Dom Vs: Domme: The Deluxe Trilogy: A Billionaire Romance (Dom Vs. Domme Book 0) (11 page)

My climax comes so swiftly that I barely have time to enjoy its arrival… but boy do I enjoy its
stay.
So long, so drawn out, my toes tingling in my heels that tap against the wall with every thrust. I’m so aware of my breasts, of the air tickling my nipples. Every nerve in my body is alive, and on
fire.
The burn spreads through me, like a radiation of warmth, and halfway through my orgasm I’m coaxing my muscles to massage this man’s cock.

I look into his eyes, my moan absolutely shameless.

“Fucking come for me,” he growls, his voice tired, but his body unrelenting. “Come for me, Katie. Do it for me.”

I am, Ian. You’ve got me so trapped that I have no choice but to swallow your cock inside of me and wait for you to…

…To…

The world blackens as I close my eyes, my orgasm subsiding but Ian taking me to a new level. He’s not stopping. I’ve come, but he’s still fucking me, everything so wet and slick now that it’s almost embarrassing how easily he pummels into me. My orgasm has subsided, and yet here comes another, quicker, dirtier one, threatening to make me whine, to make me
beg.

I don’t beg.

I swear I don’t.

“Make me come!” I’m begging anyway, his speed so intense that my voice shakes. “I wanna come with you!”

One loud grunt fills the air. His thick cock is still tearing me in two. Another grunt. He’s pulling all the way out and then heaving back into me again. I’m so wide, so fucking cavernous that every time he leaves me I’m begging for him to fill me again.

Another orgasm. A smaller one, but still intense. My voice is so loud in this room that I know someone can hear me. Fuck, I don’t care. I open my eyes again and see Ian above me, his third and final grunt claiming the last of my sanity.

His cock impales me and swells. His thrusts are still strong, still fast, but so much shallower now. Ian wants to be buried in there. He needs me to tell him it’s okay to come.

“Do it,” I plead, although I keep my tone steady. “I’m ready.”

My G-spot lets me come a final time. Harder again. Ripping from my gut to my extremities, and taking my brain with it.

“
Kathryn!”

Pulses of pleasure claim the both of us, my mind reeling from the sound of him in my ear. He’s groaning so loudly, drowning me out, his cock emptying. I can’t really feel it because of the condom, but that’s more than okay. Ian’s face is utter ecstasy as he finally, after twelve long fucking years, finishes inside of me.

He holds me there. My legs are so sore, so spread. My arms fall lax around his shoulders. I lean against him, my breaths beating into his chest.

Slowly, he pulls out of me and eases my legs onto the floor. They hurt. I can’t walk. I can barely stand, so I slip down onto the floor, my body so weary from sex that all I want to do is roll over and sleep on the carpet.

Ian joins me. He draws his knees up as he leans against the wall he fucked me on. He’s looking up toward the ceiling, but his eyes are closed. My head falls against his shoulder. My bun has come undone and my hair is spilling everywhere.

My panties are soaked from me alone. I clench my pants, but can’t bring myself to put them on. Instead I let it all spill out of me, my stretched opening incapable of holding in
anything
right now. As I relax, it finally closes. I can’t believe how much he managed to open me up.

In more ways than one.

“Well…” Ian begins, tapping his head against the wall. “We got that out of our systems.”

I both know what he means and not at all. Not at fucking all.

“Ian.” I bump my hand against his leg and wait for him to acknowledge me. “There’s something that I need to tell you.”

He eyes me suspiciously. I’m sure this isn’t how he wants to savor whatever afterglow we have.

“A week ago, when we were at The Dark Hour…”

Ian snorts and looks away again. “That was fun, having you watch me.”

“Yeah, about that.” My fingers linger on his leg. I wait for him to curl our hands together again, but he doesn’t. “I was in the room next to you guys. I… I heard everything.”

He’s silent for a long time, and at first I wonder if he didn’t hear me. Might be best that way. Somehow I can’t believe that I shared that at all. Then again, what? Was I going to take it to my grave? That I heard him say my name on accident during sex with another woman?

“Is that so?”

His voice is noncommittal. Probably because the man just had an intense orgasm and is now shutting down. “Why did that happen?”

“You’re seriously asking me that?”

“Yeah.”

Ian’s leg moves away from my touch. His hand goes to his cock and removes the used condom. “Why do you think it happened?” He reaches for a tissue on Anita’s desk and wraps it around the condom. The trash can is on the other side of the room, not that I want him to throw it away in
here.
Bathroom, Ian. Take it to the bathroom.

I pull my legs up and wrap my arms around them. It feels weird having my body all to myself again. It feels even weirder saying that. “Because you wanted me?”

He’s staring at his crotch, but I don’t think it’s his limping dick he’s considering. “Would it freak you out if I said I was imagining that you were Stephanie May?”

“Freak me out? No. Although you might want to get your eyes checked. She’s way hotter than me.” Skinnier, for one.

“Don’t sell yourself short. You’re gorgeous.”

Ian says it so smoothly that it’s like he doesn’t even realize he’s saying it. Nevertheless, I gaze at him, his profile striking in the shadows. I smooth down some of his five-o-clock shadow with my fingers and thank him.

“Kiss me.”

He does, lips fervent but gentle. I let mine linger on his until he pulls away, my hair gliding on his fingers.

I know we’re not going to have sex again. A part of me wants to savor this as long as possible. Why? I don’t know. It’s not like he and I will ever… that we
could
ever…

It wouldn’t work out.

