“Fuck me!” Lana grips the edge of the stage, her ass rippling with every hard thrust she receives. He’s going in unprotected, and I know we all in the audience are hoping for the same outcome. We want to see him mark her, claim her with his seed in any way he deems fit.

When it comes to women who tend to be in control like Lana, there’s only one of two ways to put her in her place with a man’s orgasm. Either come on her face, or come inside her.

Ken chooses the latter.

Their groans collide as Lana starts coming first. Ken soon releases himself, his hands squeezing so tightly on her hips that she nearly swats them away. Yet he has her down, her ass pointed into the air and her legs spread so wide that she has no choice but to accept his cock. I know he’s coming because of the steady thrusts and seeing Lana’s eyes flutter shut in absolute ecstasy. That is a sub being marked – and lusting after every moment of it.

I’m both intrigued and confused. If I didn’t know Lana so well, I would assume this was her natural place in their relationship. That Ken always takes control and makes her his. Except I know them. For years they’ve been coming – and coming – here. I’ve seen Ken tied up on an ottoman while Lana whacks his ass and calls him filth. I’ve seen her edge him until he’s begging to come in front of God and country.

That’s where I get confused. I’m not a switch, so the idea of whipping one night and being whipped the next blows my mind – and not in the fun way. I don’t get it. How? How does a person flip a switch like that in their heads? Being a Dom and being a sub are such different mindsets that I’m not sure I can ever understand what happens in a switch.

Obviously two switches can make great partners. Just look at these two assholes.

Lana crumples on the stage, her husband’s hand gently caressing her spine. I can’t hear what he’s saying. Nobody can, aside from Lana, who grins and whimpers something in return.

It’s cute. It’s sweet. It’s what I always see between these long-term partners who are so in love. A part of me is jealous. I want that with somebody. The coziness. The love. The feeling so comfortable that the idea of having sex in front of the whole room isn’t even an issue.

All around the room are submissive women. I don’t see a single Domme. Either the women are hooked up with men domineering over them, or they’re stag and searching for someone to make nice with them. It’s a common night at The Dark Hour. Only before now I hadn’t really thought about these submissive women and what goes through their minds.

Because that’s supposed to be me. I stood up that date with Ian because I’m too scared to know what goes on in the head of a submissive woman.

Submissive men are easy. They’re giving up the power that society already thrusts on them. Who am I kidding? They still have that power. Even when I’m calling them boys and squeezing their balls, outside of our bedroom the world will still treat them as above me. Submitting to a man… why would I want to give up even more power?

I’ve fought so long and so hard to make people take me seriously.

And yet I can’t help but imagine that being Ian and me, his hands laying claim on me as he takes me to a higher state of consciousness that I’ve never experienced before. I’ve never been in subspace. It looks so blissful, and yet I’ve been so scared to try it for so long.

I don’t give up control. It’s too dangerous.

And yet… Ian…

Tears that I can’t control stream down my face. I don’t know why I’m crying. I don’t know why I’m looking at Ian’s name in my phone, wishing I had the courage to call him and apologize for standing him up. I wish I had the courage to explain why I’m so scared.

Perhaps I don’t have the courage because I don’t trust myself around him. The moment he puts his hands on me, I’ll want to do whatever he says, even if it goes against everything I usually want from my life.

All of this is teaching me that I’m not as strong as I’ve always thought. I feel powerless. Even without the stupid bet, I…

I’m coming undone. I need to leave.

Chapter 21

IAN

Does it feel good being stood up? No. Am I mad? A little. Am I over it? Mostly.

I’m mostly mad that I was made to feel like an ass in one of the nicest restaurants in town. At least I didn’t get the private room. Instead I had them seat us – me – in the far corner where I could stew in my indignation in peace. When a half hour passed and I hadn’t heard a peep from Kathryn about being late, I feared the worst. After one hour, I went ahead and ordered dinner, piling up on alcohol and looking around the room for familiar faces.

The night wasn’t a total bust. I saw James Merange and one of his business partners, and we had a good hour-long row about some of the latest scandals coming out of Wall Street.

And when we had a lot to drink and his partner left, we started talking about what two Doms are wont to talk about. Women. Subs. Sex.

I haven’t told anyone about Kathryn. None of it. So I didn’t tell James, but I did tell him I had been there for a date and was stood up. He was aghast, if only because men like us aren’t used to being stood up. Unless it’s a fellow rich person who doesn’t find dinners like this out of the ordinary. Men like James have always preferred dating “commoner” women because he likes to impress people. Although he’s been with Gwen forever, don’t let it fool you – she was a bartender he picked up one day. Just like that. Boom. In love with a gorgeous girl who could charm any guy out of his pants. I mean, Gwen’s blond. Don’t think I haven’t thought about it.

Since apparently I have a thing for blondes.

Beautiful, cunning blondes who remind me of Kathryn. Fuck me. I’m a basic male at the end of the day.

I haven’t heard from her, and I don’t care. She’s made her decision. Do I wish she was less rude about it? Obviously. Do I want an explanation? Kinda. I know she’s not dead or otherwise indisposed, because I would have heard about it. In fact, I heard on the grapevine that Kathryn was hanging out at The Dark Hour last night, sulking and watching the Andrews get their freak on.

Whatever.

I’m having a quiet evening at home. No work, no appointments, just me and Saoirse, who is having her seven o’clock crazies and mauling her favorite toy in the middle of the living room.

It’s the kind of night where I dim the lights, pour myself a glass of whatever, and either sit in front of the computer or the TV. Long week. Time to decompress before my appointments this weekend.

Looks like it’s me, the cat, some brandy, and a website about felines and their weirdness. Don’t judge me. I like fluffy cat videos as much as the next asshole.

Alcohol is barely in my mouth before someone buzzes my door.

Anyone who is able to go straight to my door is either on a list – like my father or Valerie – or someone who knows how to push over the doorman. Sometimes a total random will slip through, but for the most part, I can expect to recognize a friendly face when I open my door.

Suffice to say, I am not expecting to see a beautiful blonde draped across my doorway.

“Ian,” Stephanie May purrs, her tits spilling from her skimpy dress and her smile costing at least $10,000. “Long time no see. You haven’t returned my call, but I know from the news that you’re a busy, busy man.”

It’s true. Stephanie called me a few days ago to congratulate me on my win with the council. I didn’t respond, because I was still a bit embarrassed about what happened, and because I was so consumed with Kathryn that other women weren’t even a consideration.