Chapter 17

Kathleen

"Where did you get this?" I hold up leather chains from a box. I'm in Eve's room – or do I say apartment? – and helping her unpack her latest fun-toy orders.

"Adam's Closet!" she calls over her shoulder, searching her kitchen cabinets for wine glasses. "I was happy to find some stuff in the smaller sizes."

I snort. I don't have to worry about that since my partners tend to be average-sized and fit right into most implements. Eve, on the other hand, has a habit of bringing home these petite ladies who slip right out of hooks and drown in latex.

I wonder if they would fit Ira. She's not huge. Comparable to me. I'm a mid-sized girl. Not petite, not supermodel tall. Supermodels would dwarf Ira, but I feel plenty taken care of in those arms. Worshipped. Yes.

Eve catches me grinning at the chains when she comes back with glasses full of white wine. "Uh oh," she says, sipping hers. "I know that look. Who you chaining up and claiming with a butt plug, dear?"

Oh, to imagine it. Ira Mathison, strung up on my bed, shirtless, those firm curves tensing beneath my crop. She'd be a feisty one. Especially when I thwack her mound with the crop and watch her squirm and call me Mistress.

If she's good, I'll give her a present…

"Kathleen!"

I'm jarred from my fantasies. "Nobody in particular."

"Please. No girl looks like that and doesn't have someone in mind. Spill."

"Nobody you're interested in."

"Just because it might be a guy doesn't mean I'm not interested…"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you…" I'm muttering, because I have yet to tell anyone about fucking Ira – twice – let alone making that bet with her. Instead, I tell Eve about kicking ass at my presentation two days ago. This lazy Sunday has been all about me basking in the afterglow of more awesome sex and simmering in the sensations that say I'm going to dominate Ira Mathison. And, oh, I will enjoy it.

Eve rolls her eyes. "Yes, you've told me." She takes my wineglass and goes to refill it already. She then motions for me to join her on the couch in front of the TV.

I know I've told her. I was so on cloud nine after Friday that I had to share with the world. Not just what happened with my presentation. Although that's the only thing I've talked about to people. But, you know… Ira…

The way she just took me. She was so turned on… by me. By my dominant personality. She may have plastered me against the wall and speared me with her penetrative magic as if I were going to get away from her, but holy shit, I instigated it with my kickass abilities.

If that doesn't make a girl feel good about herself, then I don't know what does!

Like that, I'm back to imagining her strung up on my bed, her heat on my mouth as I bring her to the edge with my tongue and then deny her. I want her so needy that she's begging me to do whatever I want to her.

No, I haven't talked to Ira since that day. I haven't had the urge to. I don't know when I'll see her again, now that the presentations are over, but as soon as we get news from the council, you bet your ass I'm ringing her up and claiming my bet.

"You haven't said a damn thing about your latest purchases." Eve is flipping through channels, looking for something to watch. "Don't tell me you've gone a whole two months without buying a huge strap-on or something."

I laugh. Oh my God, imagining the look on Ira's face… "I haven't bought anything recently. To be honest, I haven't done much playing at all. Just some hookups here and there."

"That's too bad. On both accounts."

"Please. A girl will take a hot body when she can get it, whether she dominates it or not."

"I suppose. Except most of the fun for me comes from taking charge. Easier to do in casual sex with women than with men, I'm guessing."

Yes, Eve, I've heard that a hundred times. That you have problems finding women who are both into submission and your pussy. I have to keep another laugh to myself.

"I've been phasing that stuff out of my apartment anyway," I say, wineglass at my lips. "I don't play much at my place, so it's in the way."

I'm settled quite comfortably into Eve's couch, the channels changing on the big screen in front of us. There's some glare from the window, but it's nothing. There's glare everywhere in this huge studio. Technically, Eve lives in her family home out of the city, but she rents this place to have somewhere to crash – and right now, to get away from her lovey-dovey sister.

She lands on a local business channel, and hovers there, because we're so used to watching it for five minutes at a time to keep abreast of the news.

Wouldn't you know it? Donovan Mathison is on TV, making a live announcement to the types of people who would care about what he has to say.

"Wait." I put my hand on Eve's. "I think this is about The Ace."

Sure enough, the headline on the screen reads, "The Ace's Fate Decided."

"It's with great happiness," Donovan begins, his salt and pepper hair handsome in the soft light of the sun, "that I can say the sale of The Ace is going forward. As of this morning, we are in serious discussions with the Anderssens about a final sales price."

"Turn it up."

"Furthermore," Donovan continues, the cameras of the local press flashing in his face, "we have been given the blessing of the community council to go ahead with our restoration with the intent of returning The Ace to its former, hospitable glory…"

Eve turns the channel.

"Tough luck, lady."

My throat is dry no matter how much wine I drink. Nope. I'm choosing not to hear any of that. Not even after I phone my father right away and wait five rings for him to answer.

"Did you see the news?" I ask him.

"Sweetie," he begins, and I already know it's bad. "You did a fantastic job. I'm proud of you and look forward to seeing what else you can do…"

"Did you see?"

He chokes on a word. "It has nothing to do with your abilities, Kat."

No, he doesn't understand. How can he? Is his sexual fate tied to this sort of thing? Hardly! Oh my God!

I've lost the bet. When I hang up, dumbfounded, the first thing I see on my phone is a text message from none other than Ira Mathison. Gulping, I open it.

"How about that? Bend over, Kathleen."