Ian gets up, hands fumbling to put himself away and zip up his pants. He leaves his shirt untucked. It doesn’t matter this late at night. ‘”I think I’m gonna head out. Stop by the bathroom first. You know…”

“Uh huh.” I follow him out of the office as soon as I put myself respectably back together. We go our separate ways down the hall, the scent of lavender smacking me in the face when I enter the women’s restroom.

I look at myself in the large mirror above the sinks. My hair is completely disheveled. My tits are still hanging out of my blouse. Navy blue cotton hugs my ass, but is all disjointed in the front. I look like a woman who has just been fucked.

While I fix my clothes, I leave my hair. Who cares?

And why should I care that the office is empty when I get back, Ian’s belongings gone, like him?

Chapter 12

IAN

The day is beautiful. Just the right temperature, enough clouds to keep me from burning in my light cotton clothes, and so little humidity that I don’t have to worry about sweating in front of the hundreds of guests my father has invited to my natal home.

Once every three months, Dominic Mathers throws the biggest party around. Sometimes he has to skip one, but he doesn’t like to do so. You see, these parties put up the front that it’s all about unwinding from the hard world of business or whatever the hell people do, but in reality, the people he invites are either his investors, or people he’s looking to court
as
investors.

At least my father has the greatest party planning assistant on this good green Earth. The woman knows how to throw a party, even if I want to do anything but be here half the time.

The theme this season is “country club in white.” All the guests were told to show up in their best white apparel, because it’s after Memorial Day, don’t you know? I am wearing a loose cotton shirt tucked into khaki pants, because that’s what my assistant Valerie told me looks best for this type of shindig. Most of the others are dressed in white dresses – with hints of other colors and patterns – white suits, or some hodgepodge of pastels, blacks, and even gray. Depends on how quickly they made the decision to show up.

My family’s home has a sprawling field in the back. Most of the other families in the area concentrate on landscaping to the point they have elaborate flower gardens like Ethan Cole or hedge mazes like in the Château a ways from here. My father had the opposite tastes. For all his wealth, he’s a minimalistic type of man. Of course, when I was a young snot with too much energy, I thought the big rambling field tucked between old growth forests was the best thing in the world. I’d make my mother and nanny have their picnic lunches out there during the summer so I could build forts with cut grass and twigs I dragged in from the forest.

That was fun until I hit puberty earlier than most boys. Then I was two feet taller, covered in muscles and hair, and had a raging hard-on for every girl who wasn’t my mother or nanny – she was an older German woman named Mildred, okay?

Now my father uses this field to host his outdoor parties. Complete with elaborate croquet courses for groups of seven or eight to play while we wait for the catering to come through with sandwiches and other finger foods.

“It’s your turn, dear,” my mother says, tapping her mallet into the ground. “And please make an interesting play. I’m dying of boredom here.”

My mother hated these parties when she was married to my father, and she hates them even more now that she actually has to travel to attend them. She has her ways of getting back, however, Like wearing black to a white-only party.

I line up my shot and carefully hit the ball. I barely miss the one I was aiming for, and will now wait until my next invigorating turn. My brain is probably about half as melted as my mother’s. When it comes to these sorts of functions, I get all of my personality from her.

“So how’s the project coming along?” We’re standing off to the side while two old ladies fat with west-coast money squabble over whose ball is whose. “Your father says that the Andrews paid a visit to you and Kathryn on Friday.”

I’m lucky it’s not my turn, because I’ve done a bang-up job forgetting about Kathryn and Friday. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t regret driving my cock into her and feeling her body writhe between mine and the wall. If we didn’t do it, I would have exploded. Again. Like I did twelve years –
damnit stop thinking about that.

But I didn’t explode anywhere but inside her this time. And hell, it was damn good.

Ahem.

“It’s fine.” Sweat fogs up my sunglasses, and I don’t know why I’m perspiring all of a sudden. Didn’t start until my mother mentioned Kathryn. Aw, fuck.

“Uh huh.” My mother clears her throat. “I’m surprised the Alisons aren’t here today. I would think your father would invite them after the Andrews.”

The star couple is schmoozing near the buffet table. Lana Andrews, dressed in a stunning white summer dress that accentuates her figure while still covering her up, puts her hand on everyone’s shoulder and bats her eyelashes at them – including the women. Some of them flirt back with her, which makes husband Ken smirk in arousal. Sure, he’s got it contained in his pants, but a man knows when another is salivating over his wife making nice with beautiful women. Knowing what I do about the Andrews’ personal lives? None of these people stand a chance. They’re all going to bed.

Yet I can’t help but laugh when I see the latest target is one of the heads of the community council. Well, if they’re going to use their swinger powers for good…

“The Alisons couldn’t make it,” I say. “They had something else planned.”

“Pity. I haven’t seen Kathryn in a while.”

For some reason, that makes me flinch.

“You two used to date, right?”

I turn around, facing my mother for the first time in five minutes. I half expect to see her smiling at me in that teasing way. Instead she’s looking as if she’s actually searching her brain for the right answer. Seriously?

“No. We have never dated.” My mallet is digging into the earth, creating a fun divot for someone to fix later. “You must be thinking of another blonde.”

“No… no, I clearly remember it being Kathryn Alison at that gala all those years ago.”

Play it cool, man. What the fuck does your mother know about the
gala?
“Remember it being her for what, exactly?” Don’t act like you know what she’s talking about. Play it
cool.

Now she’s smiling at me, and I know I’m in trouble. “The one who was making eyes with you all day. Don’t play innocent, Ian. A mother knows when her son is… doing that.”
What is she implying? She usually doesn’t bring up any relationships I don’t make her privy to or don’t show up in the papers. And why now? Why would she bring this up
now?
“Perhaps so. That was a long time ago. I don’t really remember.”

“Oh, son, I would think you remember that.”

“You’d be mistaken.”