Chapter 36

Ira

"Ineed something a bit more… subtle."

The saleswoman backs away from the counter so she can return the tray of necklaces she fetched not even five minutes ago. "I'll try to find something, sir."

Ah, how I love that word when I've exited my home intending to make total strangers think I'm a guy. Even more when it's a pretty woman who is clearly into me. And this woman is. She can't be older than me. She's either Kathleen's age or slightly younger. A tall, feminine beauty wearing a smart pantsuit and samples of the jewelry offered in this boutique. A ruby necklace. Diamond earrings. Emerald and opal rings adorning both fingers.

In another life, I would have been a jeweler. It's always been a hobby of mine, although I can't claim to have a ton of knowledge. There's something shockingly wonderful about a striking set of jewelry, especially on a young lady who knows how to bow her head while also keeping her eyes up and on yours.

She offers a timid smile as she pulls out another tray of chokers. "How about these?"

I examine them, imaging my darling Kathleen wearing any while I flog her ass, pull her hair, and thrust in her face. If the saleswoman is smiling, then I'm grinning like a horny idiot.

"It has to be refined." I hold up a black choker glittering in tiny crystals. "While also blending seamlessly into any outfit a woman pulls from her wardrobe." Kathleen has two main styles. There are the pantsuits, usually black, navy, or white. Then there are the tight skirts and cocktail dresses. Either way, she is not a flashy woman. She lets her body and hair do the talking for her appearance. Anything I buy her has to be good enough for her everyday wardrobe…

…And it has to be completely nonthreatening. And not too expensive, because that would offend my Katie, and I can't have that.

I'm taking great risks looking at these necklaces. But I want to spoil her. I'm someone who is used to buying gifts for the lucky women in their life. Jewelry, clothes, perfumes… even women like Stephanie May, who will be getting million-dollar contracts soon, would weep to open a box from this boutique. Kathleen? She'll probably demand to know where I get off buying her trinkets. She can buy her own, you know.

That's not the point. The point is that if I'm going to train her to be a sub in my vision, she needs a collar. Just the thought of wrapping one around her throat and then formally taking her… God, where do I get off indeed? On her.

"Are there any particular gems you're interested in?"

I look back at the saleswoman. Funny. Have her buttons disappeared since I last looked at her? If I didn't know any better, I'd think this woman was flirting with me. The nerve. "Diamonds would fit her best." I enunciate the her. While Katie and I haven't decided to be exclusive in any way, I don't mind scaring off other women with the idea I'm spoken for, let alone buying jewelry for a woman. Right now my mind and body are happy taking all of Kathleen Allen in new ways.

Wanna know something grand? After we had sex Friday, I watched her quickly nod off to sleep, her poor body spent all over my bed after I gave her what I desperately wanted to give. I wasn't lying when I said she needed to overcome her aversion to my way of claiming my lovers. Otherwise, what's the point? It's what gets me off the hardest and would continuously come up in our relationship. We can slowly work our way back up to what and how, since I took things too far our first time in my condo, but it has to happen, or I won't be satisfied.

I want my partner, short-term or long, to be covered in what she does to me.

I never anticipated she would be so against it. Then Friday happened. A Friday I won't forget anytime soon.

We made love. Made love. I haven't made love often in my life, but that was… definitely it. I'm ignoring my feelings at the moment. Living in this blasted moment. Fantasizing about that bombshell and all the ways we're going to please each other.

Assuming I don't break her and scare her away forever.

This is why I can't get attached. This is why I have to fight back those moments trumping me when I claim her during sex. I can't yet lose myself in the ideas of yes, yes, I love you. Few women have heard me utter those words. I'm not sure I've ever meant them.

Right, the choker.

"Diamonds, but not gratuitous." I search the case for anything resembling what I have in mind. "They must be sophisticated but not garish. I want her to be able to wear it in casual clothes without drawing too much attention to herself."

"Of course." The woman pulls out one last tray, full of diamond-studded chokers of various grades and gaudiness. "These would be your best bet."

I borrow an eyepiece and study the quality of the diamonds. Some of them are embedded into long, spidery silver ribbons. Too likely to get in the way during sex. Others are sparkling upon leather and cloth. Those would clash with Kathleen's wardrobe.

Instead, my eye is drawn to a simple collar in the corner. It's a chain made of white gold. Chains are good. Chains are adjustable, so they can either be a tight choker or a loose necklace. Versatile. Good for a woman's wardrobe.

Each hole in the chain is filled with a sparkling diamond. Since the holes are tiny, the diamonds are too, which means they glitter but don't stick out too much. Kathleen could dress up a casual outfit with this or be perfectly presentable at a formal event.

Not to mention how it would look when it was the only thing left on her body…

I double-check the quality of the diamonds and ask where they come from. I may be a rich bastard, but I'm not without a conscience. Once I'm reassured, including with paperwork, that the diamonds are wholly ethical, I tell the saleswoman to box it up while handing over my credit card.

"She's a lucky woman," the saleswoman says.

I break eye contact with her before she can flirt with me any further. Trust me, I know the difference between a polite salesperson and someone testing my boundaries. If I weren't seeing Katie, I'd probably flirt back and see how submissive this woman acted.

