Chapter 14

Kathleen

Do you know what it's like to be grounded? Because that's how I feel right now. Trapped in a shitty situation where there is no real winner.

I am so fucked. My level of "fucked" is that of a porn star's. Minus a good lay and getting paid for it.

You see, I cannot win in this farce of a situation. No matter what happens, I am boned.

Let's look at the first possible outcome. Ira gets the initial deal for remodeling The Ace. Great. That shuts me out, and once again I look like a dumb girl who can't keep her shit together. Sure, I may have held my own and was able to overcome my previous mistake, but I still fucked up! Yay!

Now, let's consider the second possible outcome. I "win." Except not really, because what good does it do everyone if we're only building a museum? Will the Mathisons even want to buy the hotel if that happens? Sure, they can make revenue off admission and a gift shop, but their bread and butter is going to come from the hotel itself. That is their main line of business.

You see? It's an impossible situation, and I'm the one who suffers the most from it.

I don't think Ira sees it that way, though. She's plugging ahead as if someone named Colleen Woodrow hasn't turned our lives upside down. Well, of course. She doesn't have as much to lose as me.

Isn't that how it always goes? I've been feeling this ever since I was old enough to realize that being a girl puts me at a huge disadvantage. Every day there's some new reason for a man – or another woman – to put me down and make me feel like shit, all because the doctor said I had a vagina when I was born.

I felt it when I was a little girl who barely understood the world. You see, I was my parents' only chance at a kid. They tried for years, and then finally had me. The pregnancy was so hard on my mother that the doctor told her that trying for another would probably kill her. Both of my parents wanted a son for all the reasons we rich people want a bunch of sons. Proof of fertility, passing on the family name, knowing that the fortune will "stay in the family" and a bunch of other asinine bullshit that doesn't mean anything these days.

Still, even though my parents loved me, I knew they would've felt better having a son. They discussed adoption, but by that point, their relationship was strained. They've never divorced, but I wasn't surprised when my mother peaced out and moved to Europe.

Then I felt that shit at school. Boys harassed me. Teachers let the boys harass me because "boys will be boys." I hated myself for having crushes on them because I already knew how toxic they could be. Then I started crushing on girls too, and I hated myself for having to be different. It wasn't until I was in high school that I realized I could control some of my destiny. Back then, that only meant sexually. I was a bit wild. New partner every month for two years. Would've been more, but I lived in such an insular world that I had to be careful who I screwed while sowing my wild teenage oats.

Dealing with doctors and birth control. Being told that my goal in life was to be some guy's blond trophy wife and have his kids. Everyone expected me to go to college, but nobody expected me to do anything with a degree. Bit of a shock when I decided to follow the family business. My father went along with it – I think he was relieved, actually. I know he's often worried about what's going to happen to his holdings when he goes. If his daughter is there to take over, he feels a lot better. What he thinks I'm going to do with my life on the other hand…

My family is the least of my problems. It's the rest of the world. Nobody takes me seriously. When I fuck up, I'm rarely given a real second chance like men are. Nobody thinks I can really make it.

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

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

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

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

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

Her sleeves are rolled up. Her top two buttons are loose. This is how she 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 her. My bed is comfortable. If only I had someone like her to share it with.

Shit, I'm pathetic.

"I'm fine," I lie. My notes are a train wreck. I can barely even read my handwriting.

She looks at me again. If she didn't look so young, I would think she looked like a parent or a professor. The kind of person who judges you with one glare.

Ira whips off her glasses. "You want to go downstairs and get a drink?"

I snort. "On a Wednesday?"

"We're not coming in tomorrow. Let's relax with a drink. My…" She 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. They stock everything my father likes, but about half his tastes passed down to me, so…"

Sighing, I close my laptop 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 she says on the subject. Honestly, it's all she has to say, because I know what she 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 Annie can come in tomorrow morning and grab everything before heading to my place. After that, we grab our coats and jackets before hopping into the elevator.

The bar is one of those abodes that works for either relaxing with a date or shooting the breeze with coworkers. I like these 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.

Ira 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. It feels weird at first, but then I silently thank them because I need some room to breathe.

I order my Old Fashioned while Ira makes room for straight bourbon. "I like a woman who can appreciate whiskey," she says to me. My drink is served first, and she eyes it with a bit of jealousy. Since getting a drink was her idea, I can only assume that it's been on her mind all day. Can't blame her. I have more to lose, but she's frazzled as well. She's also a lot like me in the sense that she 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. Ira's father must love whiskey 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 her, right on cue. "You want a sip?" She slides it in my direction. "Go ahead. I don't mind the backwash."

"Har, har." I pick up her glass and sample a taste. It's almost as good as my drink. Almost. "You've had plenty of my backwash already."

"Indeed." Ira takes her glass back and has her fill in one gulp. Yup. The woman 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. Yet Ira chugs hers back and orders another. Then I gulp mine and order another. You ever had two whiskey drinks back to back? Oh ho ho. I'm in hell. Sweet, tipsy hell.

The world is warm and my body is warmer. Ira's body ain't so bad either. She lets me slap my hand on her arm after she 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. Ira holds her liquor better than me. No surprises there. The worst that's happening is a few yawns and some talk about going to sleep. It's not a bad idea.

I think about collapsing into bed with her. 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 her firm body and inhaling the scent of her skin as I drift off into blissful sleep. My hand lingers on her arm. She looks at it until I yank it away.

"You know what?" I giggle 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." Ira continues to mumble as I sit here giggling like an idiot. "Yes. Fun."

