Page 30 of The Dommes

“Good night.”

For some reason, this exchange hasn’t made me feel better. If anything, I’m more anxious than ever. Because… well, you know. Ira and I had sex. Not just any sex. Really, really hot sex that nearly ate me alive and left her breathless afterward. I don’t care who you are. I don’t care if you’re the most hardened ice queen in the universe – emotionally, that is. If you have that kind of sex with a woman, it’s going to affect you. You’re going to treat her differently.

And this is Ira Mathison we’re talking about here. Someone who, even back when I first decided to sleep with her, is known for going through a lot of women. Quickly. That doesn’t mean she treats them with disrespect, of course. I have never heard about that, but it does mean that I’m no longer an interest to her. She’s conquered me. She knows what it’s like to fuck Kathleen Allen. She knows what my nipples look like and what I sound like coming from her special way of making love, and what it’s like to have my stupid horny pussy go nuts because she’s touching me. Fuck me. I am so stupid.

Excuse me while I try to finish my bath in peace. It’s going to be a long week, and I need all the relaxation I can get.

Chapter 13

Ira

Monday morning. Cloudy. Drizzly. Enough to make me carry an umbrella until I reach the building we’re still sequestered in this week. Naturally, I run into Kathleen in the elevator.

The operator hits the button for our suite and steps out again, the doors closing in front of us. Kathleen is fighting between looking relaxed and tensing up around me. I don’t blame her, but I wish she wouldn’t. It’s making me tense.

“Good morning,” I finally say, wrapping the plastic wrap around my umbrella as securely as possible. I text my assistant – who is in the building with me this week – to bring some coffee from my favorite café down the street. The coffee pot isn’t going to be enough today. “Have a nice weekend?”

Kathleen glances at me before looking at the mirror paneling. She’s very business. Heavy coat, minimal makeup, and silky blond hair pulled into her French twist. When she wears her hair like that, it makes her neck look longer, especially when there’s no jewelry there.

I briefly remember kissing that throat three days ago. How warm she had been. Her heart beating furiously as I rubbed her slit and parted it for… you know.

Great.

It’s eight in the morning, I haven’t been properly caffeinated yet, and I’m already getting aroused standing next to this woman. Please put me out of my misery.

“The weekend was fine,” she says. “I hear you had quite the garden party at your estate.”

The numbers tick away the floors as we pass them by. “Let me guess who told you that.”

“Not your mother. I haven’t seen her in a while.”

The idea of Kathleen and my mother conspiring about something makes me want to vomit. “The party was fine. You and your father’s absence were noticed.”

“We couldn’t make it. Sorry.”

Why is she sorry? Not like I missed her this weekend.

We arrive at our floor. The doors open. Vivian, my assistant, waits to ride down to get that coffee I asked for. Good mornings are exchanged. Kathleen walks ahead and hails her mousy assistant who cowers at her boss’s feet. If Kathleen Allen were the type to employ her lovers, I would assume she was in a kinky relationship with that poor girl. (Or would it be a lucky girl?)

Reaching the office space is a mistake… because right there, mocking me, is Lara Anderssen dressed in her tight red skirt and chiffon black blouse.

She’s stunning. She knows it. She smiles at me.

“Ira.” Her sweet voice chafes my ear. “I’m glad you’re here. There’s someone I want you and Kathleen to meet.”

The woman of the moment is behind me, and even though we face the one standing between us and our project, I still tense at Kathleen’s presence. Apparently, fucking her only made certain things worse. Who knew?

“And to what do we owe this pleasure, Lara?” I ask. “I thought that everything that needed to be said was exchanged yesterday?”

A woman I’ve never met turns around and stands in the office doorway. Tall. Self-assured. Older than my mother. She extends her hand with a fake smile. “Colleen Woodrow,” she introduces herself. “You must be Ira Mathison.”

The way she looks at me says she damn well knows me. Probably from tabloid trash.

We shake hands. Kathleen introduces herself next, and Colleen Woodrow is as inexplicably cool to her.

The same registers in my head. After what Lara said yesterday, I went home and researched the council. I was going to have to do it anyway, but that was a perfect impetus.

Colleen Woodrow is the co-chair of the council. A big deal when you consider she had to be voted into the position. One of those positions you never think about because you’re too busy deciding on who you want to be mayor or governor. But no, at some point in my life, I probably checked the box saying that I voted for Mrs. Woodrow. Now I’m going to regret it.

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