Dom Vs: Domme: The Deluxe Trilogy: A Billionaire Romance (Dom Vs. Domme Book 0) (46 page)

“Unfortunately not. People here prefer their lapdogs.” I look into the basket. How many are there? Six kittens? Five? Seven? It’s hard to tell where some end and others begin.

This basket seems to be pulling double-duty as Jasmine’s purse. Sectioned off to the side is an open compartment full of the usual things a woman carries. A wallet. Change purse. Small makeup case. A spare tampon.

A collar.

I glance away before she notices me looking at it. Shit, I’d almost forgotten that Ethan Cole was also a kinkster, let alone that I’ve seen this couple at The Dark Hour a time or two. Jasmine does not come off as submissive, if you ask me. So if she’s carrying around her collar, it’s because she has to be ready to go at her boyfriend’s whim.

Flashes of Ian presenting me with my own training collar enters my mind. He said it would help me know when we were doing a scene or “being ourselves,” wherever that line is blurred now.

Maybe it’s the same for this girl. Maybe her boyfriend – and Dom – set up the same situation to keep her placated and him pleased. Now I’m looking in this woman’s face and wondering how many times she’s worn this collar.

Before she can question me, I look into the basket again, where at least four kittens are piling on top of each other. Ian has a cat. A really pretty cat. Last time I spent the night with him I woke up to find that cat curled up next to me and purring like a happy motor box.

I’ve always liked animals.

Chapter 16

KATHRYN

Ian opens his door to find me holding a cat.

He promptly tries to close it again.

“Hey!” I whack my hand against the door and then squeeze through the tight opening, scoffing at his attitude. The cat in my arms wiggles, but I made sure to pick out the most docile one. A cute black and white female with what looks like a patch over her eye and a heart on her butt.

Awwww.

“What is that?”

I face him, cat prominently in my arms. “It’s a cat, dumbass. Thought maybe we could have a play date with our kitties.”

Sure enough, his cat perks up from the couch, stretching and pretending that it doesn’t care about the new feline intruder.

“I’m not sure if you’re crazy or just batshit.”

“Don’t worry, I didn’t get her for you.” I cuddle the kitty against my chin. At this very moment I have Anita out buying everything I need for a kitty. Beds. Bowls. Food and flea medicine. Brushes, Oh, and a litter box. And litter.

I’m very dedicated to this cat I surreptitiously plucked from another woman’s basket.

“What brought this on? I didn’t think you were into animals.”

Ian leans against his kitchen counter, drinking coffee. He’s dressed like he’s about to go out to a business meeting. It’s hot, but doesn’t scream “fuck me now” like his usual outfits do. In all honesty, I don’t get the vibe he’s in the mood. Fine with me. I’m only stopping by anyway.

“I like animals. Just because I didn’t have one before now…”

“All right, all right.”

My smile won’t get off my face. “Her name is Sinéad.”

“
Sinéad?
”

“What? At least you can pronounce this name. Unlike, uh…” His cat is draped along the back of the couch, waiting for me to fuck up its name.

Ian does not look amused. “Saoirse.”

“Seer-sha…”

A meow sounds in the not far-off distance.

“So let me get this straight.” He doesn’t offer me coffee. He doesn’t kiss me hello. This Ian Mathers is the one I’ve known for years, although there were no problems with me strolling in here like I belong here. “You randomly get a cat that looks like it could be related to mine… and also give it an Irish name.”

“I was inspired, okay?”

“Apparently.”

“You make it sound like I don’t know how to take care of a cat. I’ll have you know that my mother had tons of them while I was growing up. One even spent most of its time in my room when it got old. Okay, so I’ve never cleaned out a litter box before…” I see it, Ian. I see you grinning behind your coffee cup. “But I’ve got a cleaner to help me with that. I know how to feed and love on a kitty. Hey, I’ve put up with you before, haven’t I?”

“Har har. You’re so funny, Kathryn.”

“What’s gotten into you?”

He gestures his cup toward me. “Not pussy, that’s for sure.”

“Tasteful.”

“Fine. I suppose I’m annoyed because…”

“Kathryn!”

Oh, no.

I hear Caroline’s voice long before I see her out of the corner of my eye. There she is, the woman who used to look at me as an equal, if not a younger version of herself. Now here she is, her lip trembling as she looks between me and her son. Don’t do it, Caroline. You’re making my new fur-child squirm in my arms.

