rely on them too much.” He looks back to his laptop and clicks a few things. Soon enough he leans back in his chair as well, arms extending above his head before folding behind it. His shirt strains against his torso, outlining his muscles. Damn, the man works out. Earlier he muttered something about taking an hour break in the afternoon to use the gym, but he hasn’t gone yet.

“Why not?” I ask. Anita has saved my scatterbrained ass more than once.

His mouth twitches into a wan smile. Smug. So fucking smug. “I rather rely on my own abilities to get my shit done.”

I slump my shoulders and frown at him. “Thanks.”

“I didn’t say anything…”

“Passive aggression isn’t attractive.”

His smile widens. Finally, some semblance of emotion coming from this guy. “Now, you know how aggressive I can be.”

“Uh huh.” What’s he referring to? His business prowess? His Doming? His ability to slam a woman against the wall and growl into her ear as he fucks her?

Whoa, where did that come from?

I glance at Ian, but he’s already reading something on his laptop again. His look is so pensive that it’s almost brooding. Ugh. I love brooding men. Doming them, anyway. They make the best subs.

Now I’m imaging Ian Mathers as a sub, and I can’t decide if I want to laugh at the impossibility, or…

Or bite my lip and wonder some more.

I already know what kind of sub he would be. The worshipful kind. He’d be a sub who makes a girl feel like a fucking goddess in the bedroom. A master of oral sex in whatever position she wants. The kind to hold her hips as she rides him and controls the angle of his cock. All he would ask for is the extreme honor of coming inside her, one of the hottest, more intimate things a Domme can allow. Most Dommes I know never let their male subs come inside them. They’re either directed away from the body or allowed to mark one place outside of the woman’s mound. Never her face.

I don’t really care. I don’t see letting a man come inside me as a sign that he has too much power. But he better be wearing a condom. I’ve never done bareback.

Ian would be the kind of sub to beg to come in me. Then he’d eat me out until I came, either for the first time or the tenth time. With any luck, the whole experience would be so hot that he’d get hard again in time for me to want his cock once more.

And then I’d ride him until I died.

“Kathryn.”

The way he says my name – and subsequently knocks me back from my weird as hell fantasies – isn’t anything like the way he said it at The Dark Hour, when he….

“Yes?”

“I’m going to the gym. Text me if there’s something really important. You have my number.”

I nod. I’ve had his number for years, not because we’re anything more than acquaintances, but because I have everyone’s number. Everyone’s. “I’ve got your number.”

“Cool. See you later.”

The office feels empty without him. Even though Anita is here, sitting in her corner typing a thousand emails, all I can think about is the way Ian said my name now. And the way he said it at the height of his climax, his mind thinking only of me as he fucked one of the hottest women in Hollywood.

I’m flattered. I’m frightened. I’m feeling things that I haven’t felt for him since I was fifteen and wondering if the stories about him and his cock were true. Damnit, Ian, get out of my head! Don’t you understand that it could never happen between us? We both want completely different things from the other person.

You want things from me you could never have. I want things from you that you would never do in a million years.

There’s no compromise here. I need to stop thinking about you, for my own sanity.

 

 

 

 

Chapter 8

 

IAN

 

I’m losing my fucking mind.

For three days now I’ve sat across from Kathryn Alison at that table and tried to get my shit done. For three days I’ve been slow as molasses answering emails, updating spreadsheets, and making speech notes. Makes me want to call in an assistant.

Except this wouldn’t be happening if it weren’t for her.

Kathryn doesn’t know she’s doing it. Or at least I don’t think she knows that she’s seducing me. Women with that kind of power are so dangerous that I often don’t deal with them for more than a night. I prefer women who need or want me to seduce them. I’m a lot more likely to get what I want from those types of women.

See, I keep imagining impossible scenarios with Kathryn. When she reaches back in her chair and stretches, I imagine popping open those buttons and burying myself in her breasts. When she sucks on the straw of her water bottle, I see her puckering up, waiting for me to kiss her. When she yawns in the morning and early in the evening, I see a woman who is about to suck my cock.

I bet she’s great at that. Most Dommes are. They’ve gotta give out great rewards to their male subs.

I want to lick the shoulders she shakes the sleeves of her jacket off. I want to stick my hand down her pants and feel my fingers choke in her folds, in the seam of those tight pants. And dear God do I want to spread her out on the table and drive myself into her until we both come.

My cock inside her, surrounded by her warmth and reaching deep, deep into her until I’m so buried that she’s screaming about how full she is.

I want to see her writhe beneath me, that beautiful blond hair circling her face like a halo. I want to hear her gasp my name…and call me sir.