Chapter 44

Ira

Twilight comes early even for this time of year. Or maybe it has to do with these mountains, which are colder, rainier, and so damned dark.

I don't have a problem driving in these conditions. Just ease off the accelerator, judiciously apply lights and windshield wipers… and hope your lady friend doesn't freak out every time you go around a curve.

"I swear there was a rabbit there," Kathleen says, grabbing the oh-shit handle and looking back at the darkening road. "Did you hit a rabbit?"

Sighing, I turn off the windshield wipers. "No. I have hit no critters since we left town."

Kathleen lets out a huge breath. Thank God! Stop bothering me about my driving!

Earlier today we signed papers, shook hands with the Anderssens, and snatched away their keys. After celebratory drinks with the legal team and my father, we got in our cars and began the long trek up into the mountains.

No, not with my father. No, not with the lawyers. Get your mind out of the gutter.

There are plenty of times to go to Gutterville tonight.

Every so often I see the Anderssens' Ferrari disappear around another curve. Kennedy is a lot more comfortable on these roads and has no trouble staying half a mile ahead of me. I've only been up this way a few times, and only once was I driving. At least I'm better than Kathleen, who is still pretending we're not driving through "inclement conditions," as she calls them.

It takes two hours to drive where we're going. No wonder so many guests simply stay the night, if not the entire weekend.

Me? I've never stayed the night, and I'm not sure I will tonight. It's up to Kathleen.

Unfortunately, I'm seeing this as a date. I say unfortunately because the Manoir is a sexually charged atmosphere. Let alone one focused on the thrills of BDSM. The Anderssens know it well. I'm not afraid to say that I've hired a lovely lady here once or twice. All right, only once. The other times I was up this way was simply to get drunk and see some boobs.

You see, the Manoir is nothing like Midnight, although they both cater to rich people who like domination and submission. Midnight is a club and all those trappings. It's meant to be a place where you can go on a date or pick someone up. Maybe catch a demonstration. Get some drinks and come and go as you please.

The Manoir is an experience.

Remember that TV show Fantasy Island? It's kind of like that. This is a place where you come to feel like a king or a god. That's because the owner and Madam, the very same Monique Grant we've seen around before, is a hardcore lifestyler in the sub scene. She's the type who gets off on serving, and that's the kind of place she's created. From the moment you walk through the door, you're an honored guest who can have almost anything they want.

A Domme? A girl will tie you up and tell you all your shortcomings. A sub? That same girl can fall over on the bed and give you big eyes until you fuck the innocence out of her.

Of course, you don't pay for sex. It's very clear when you sign documents before starting any scene. You're paying for the woman's time, anything you consume, the rooms you occupy, and any services like bondage, dirty talk, etc. I know the place has been visited by investigators. So far it's still open!

Just trust me when I say the employees are highly encouraged to have some sort of sex with you. Of course, you're persuaded to give her a very generous tip afterward. Naturally, you oblige. She deserves it. Ask me how I know.

"I've never been here before," Kathleen tells me again as soon as we pass through the security gates and onto the main property. "It's… impressive."

The building is a lot bigger than a traditional Manoir. It's a huge mansion overlooking a private hillside. I don't recall who used to own it, but since it was purchased by Monique and her benefactors, the whole place has been transformed into this fantasy world. They have valet parking, even though the front lot is rarely full. Especially not tonight. We're the only guests.

I pop out of my car as soon as it's parked and help Kathleen out of the other side. It's starting to drizzle and we don't have umbrellas. In record time, we've caught up with the Anderssens, who are entering the foyer and chatting with everyone as if they live there.

From what I hear, they practically do.

"Welcome to our humble abode," a woman – a maid, I think – offers to take my coat and Kathleen's. The Anderssens have the careful attention of their mistress, a young, tall woman with black bobbed hair and a svelte silver dress that hugs what few curves she has. I'm not surprised that their tastes skew toward tall, thin, and possibly Russian.

Kathleen hands her coat over to the maid, head craning around as she checks this place out. No expenses were spared when it came to renovating whatever they did. Gold lines the corridors. Tapestries as soft as silk hang on the walls. Crystal chandeliers light the way as we are led to a private lounge for our use.

It's homier, but still opulent. The Anderssens' mistress, Grace, offers us drinks and electronic cigarettes or cigars. The real stuff isn't allowed in this room, and none of us really smoke anyway. Instead, we each take a glass of sweet wine and order whatever drink we want. I request a whisky.

Kathleen is too enthralled by the environment to properly hear Grace. By the time she does comprehend what's being asked, all she can do is stare wide-eyed.

"She'll have an Old Fashioned," I say.

I don't notice that the Anderssens are glancing at us after I ordered for Kathleen. They're on a different couch from us, leaving enough room for Grace to join them when she returns with the drinks. I thank her, and she winks at me.

Always working, these girls are.

Grace may belong to the Anderssens tonight, but they're not here every night, and it's my understanding that these professionals take on other clients on a casual basis. If friends happen to share the same woman, well… I don't think people mention that. For obvious reasons.

I'm grateful that I never employed the services of this lovely Grace. Too close to the Anderssens for comfort.

"Relax, friends," Kennedy says, leaning back and imploring her mistress to sit on the edge of her lap. Grace looks comfortable settling in there, her fingers brushing Lara's long hair with careful attention. What a pair. "All drinks are on us." Kennedy smiles. "Anything else is your own discretion."

