Fitting, isn’t it?

“I’ve made my decision. Meet me for dinner tonight so we can talk about it.”

I show Eva the message. She frowns, soap suds hanging from her hands as she lets faucet water beat one of our plates from lunch.

“What?”

She shakes her head again. “He’s going to tell you no. Or if he says yes, there is going to be a huge stipulation. I am telling you.”

I text Ian back for more details. “Say what you will.”

“I will. And tomorrow when you call me up, I hopefully won’t be saying I told you so.”

***

Ian finagled reservations at the French place downtown. I say “the” French place because, even though there are at least three French eateries around here, only one is worthy of our attention. Naturally, it is the most expensive one.

Dressed in my best, which to most means a black dress, I enter the restaurant with my head held high and my hair pinned higher. After all, I’ve garnered over the past few weeks that Ian Mathers finds me particularly intimidating – or sexy, depending on the night – when I wear my hair up like this.

“I’m here to meet with Ian Mathers,” I tell the host. “He’s expecting me.”

The hosts at these places are paid well. Partly because they have to be discreet, good actors, and polite to a fault. This one is no different, but I catch a look of disbelief in his eyes as I tell him who I’m meeting. That’s right, buddy. Your bigshot Mathers – wherever you’re keeping him – has a date with this looker.

“Right this way, ma’am.”

I’m led through the belly of the restaurant, past friendly and not so friendly eyes. Nobody I recognize offhand. I’m sure they recognize me. This is high society. This is middle-class couples who have saved up all year to come here on birthdays and anniversaries. A full meal here costs at least a couple hundred dollars, and that doesn’t include drinks.

I hope Ian got us some wine. I’m parched.

When I step into the small but private room, I find out why the host is so surprised at my presence. Or at least my sultry look.

The room is dark. The table is littered with candles and flowers, rose petals creating a romantic trail from the door to my chair opposite Ian. More petals dance around the scented centerpiece. A glass of red wine waits for me, my plate already filled with salad.

Ian sits on the far side, welcoming me with a raise of his glass.

“Your meal has already been ordered, ma’am,” the host says, taking the door handle and closing me into this room with a fucking Dom. “Please ring if anything is needed.”

Yeah, I need a stiffer drink than wine.

“Kathryn.” Ian gestures to the seat across from him. The one covered in rose petals. “Thank you for joining me tonight.”

Warily I sit, my purse slipping off my shoulder and landing unceremoniously on the floor. There’s a wooden basket provided for bags, but I can’t be assed to place mine in there. I’m too dumbfounded.

Well, I guess I know his answer.

“It was the least I could do.” I keep my manners proper as I fix my purse and sit up straight in my chair. I’m even gladder that I wore my hair up and out of the way. “Especially after what I asked of you.”

“Yes. Let’s talk about that.”

I stare at the salad, picking up a fork and stabbing a piece of spinach. I sort of hate that Ian knew exactly what I would want and then had the gall to order for me. I’m not his sub tonight. I’m not even here as his girlfriend, really. And yet I feel… taken care of.

I’m sure he’s paying tonight.

That is the one appealing thing about having a Dom, or at least a very alpha boyfriend. He will take care of you. Dote on you. Make sure you have everything you need and then some. Not just financially – not that I need help with that – but emotionally. Ian never has to order for me. He does it as a way of coddling me. I’m guilty of thinking this as controlling many years ago, back when I first got into the kink scene. Now I get it. It’s comforting.

I did not come here to be comforted.

“You’re radiant,” Ian says in a smooth manner that makes me think of being seduced in the club. Seduced as a sub. “It’s a shame we’re here to talk business.”

“The rose petals and candles say otherwise.”

Ian leans forward, the glow of the centerpiece candle illuminating his steely visage. Those hazel eyes penetrate my brain, and his self-assured grin… so arrogant. So arrogant. So fucking arrogant and drop-dead gorgeous.

“Who says that business and pleasure can’t mingle?” He snorts. “Certainly not you. You’re the one asking this man to prostitute himself for fifteen million.”

“I wouldn’t put it that way…”

“You’ve got the biggest balls of any woman I know. I admire that. I also admit that it’s fairly sexy.”

“Thanks.”

Salad enters my mouth. I chew methodically, keeping my eyes neither downcast nor locked on his. I don’t want to look avoidant or too interested, after all.

“I’m not easily bought, even by you, Kathryn. I will need something from you if I am to deign to do that…”

He’s kidding. Asking more of me? Hasn’t he asked enough already? This whole relationship has been him asking things of me!

“All right. I’ll bite. What is it you want from me?”

Ian’s eyes burn into mine. Now I can’t look away. I’m stuck with carrots in my teeth, but I don’t pick them out in front of him. Perhaps if this were a regular date. One where I could covertly cover my mouth with the handkerchief and pick until my teeth were sparkly clean. Holy shit, I do not dare. I cannot compromise my demeanor. I cannot be any less than perfect Kathryn Alison, the woman who can go toe-to-toe with Ian Mathers.

I’ve been that woman before, and I will continue to be her.

And yet… shit, look at him. He wants to eat me alive. He wants to devour me, consume me, suck the soul right from my body and hold onto it for all eternity. He would, too. I’ve had plenty of sex with him now to know that he would do that if he was in the mood.

The sub in me – Katie, let’s call her – wants that to happen. She wants to blush, smile, giggle, and get ready for a night of being whisked away into a hot BDSM fantasy.

Kathryn is squishing her down for now. There is no room for sub Katie at this discussion. Sub Katie is great at getting Kathryn in trouble and derailing the original subject. So, fuck Katie. Not literally, Ian.

“There’s only one last thing I want from you, Kathryn.” Ian’s voice is laced in controlled desire. For me. The shivers I feel can get the hell out. “I want the world to know that you submit to me.”

I pick up my wineglass and sample a taste. It beats looking him in the eye… plus, I get alcohol. Because what he suggested is from another planet.

Me. Being publically declared his sub.

“Before you twist the lacy panties I’m sure you’re wearing, I’ll remind you that Dommes have debuted as subs before with no repercussions.” I’m gonna reach across this table and slap the smug right off his face. “Remember Helena? She was in a relationship with that male sub for years. After they broke up, she fell in with Jay Spader, the west coast Dom. Her debut as his sub was… enchanting. The man was the envy of every other Dom in the club that night.”

“Of course I remember dear Helena,” I say sweetly. “She used to be a friend of mine.”

“Before she moved out west with Jay?”

I butter a biscuit and pick off a flake. “Before she turned traitor.”

The silence falling between us could slaughter an army.

Helena used to be a friend of mine, years ago. She partied in my circle of Dommes while she dated that sub. Nobody ever pegged her as a switch, since sometimes that comes out after a few drinks or it’s given freely. Like I’ve said before, nobody gives a shit if a Domme also switches with the right partners. Being a Domme is a lifestyle, but it’s also intrinsic to our personalities. As Ian has shown me, however, sometimes we want to let go of control too.