When I get hung up on these thoughts, I also get pretty down. I need alcohol. I need my friends. I need a man to kiss my boots and let me whack on his ego for a change.

So now I sit here, in this office on a Wednesday evening, looking at Ian across from me and wondering what the fuck I was thinking when I grabbed his dick and begged him to fuck me.

Ian’s not going to solve my problems. He’s going to exacerbate them. Even though he’ll never say anything about me or to me, he is going to stay silent on the other issues. He’ll hold up the status quo around me. He’ll never treat me as his real equal in the bedroom. At some point, he’ll break – and ask me to break for him.

As much as I hate being alone, it’s better than throwing myself at the feet of a Dom.

“You holding up over there?” He doesn’t look at me. He flips papers over, laptop lit up with spreadsheets. We’ve reached the point in the day where he whips out his reading glasses, a thick-rimmed pair that would look ridiculous on any other man, but not Ian. They’re square and sit nicely on his nose, framing those hazel eyes that I sometimes can’t help but stare at.

His sleeves are rolled up. His top two buttons are loose. This is how he looks by five every damn day, and every damn day I think about how nice it would be to finish undressing and lie on top of him. My bed is really comfortable. If only I had someone like him to share it with.

Shit, I’m pathetic.

“I’m fine,” I lie. My notes are a train wreck. Even I can barely read my handwriting.

He looks at me again. If he didn’t look so young, I would think he looks like a father, or a professor. The kind of man who judges you with one glare.

Ian whips off his glasses. “You wanna go downstairs and get a drink?”

I snort. “On a Wednesday?”

“We’re not coming in tomorrow. And tonight’s as good a night as any since we have to be ready on Friday morning to sell our souls. Let’s relax with a drink. My…” He stops. “My treat” doesn’t mean anything when the woman you’re talking to is almost as rich as you in her own right. “The bar in this building is pretty good. The stock is everything my father likes, but about half his tastes passed down to me, so…”

Sighing, I close my laptop lid and shove my notes back into their respective folders. ‘Sure. But no wine. We know what happened last time.”

A dry laugh fills the room. “I don’t think that was necessarily the wine.”

That’s all he says on the subject. Honestly, it’s all he has to say, because I know what he means. All the wine did was give us an excuse to relax and loosen up.

We pack up our things. This will be one of the last times I’m here, so I make sure that Anita is able to come in tomorrow morning and grab everything neatly before bringing them over to my place. After that, we grab our coats and jackets before hopping into the elevator and enjoying the long ride down in silence.

The bar is one of those abodes that works for either relaxing with a date or shooting the breeze with coworkers after work. I like those types of places because you don’t feel like you owe anyone anything. Hell, I would probably feel fine bringing work in here so I can have an Old Fashioned while finishing up the last of my projects for the night. Sure enough, I see a couple of middle-management guys with their tablets out. They could be reading a book or surfing the web, but it’s more likely that they’re putting in a final hour of work before heading home. Only one wears a wedding ring.

Ian and I sit right at the bar. People must recognize us, because they give us plenty of room, deciding to sit closer to strangers than anywhere near us at the bar. It feels weird at first, but then I come to thank them because I really need some room to breathe.

I order my Old Fashioned while Ian makes room for straight bourbon. “I like a woman who can appreciate whiskey,” he says to me. My drink is served first, and he eyes it with a bit of jealousy. Since getting a drink was his idea, I can only assume that it’s been on his mind all day. Can’t blame him. I have more to lose, but he’s frazzled as well. He’s also a lot like me in the sense that he would probably love to get laid to take the edge off. Too bad I’m not making myself available tonight.

We’ve crossed that bridge. We don’t need to go back over it.

“What can I say?” I sip my drink. Damn, it’s delicious. Smooth, too. Ian’s father must love whiskey too, because this is the good stuff. “My father raised me to appreciate the finer things in life. Like what you’re drinking.”

The glass appears before him, right on cue. “You want a sip?” He slides it in my direction. “Go ahead. I don’t mind the backwash.”

“Har har.” I pick up his glass and sample a taste. It’s almost as good as my drink. Almost. “You’ve had plenty of my backwash already.”

“Indeed.” Ian takes his glass back and has his fill in one gulp. Yup. The man wanted a drink. “Nothing sacred now.”

A part of me is relieved that we can joke about it. Another part of me wonders why we keep bringing it up. Haha, what am I talking about? We keep bringing it up because it’s the only thing we have in common right now… besides work.

And besides the fact we’re both drinking like fish.

I only intended to have one drink. But then Ian chugs his back and orders another. Then I chug mine and order another. You ever have two whisky drinks back to back? Oh ho ho. I’m in hell. Sweet, tipsy hell.

The world is warm and my body is warmer. Ian’s body ain’t so bad either. He lets me slap my hand on his arm after he tells me a joke about a nun and a CEO. Fuck all if I’ll remember it later. Right now I’m on my third drink and I’m not doing a great job holding it in. Ian holds his liquor better than me. No surprises there. The worst that’s happening is a few yawns and some talk about going home and going to bed. It’s not a bad idea.

I think about collapsing into bed with him. Maybe not for sex, although I’m sure we could drunkenly paw at each other and maybe get off a little. Mostly I’m imagining curling up against his firm body and inhaling the scent of his skin as I drift off into blissful sleep. My hand lingers too long on his arm. He looks at it until I yank it away.

“You know what?” I say, giggling as I lean against the bar and half-ass hailing the bartender for one last round. “We had fun last Friday, didn’t we?”

“Fucking hell.” Ian continues to mumble as I sit here giggling like an idiot. “Yes. Fun.”

“I’m glad you think so, because you have a great cock.”

I’m patting his leg, and he’s looking at me as if I’m five steps away from falling on my face and puking all over the floor. Hardly!

“Thanks.”

“You think about doing me again?”

I don’t know where the question comes from. Neither does Ian, gauging the way he looks at me. “Every day.” I feel better knowing that his speech is slurring almost as much as mine.

“Oh my God. We should have sex again.” It’s a great idea! Me, Ian, a big fat bed that squeaks every time we thrust against each other. I’m sweating like a virgin over here. “You want a blowjob? Because I have it on good authority that I’m awesome.”

He’s looking at me. Judging me. The kind of judgment that sizes up how good it would be to take another plunge in my body. His sleepy, alcohol-ridden eyes look as good to me in my likewise drunken state. “Fuck that, Katie. I would lick your pussy wide open first.”

“Oooh, you smooth talker!” I lean in closer, and I know my whisky breath is all over his face. “Take me to bed right now.” My mouth is dangerously close to his ear. I grip his upper arm and think about licking the base of his neck. Even though I’m drunk, I know that’s a bad idea in public. I’m pushing it already.

His fingers play with the ends of my hair that have fallen out of my twist. “I want to tear this bun apart and pull your hair while I fuck you,” he growls into my ear.