I know what she means. She's looking at me, after all.

"Ever been here before, Mathison?"

Kathleen looks at me. I know she won't give a rat's two-timing ass if I say yes. Most dominants in our circles have been here at least once. Just because Katie hasn't doesn't mean she looks down on it.

"A few times." I sip my drink, although Kennedy continues to stare at me, as if she knows something I don't. "Those times were a bit busier than tonight."

"It's traditionally a slow night, we're afraid. That means more attention for us." Lara smiles at Kathleen, who is still staring at the pillows and trying to remember where the fuck she is. "That reminds me, sweet, where are your friends?"

Grace puts a hand on Lara's shoulder – just who taught who that move? "They should be along shortly. They were helping with something downstairs."

Before any of us say anything, the door opens and admits two more feminine beauties dressed to impress their clients.

I frown. Not because I don't like them, but because there's the one I slept with the last time I was here. Me and who knows how many in my social circles. We don't think about that, however. A woman's gotta work.

"Evening, everyone! Heard the party was in here." The tall stranger with strawberry blond hair drapes herself across the back of Kathleen and mine's couch, her experienced eyelashes batting at the both of us. Behind her, the other girl slinks along, refilling glasses and taking her perch in an empty chair between the couches. "To whom do we owe these pleasures?"

"These are Ira Mathison and Kathleen Allen," Lara introduces, her wineglass half empty in her hand. "We closed a big deal with them today and are here to celebrate."

"Ooh, celebrations!" The woman whose breath is going down the back of my neck is smiling. A bit too much. Too flirtatious. "Hey, Chelsea, pour these festive people some more drinks. They're celebrating."

I exchange a look with the pale and blonde Chelsea. She flashes me a familiar smile. Yes, she remembers me. She's probably here because we had a good time and wants more of this. And my money. I tipped her well, didn't I?

"Call me June," says the chatty one. She extends her hand to both Kathleen and me. She has a firm handshake. "When I heard the lovely Anderssens had invited some of their friends up here, I knew I had to stop by and say hello." That's code for "I have no other work tonight, so let me try to score here."

More drinks are poured. The Anderssens are comfortably laughing. Kathleen shuffles toward me on the couch, and I don't think she realizes it. Either way, her hip is now touching mine, and I can smell the perfume in her hair.

Fuck me, I'm too relaxed for my own good. Can you blame me? This room is full of pretty women. Not just Kathleen, but June, Grace, and Chelsea are all handpicked beauties. Even Lara Anderssen is stunning in a body-hugging red dress she kept hidden beneath a black jacket during business today. She's a master of knowing how to dress up and down an outfit. Even her spouse, the almost as masc-as-me Kennedy has gone out of her way to put on a face full of intense makeup and slip into stilettoes that give her a few extra needed inches. Like I said, she's almost as masc as me. If there's one thing Kennedy gives no fucks about, it's labels. Except for the pansexual label, and only because she discovered some people get offended when you call yourself "omnisexual at an all-you-can-eat buffet."

Six beautiful women. Six sources of frustration, because they are all so very sexual creatures. Especially Kathleen, who is comfortably next to me, even if she doesn't realize it.

You don't understand how much I want to wrap an arm around her and relax into this couch with our drinks. I want to laugh with her, talk about absolutely nothing, and get relaxed enough on alcohol to start romantically touching one another in this hazy atmosphere.

I want to do that, but I don't know how.

See, Kathleen and I don't have an established public relationship. Lots of people have guessed there's something going on between us – like the Anderssens – but that doesn't mean we're ready to be seen as a romantic pair. As far as the Anderssens are concerned, Kathleen and I hook up sometimes. There's nothing else going on outside of the bedroom.

For all I know, Kathleen thinks the same way. So, the last thing I want to do is make her uncomfortable by throwing my arm around her or touching her knee in an intimate way. Point really stands when I look at how out of her element she is. I guess it has to do with all the women, and as far as I can tell, my dear Katie tends to gravitate to smaller groups or one-on-ones. Tack on how badly she doesn't want people knowing about our dynamic, and there you go.

We're joined by one last person tonight. Someone I wasn't really expecting, until Monique Grant helps herself into the lounge wearing a little black dress and ruby jewels in her hair. I had heard through the grapevine that she still spends most of her weekends here to oversee her business. Which is funny, because a woman as submissive as her isn't someone you'd peg as a businesswoman. I glance at Kathleen and wonder if she would ever be like that.

Before Monique can spare some words for us, she catches the look I give Kathleen. I don't like the tiny smile on her face. Shit. Shit, shit.

I should have guessed that a woman in her position would have the eyes of a cat. The kind of cat that sees every little detail and knows how to work it to her advantage. She calls June and Chelsea over so she can whisper something into their ears. There is nothing subtle in the way they both look at us.

Now it's my turn to lean in toward someone. Namely, Kathleen's. "We're being targeted."

Kathleen glances at the trio of conspirators. "What do you mean? They want to…?"

"They're businesswomen, and we're taking up their time. They're going to try to get into our wallets, darling."

"Both of us? At the same time?"

There's only one way to find out. I swing my arm around Kathleen's shoulders and bring her in for a kiss.