Four weeks of not enjoying her touch, her breaths next to me in bed. Her company in the tub. Her light snores as she dozes on my shoulder or curls up beneath my covers, next to my cat.

And then… two weeks of no Kathryn at all. She went to Europe right away, visiting her mother, or at least that’s what she said. Before she left, she was morose, confused, frayed…

When she returned, she looked and acted like the Kathryn Alison I have seen sporadically over the years.

I first saw her in a café, where I was having lunch with some of the investors for The Grand. Minding my own business, sipping lattes and trying to think about anything but women, and then in waltzed Kathryn with two women I know from the Domme scene.

She was smiling.

Smiling.

Laughing. Carrying on. Making jokes before politely ordering her food with a grin.

I caught her eye in the beginning. Her smile faltered around me. It felt like an arrow to the chest.

Of course, I texted her. I held back my real feelings, asking her how her trip was and letting her know that it was good to see her glowing. Whatever happened in Europe, it must have been good for her.

I wonder if she found another man.

Ugh, not something I want to think about. Yet how can I think of anything else? Kathryn is a beautiful, radiant woman who attracts people to her like an angel. She attracted me, didn’t she? I apparently couldn’t give her what she wanted. Or at least not enough.

You know, if she would tell me…

No, Ian, don’t act like this. It’s not becoming of a gentleman. Nobody wants to be around a whiny ass who is experiencing heartache for the first time in his young life. As my mother told me when I went to her place to moan, “You’re so used to getting what you want. How about you think about what another person wants for once?”

I have the sinking suspicion that my mother has something to do with Kathryn’s disappearance. I wouldn’t put it past her. Especially since she’s been making comments about my lifestyle, if you know what I mean.

I can only imagine what Kathryn has told her.

Four weeks. Now here I am, sitting in The Dark Hour with James and another friend who has only been here a couple of times, as he’s not too much into kink. We’re all stag. Gwen’s off visiting relatives, and as far as anyone here is concerned, I’m single.

I should feel relieved here. Seeing other men with their subs usually makes me feel better about my own future. Let’s also not forget the beautiful women abound. More than one has made eyes at me from across the room. Three months ago, two months ago, I would have been tempted to flirt back.

It feels wrong now.

Kathryn made a comment about me “fucking some other blonde,” but I don’t want to. Every time one of these young subs looks at me, I see her face, her eyes, her hair… even if the woman in question looks completely different from Kathryn. A Domme walked by, and I wanted to ask her if it could really work between someone like us.

Plus, you know… this is the last place we made love.

Sex is not on the table for me tonight. I don’t even feel right watching the show that begins between a man and his nubile sub, a woman whom every man wants because she has “all the right curves” and the meekest voice in the room. Some guys get really turned on by that. Normally, I would at least enjoy the spanking her round ass gets from a paddle.

It feels wrong. I wish we had gone to a normal bar or club tonight. Somewhere far away from the kink.

“Uh oh,” James says after the show ends. “Bunch of bitches on patrol. Three o’clock.”

The crowds part to admit a formidable group of four Dommes, their hair loud, their voices louder, and their boots clapping against the floor with every heavy step. Right in front is Eva Warren, her spiky hair and jewelry enough to make this small group of men here cross their legs and look the other way. I remember her holding one of my own kitchen knives. She was not talking about stabbing me in the heart.

I barely recognize the other women. Some of them aren’t from around here, but there’s a high-end convention going on in town and this is probably a once-a-year gathering of Dommes. Like the worst sorority on campus. Well, worst if you’re a man who prefers his women a bit more… docile.

A woman completely unlike the one bringing up the rear.

Kathryn.

She’s scurrying to catch up, holding a coat check in her hand and explaining to Eva that she was held up in the checkroom. They laugh, Eva offering to buy my Katie a drink before they sit down on the other side of the room. Five women. Five Dommes.

Kathryn is very… Domme tonight.

It’s not only her black pantsuit hugging every part of her body. It’s her metallic jewelry hanging down her neck, dangling from her fingers, and mingling with the smoky makeup she’s put on for this night. It’s her gait as she walks, her posture as she sits and drinks, and her manner of speaking to the other women – and men – around her. Commanding. Dominating. Masculine, but with a touch of feminine.

It’s her hair, resting atop her head in a crisp twist decorated with large crystals.

It’s that entrancing look. That demeanor. Countenance. Visage. I don’t fucking care what it is. It’s the way she glances at me before going back to whatever raunchy conversation the other Dommes are having, as if I’m not here at all.

Perhaps it’s for the best.

“Mathers,” James says, clapping me on the shoulder. “Look alive. We’ve got company.”

Company.

Women.

Subs, to be exact.

Two of them. They look like best friends, or at least the kind of girls who come to these things together so they don’t have to be alone. This place is safe, as far as them not having to worry about being attacked or stalked, but I imagine it’s still scary for a sub to work up the courage to come to this sort of place by herself, looking for a Dom for tonight, for eternity.

Under normal circumstances, I would consider this my lucky night. You see, this is my last night I’ll have to burn for a while. The opening ball at The Grand is next weekend, and then I’ll be ass-deep in running the place until the family is confident enough to fully turn it over to the actual manager.

These aren’t normal circumstances, however. I’m looking at these girls, dressed in matching lingerie and sporting pretty collars, and wishing they would leave. Don’t tempt me. I might actually take up one of you for an evening of frustrated domination. I’d take you roughly, bitterly, wishing you were a woman named Kathryn instead of the stand-in you are. So, you see, it’s a good idea I not interact tonight.

I look over at the group of Dommes. Kathryn is blocked by Eva, but sometimes she leans far enough back that I see the white of her throat. If she were with me right now, I’d suck it until there was no more skin to leave my mark on.

“I’m sorry, ladies,” James says in his smooth voice. “I’m taken. My girlfriend is currently not here. This gentleman here…” he points to me. “Ian Mathers. Maybe you’ve heard of him.”

They shake their heads, smiling in apology.

“Ah, well, he’s a real killer. He’s not saying much tonight, though.” He kicks my shin, enough to make me react.

“I’m afraid I’m not available either. Sorry.”

Both girls are crestfallen. Our other friend is definitely not in the mood, even if he’s single. The kind of sex these girls want isn’t the kind our friend can deliver.

So this guy is incapable of Doming, and James isn’t the cheating asshole type. That leaves me, the man everyone thinks is unattached and game to fuck anything that moves and will say, “Yes, sir.”

You know, if I played my cards right, I could probably have both of them tonight.

The thought is so unappealing that I almost blanch at the thought.