Page 36 of The Dommes

Vivian has set up my presentation for me. All I have to do is connect with my inner public speaker and remind these people that my family are some of the biggest hospitality masters in the business. We’re not targeting The Ace for shits and giggles or to prove to the world what big shots we are. We know how good we are. There’s a reason we have the highest collective revenue out of any other hospitality holding company in the region. We win the biggest awards in the world. Our hotels are the fucking best and we know it.

The design firm has done a remarkable job making our visions come to life. They’re blown up ten times the usual size so the audience can see the careful attention to historical accuracy and detail. We fully intend to make the hotel look like it came out of 1885. Even the uniforms we’ve picked out for the staff harken to that time.

“Staying true to the original vision of Humphrey Livingston is important to all of us at Mathison & Co.” I pause for effect, hoping it’s sinking in. The council is paying close attention, and neither of the Anderssens have frowned. Even my parents look quite pleased with my ability to keep the audience placated. “Unfortunately, some things must be replaced due to safety and environmental concerns, but we fully intend to replace them with better models that have the aesthetic of those faraway days. When you walk into the newly renovated Ace, you’ll be walking into the past.” Vivian unveils another photo showing a ball from 1896. She did a bang-up job dragging that out of the local archives.

It takes forty-five minutes for me to get through my spiel. You can’t tell from looking at me, but by the end, I’m ready to collapse in my chair and let Kathleen take over. It’s hard business standing on your feet for that long and be charming with minimal breaths and sips of water. Still, that’s why I do this and my father doesn’t.

“Thank you for your consideration,” I say, and receive a polite round of applause. “I would like to turn it over to our family’s partner, Kathleen Allen, head of cultural preservation.”

She stands, resolute, a far cry from the disorganized woman she was two weeks ago. Lara Anderssen heaves a sigh of relief as Kathleen’s presentation starts without a hitch.

Five minutes in, I realize she’s out for blood.

This isn’t my Katie, the wolfish woman who bites her prey before howling like a lustful queen when pinned against a wall. This is Kathleen Fucking Allen, the woman who singlehandedly saved an entire library system by the grace of her own will. This is the woman who flipped off every person – in her family and outside of it – who told her that she should get married and focus on being a businessman’s wife. You think I never heard about that? It runs rampant in our world, and my mother has always ranted about it. She’s sitting there now, beaming in pride for Kathleen more than she did for me. I don’t take it personally.

Wearing that peplum top, pencil skirt, hair bun, and glasses, Kathleen looks like a stately dean, like the kind who teaches at Oxford, Harvard, pick an elite university. She’s passionate enough to be one of those. Right now, she’s standing in front of the council, vehemently telling them that the current state of museums is a sorry excuse for educational institutions. She’s done her homework. Even I didn’t know that the one museum in the area hasn’t had an update of any kind in the past seven years. She’ll probably try to change that too.

“This heritage museum isn’t an ego stroke for our families,” she declares, slapping her pointer against a picture on an easel. “It’s about the legacy of every family in this area, going back to the first settlers in 1645. Some of those families aren’t around anymore. That’s unfortunate, but that doesn’t mean they have to be forgotten. Take, for instance, the Lovejoys, who opened the first modern post office across the street from where The Ace is now. Nobody by the name of Lovejoy exists in the area now – I know, because I checked the Census. But we all know who they were. It’s those types of people we want to immortalize in the museum that will be going in the South Wing of the newly renovated Ace.”

I’m woefully uneducated on what kind of stuff is going on in the museum part. I’ve been so consumed with the renovations and turning it back into a thriving business instead of an abandoned building. Well, with that and the fact that every time Kathleen looks in my direction, her pencil skirt hugging her ass and her peplum top accentuating her hips and breasts… fuck me, she’s so damned hot.

Maybe I’ve got a thing for the naughty schoolteacher. Which is funny, because I’m the kind who usually doesn’t go for that. Too domineering. Then again, Kathleen is a Domme and a damn good one from what I hear.

I suppose it’s okay to find that hot. Doesn’t mean I want her Topping me. It only means I can appreciate a woman carrying a stiff pointer and slamming it against everything around her.

Those glasses making her look so serious.

That business-like hairdo that I’ve already had the pleasure of undoing mid-coitus.

Those shoes, low to the ground for comfort, but still so feminine.

That ass, begging me to hold it, squeeze it, feel it flex in my hands.

Those beautiful pink lips that kiss so good and probably feel better between the legs.

You don’t understand. I barely understand how much I want to make her mine.

All the people around me disappear as I sit behind a table and watch the way she moves, gliding from one side of the hall to the other, her voice carrying, echoing so everyone can hear her power. Her confidence is intoxicating. I’ve seen a lot of people who were so full of themselves that you wanted to go up to them in the middle of their presentations and punch them right in the face. You don’t feel that way with Kathleen. Instead, you’re enthralled. I can now see why she steamrolled that grant and accomplished anything else she set out to do.

See? I knew she had it in her.

What I didn’t see was how turned on I would be by the whole thing.

I’m not packing anything with the potential for embarrassment, but I’m wishing I were. Yeah, last thing I need is standing up and letting the whole community know what I like to do in private. Anyone with half a brain will know that Kathleen is behind it, too. Our parents are here. I need to have some damned dignity.

If I have any left.

It’s getting harder to convince myself that I’m not insanely attracted to Kathleen Allen. I honestly thought that having sex would be like getting those emotions out of the way. All right, I did that. I now know what it’s like to feel her come. Got it out of my system. Time to move on my merry way and find the next woman I want to take for a spin.

Except both my mind and my body have other ideas.

Kathleen finishes her speech, imploring the council to consider setting up the museum first, as it can benefit the entire community. Too bad it won’t make us back our investment faster. That’s what the hotel is for. But I’m not going to say anything.

I’m too busy staring at her chest anyway.

Applause thunders in my head before I know what else is going on. I snap back to attention and see Kathleen sitting down next to me, her perfume reminding me of what it was like to bury my face in her throat. She closes her folders, suppressing a grin.

I should congratulate her on such a fine job. By all accounts, everyone is chatting about what the Allen museum will bring to the community. I feel like a philanthropist by proxy.

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