"I'm glad you think so because you have a great… God, what do you call that thing? I'm gonna call it your cock." I'm barely keeping my balance on my stool as I stare at her lap. Is she packing today? I don't think she is! Whoa. "But you're a woman, aren't you? I remember you telling me like five times that you still like feminine pronouns. Do… do girls like you call it your cock? What about dick? Penile pros…" As I continue to make a huge ass of myself, I am incapable of saying the word "prosthetic."

"Well, I suppose…"

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

"Thanks for the compliment, I guess."

"You think about doing me again?"

I don't know where the question comes from. Neither does Ira, gauging the way she looks at me. "Every day." Excellent! Her speech is slurring almost as much as mine.

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

She'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. Her sleepy, alcohol-ridden eyes look as good to me in my likewise drunken state. "Fuck that, Katie. I would lick your pussy clean first."

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

Her 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," she growls into my ear.

We're so close to kissing. Her hand is on my thigh. My hand is searching for hers. The bartender comes up and then quickly turns around when he sees us. We're lucky the bar is empty.

"I was thinking of something a bit different," I say with a different grin. "How about I tie you to a chair and slam my cunt in your lap?"

Chuckling, Ira picks up my empty glass and tastes the rim. "Tie me up, huh? I'm not into that. I'd much rather tie you up and bite those pink nipples of yours. Oh yeah. I remember what color they are." Before I can admonish her, she breathes into my ear, her voice deliciously deep. "I want to bring you to the brink of orgasm so many times that you beg me… beg me… to finish you off, your screams echoing off my bedroom wall while I completely lose myself in you."

I shiver. It almost sounds good. Minus the tying me up part. "Ira…" I sober up a bit, but not enough to save me from my oncoming folly. "I'm not sure that would work."

"No, it wouldn't." She's serious. Too serious. "We're both Dommes. It wouldn't work out, Katie."

She takes a tentative drink and puts her glass back down. Her hand is still on my thigh, and it tightens there, invigorating my lust but not satisfying my heart. "Not even for a while?"

I don't know what's come over me. I really shouldn't be lusting over Ira like this. Wanting her to hold me, to kiss me, to give me a hard time both in and out of bed. I feel like my high school friends swooning over her. Are any of my high school friends here with her like this right now? No. It's all Kathleen Allen, Domme.

I can't ignore who I am. Ira isn't going to submit to me, and I'm not going to submit to her. It would make us both too uncomfortable. We want completely different things from the other person. We really should end things here. Maybe we'll hook up a few more times… why couldn't tonight be one of those nights?

I ask her as much and watch her brows furrow.

"Because I won't be happy with just sex, Katie." Her voice is soft, but I can hear a Domme's sternness in it. Already, she's talking to me like a sub, and I don't care much for it. "If we make this a regular thing, then I want to dominate you."

I bristle.

Her tongue coddles my earlobe, and I feel myself turning into mud all over her. No. I have to resist. I have to push away from her inviting embrace. "I want to slowly strip you and bite every part of your body. I want to make you suck whatever I've got at the moment until you choke on everything I give you." Okay, honey… okay… "I want to spank your pretty ass until it's so pink you can't sit for a week. Then I want to bend you down, listening to you shriek in ecstasy into my pillow as I fuck you from behind, your tight cunt growing tighter until you draw me in so deep that I can't help but be mesmerized into infernal ecstasy. Then make you clean up our mess while you call me Mistress and I admire my handiwork."

My brain is gone. I don't even know what to say.

"Does that sound good, Katie?"

She knows my answer. She knew it before she started describing that shit. Even though my body is shivering at the images, at the way her voice spills into me and fills my chest with adrenaline, I say the first thing that comes to my mind.

"I don't think I'd like that." It sounds suffocating. Demeaning.

"No? Then I guess it can't happen. I'm also not going to do anything you're thinking of right now. Let me guess. Strap-ons and calling me a bad girl?"

She's not making fun of me. She knows how a Domme like me rolls. I don't really do humiliation, but I can be a harsh Mistress depending on the sub's wants. Ira wouldn't want that. If she were a sub, she'd want me to make her worship me. That's what I want, anyway.

To feel like a queen.

A goddess.

Not a serf. The one without the power.

Lots of women love that shit. I get it on a superficial level. But it's not me. I get off hardest and feel freest when I'm calling all the shots. The thought of anyone, even Ira, holding me down and pounding me until I scream a safe word makes me nervous, not exhilarated.

Even so, I want her. I want to feel her mouth on my body, her arms wrapped around me and filling me with that same warmth from before. It shouldn't be too much to ask…

Maybe…

In my drunken haze, I suggest something that I will come to regret in due time. Yet right now it sounds so good, why the hell wouldn't I suggest it?

"Let's have a friendly wager," I say, stroking her thigh with my fingertips. I want her pussy on my mouth, but only if I get to tie her hands behind her chair. "About the presentation."

"Oh?"

"Yes. One of us will lose… but if one of us wins? Then we get something from the other person."

"Go on."

I open my mouth and seal my fate. "The loser has to submit to the other person for one night. Whatever the other person wants. Safeword for only extreme shit."

Ira considers me for a long time. "You would submit to me?" She sounds genuinely surprised. And intrigued. Her hand is dangerously close to my slit.

"Would you submit to me if you lose?"

Her smile is ridiculous. It reminds me of Lara's when she thinks she's already won. Not so fast, honey. I still have a few tricks up my sleeve.

Ira picks up one of her empty glasses, the ice not yet melted. "Deal."

I hold up my glass. "Deal."

The glasses clink together. I have no idea what I've done.