"Have it delivered to this address by tomorrow." I slip the woman a piece of paper with my address on it. No way I'm carrying that thing home. Katie doesn't know it yet, but I'm hoping to wrap that pretty choker around her throat this Wednesday night.

Two days. I hope she's ready.

I barely have my things together when I receive a call from my mother. The cool city air feels refreshing on my face as I step out to answer my phone.

"Ira!" I rarely hear her this flustered, and I immediately stop in the middle of the sidewalk. The sound of a taxi nearly mowing down a poor pedestrian almost drowns out my mother's voice. "Are you anywhere near the hotel?"

My family owns multiple hotels, but I know she means The Ace. "I'm about four blocks away. Why? I'm not due there today." I'm taking today off to run errands, like buying my girlfriend a collar. Well, that's the fun errand, anyway. The others include a bank trip, a meeting with a shipping company, and a couple of other things that need to be done but are so boring my mind is numbed thinking of them. Administrative work. Ew.

"You need to get your ass over there. Your father is already on his way."

"What in the world is going on?"

My mother cuts out as I jog up the sidewalk, wishing the lights around here weren't so long. By the time I make it to the block The Ace is on, my heart stops.

People. No. Protestors!

There must be two dozen of them, each wearing a cheap white T-shirt that says "SAVE THE ACE!!! SAVE OUR COMMUNITY!!!" Their signs aren't much better. A bunch of homemade shit that shows pictures of my family's logo slashed out in blood red.

Great. Great.

My mother finally comes back on the phone. "Protestors are raising a big stink and the media is swarming the place because it's a slow news day."

Sure enough, I see two local TV vans parked across the street, one news crew setting up and the other already making the rounds through the protestors, looking for juicy interviews.

No way am I going in there by myself. I wait for my father's sedan to pull up and join him, pretending that we're some unstoppable Mathison force.

I feel like I'm ten again, and not in a good way.

"Please, we're just doing our jobs."

It's the foreman, caught in a corner outside of The Ace. Two reporters are beating him down with questions, and all the man wants to do is get back to work with the demolition crew. "Most of our contracted work is finished, anyway. What do these people want us to do? Go put it all back together again? Most of that stuff was rotted out!"

"Excuse us." My father uses the weight he's gained with age to push through the crowd and take over the show. This will either end with him being God's gift to diplomats or…

"Mr. Mathison! What do you have to say about the accusations that you're destroying a cultural institution?"

My father falters, sputtering at such an unfounded thing. I have to admit that I'm rather incensed as well. What the hell is this bullshit?

"I can answer that, if I may."

The protestors mutter as yet another person pushes through their ranks. Even though I recognized the voice, I'm still surprised to see Kathleen appearing through the fog of white T-shirts. Her look is all business. I thank the Lord that she has her hair up and looks like such a… hot… professional.

Oh, boy.

"The Ace is undergoing a renovation, it's true," she says in front of the cameras. Somehow, she manages to keep her composure and an even voice. She also does a bang-up job shoving the foreman out of the way and taking center stage in front of reporters and protestors. I'm scary close to her. To the point that I can smell her perfume.

It's taking every bit of self-restraint I have to not smile like I've won the lottery. Most inappropriate for the situation, Ira.

"People are afraid, and that's understandable." Damn, this is the Kathleen I rarely get to see. The one who gets shit done. "This place has always represented a core part of our community and heritage. We ask you to please have faith. While property values will be going up due to this renovation, it is not projected to further displace the people living here." Damn straight! Unless we're displacing millionaires? "Our goal has always been to make The Ace a shining example of what we offer. This can only happen with improvements."

A rabble begins. Security has arrived and is making sure the protestors stay off private property. Which is about five feet in total. Someone's terrible body odor is all up in my space.

"I would also like to remind the media and anyone watching that the council signed off on this venture, and we have been given their full blessing. Aside from that…" Kathleen gestures to the sign hanging up behind her. The one showcasing all those signatures she got. "Community members have given us their blessing as well. In fact!" She shields her eyes and smiles at two people holding signs. "Seems that some of them are here. How do you do?"

Feet scuff and throats clear. That's my girl. My ass-kicking girl who doesn't take shit and dishes it out as well as she takes it.

With her hair up, all I can see is the white of her throat. That gorgeous throat I can't stop myself from kissing when we're alone. I can feel her heartbeat there. Feel the blood pumping through her veins and telling me how alive she is. I wish I could kiss her now.

I wish I could place our new collar there, telling these people standing around us today that she's mine. Mine!

Kathleen Allen, you may be a Domme to everyone else who knows you, but I fully intend on creating the perfect sub out of you. You have no idea. As soon as the cameras are out of my face, I slip away, pulling out my cell phone and sending you a very important text that you're sure to get in a few seconds.

"Wednesday night. I'll text you more details later."

One minute later I look back and find her staring at her phone. Her cheeks are pink. So pink that someone taps her on the shoulder to ask if she's not feeling well. Then they tell her how much she kicks ass… because the protestors are dispersing, and the news crews have everything they need to smear us tonight.

I don't care about that. All I care about is making sure she understands my appreciation on Wednesday night.

Work doesn't matter. Only Kathleen Allen matters.