“Look at you two!” She struggles to do it, but somehow Caroline plants a hand on both of our shoulders. “Having a lover’s chat in such an intimate setting as this. Oh, Kathryn, you should come have dinner with Ian and me!”

“Kathryn was about to leave,” Ian says, putting down his coffee cup and shrugging his mother’s hand off him. “She’s got a long day tomorrow. Was just telling me that she has to go to bed early, but wanted me to see her new cat she got.”

Caroline looks at Sinéad. “It must be related to Saoirse! Look at these markings… oh, a little heart!”

She’s practically screeching. Caroline, the woman who is known to bust balls and take no prisoners in the board room if it means the advancement of her bottom line. She’s shrieking over a cat, because she’s somehow perceiving it as being a link between her son and me.

Dear Lord help me.

“He’s right, I really must be going.” I accept a kiss on my cheek, although Caroline is this close to squishing my kitty. “Sorry to have disrupted your night.”

I see myself out, grateful to have missed that onslaught. No wonder Ian was standoffish toward me. Any sign of affection caught by his mother? We’d both be dead from the Saccharin.

Sure enough, I get a text in the elevator.

“Sorry about that. Didn’t want her being even more annoying than she already is. The cat is cute. Look forward to seeing it at your place sometime. ;)”

Why am I so jittery? Why does the thought of Ian being in my apartment for a change make me want to pet the shit out of this cat?

“See you when we sign the papers and get the keys to The Grand. Better dress for business and pleasure. I hear the Andrews have quite the party planned for us afterward.”

Whatever we’re doing, his mother better not be there. Or his father. Or anyone with a vested interest in us getting it on every time we have a moment to ourselves.

Chapter 17

IAN

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,” Kathryn 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.”

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

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

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

There’s plenty of times to go to Gutterville tonight.

Every so often I see the Andrews’ Ferrari disappear around another curve. Ken 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 Kathryn, who is still pretending we’re not driving through “inclement conditions,” as she keeps calling 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 before, and I’m not sure I will tonight. It’s up to Kathryn.

Unfortunately, I’m seeing this as a date. I say unfortunately because Le Château is a sexually charged atmosphere. Let alone one focused on the thrills of BDSM. The Andrews 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 breasts.

You see, Le Château is nothing like The Dark Hour, although they both cater to rich people who like domination and submission. The Dark Hour is a club and all those trappings. It’s meant to be a place where you can go with a date or pick someone up. Maybe catch a demonstration. Get some drinks and come and go as you please.

Le Château is an experience.

Remember that TV show Fantasy Island? It’s kind of like that. This is a place you come to in order to feel like a king or a god. That’s because the owner and Madam, the very same Monica Graham I’ve seen around before, is a hardcore lifestyler with her submission. 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 he wants.

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 doe-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 girls are highly encouraged to have some sort of sex with you. Oral and handjobs galore.

Or if you’re lucky like me, you get to actually fuck a girl. Of course, she persuaded me to give her a very generous tip afterward. Naturally, I obliged. She deserved it.

“I’ve never been here before,” Kathryn 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 Château. It’s a huge mansion overlooking a private hillside. I don’t recall who used to own it, but since it was purchased by Monica and her benefactors, the whole place has been transformed into this fantasy world. They have valet parking, even though the front parking is rarely full. Especially not tonight. I think we’re the only guests here.

I pop out of my car as soon as it’s parked and help Kathryn 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 Andrews, 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 then Kathryn’s. The Andrews have the careful attentions 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.

Kathryn 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 Andrews’ mistress – whose name is Grace – offers us all 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 order a whisky.

Kathryn 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. She needs something hard to get through tonight.

I don’t notice the Andrews are glancing at us after I ordered for Kathryn. 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 Andrews tonight, but they’re not here every night, and it’s my understanding that these girls take on other clients on a casual basis. If friends happen to share the same girl, 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 Andrews for comfort.

“Relax, friends,” Ken says, leaning back and imploring his mistress to sit on the edge of his lap. Grace looks comfortable settling in there, her fingers going to Lana’s long hair and brushing it with careful attention. What a pair. “All drinks are on us.” He smiles. “Anything else is your own discretion.”