Page 77 of The Dommes

Ah, her excuse for today.

The folder flips open, and I look at a page full of signatures. Fresh ones. These weren’t signed electronically and then emailed to Annie. These look like she went around gathering the signatures of the community council members, as well as signatures from the community themselves.

It was the Anderssens’ idea to get these signatures of approval and display them in the front window during construction. There was blowback in the press after we were granted the go-ahead to renovate The Ace into its former glory. People are worried about gentrification. While we perfectly are within legal rights to do what we want with this property, we can’t overlook how important it is to have the neighbors’ blessing. Hence our desire to play nice and to get these stupid signatures.

When five seconds ago I was about to vent my displeasure for her tardiness, I can’t help but sigh in relief. “Good work. Thanks.”

“What have I missed?”

“Besides me almost dying?” I point to the worker cleaning up the fallen debris. “Nothing. We’re taking a tour of what’s being demolished. Some walls, mostly.” Now I look up at the hole above me that two people are trying to desperately cover up. “And whatever’s going on up there. I’m guessing someone is about to get fired.”

Kathleen shuffles between me and the debris. “Isn’t that supposed to be a conference room?”

Damn, she’s more on top of things than I am. She must spend her free time studying the blueprints and 3D models. Meanwhile, I barely know where the ballroom’s going. Thinking about it… is this the ballroom? Can’t tell when everything’s been stripped bare and there are sheets everywhere. Dirty sheets. Disgusting.

“Careful.” I take her by the hand before she trips over a tiny pile of rubble. “Don’t need you in the hospital.”

She’s about to scoff at me, but we’re both looking at our clasped hands. Katie blushes. I’m clearing my throat and trying to keep the blood from rushing to my loins. It’s not working.

Kathleen snatches her hand away. “Thanks.”

Before she can disappear from me, I tap her arm and lean in, whispering. “We need to talk.”

“Now?”

I roll my eyes, dramatically, making sure everyone around us doesn’t mistake this sudden intimacy for anything more than me berating a coworker. “Obviously not. Let’s talk over lunch. You got plans?”

“Well, I was going to take Annie out to lunch for putting up with me today, but…”

“Find a way to ditch her. We need privacy.”

“All right.”

She’s shaking by the time I check in with the designer in charge. Not sure why Katie’s shaking. Do I intimidate her? How?

It’s been a week and a half since she asked me to train her. Well, she didn’t ask me to be her Domme, but she definitely asked me to help her explore her latent submissive side.

Ah, Katie, you don’t know what you’re walking into.

Since so many days have passed, it’s pertinent that we find an hour or two to talk. Because in those several days, we’ve either been non-stop working or out of town on various ventures. And no, we weren’t out of town together. We haven’t spoken of what’s happening at all. I’ve barely texted her, and when I have, it’s been nothing but work.

I need to know that we’re still on the same page.

A week and a half is a lot of time for a woman to change her mind. Multiple times. Who knows what Katie’s thinking?

See, I have time off this weekend. I’m pretty sure she does too. We could do something…

I spend the rest of the morning with my mind torn between sex and work. When a contractor shows me a blueprint, I struggle to think of anything but the way Kathleen looks with her legs and ass presented so well in that skirt. Would it be inappropriate for me to drag her off somewhere private and fuck her against a table? She likes it when I do that.

It’s an hour to lunch when she walks by with both assistants, her perfume overpowering theirs, her hair all tucked up nicely in its usual twist and glistening in the sunshine pouring through a nearby window. It makes her hair look even more golden. I hate it. So distracting.

The back of her neck begs to be kissed. Her breasts? They want me to squeeze them, to pinch her nipples through her blouse. I hate what she does to me. Sure, there have been plenty of women who get me riled up every time I look at them, but this is Kathleen Allen. She’s one of the few women who has seen me at my most vulnerable – and most embarrassing – during sex. Almost nobody sees that.

She’s driving me crazy. I’m not even thinking of dominating her. I’m thinking of straight-up sex to get us both off.

Do you think she’s thinking about me? Or is the girl talk with the assistants just that?

At noon, she slips her assistant a twenty and heads my way, ignoring Annie’s protests. So, that’s how she’s paying for her assistant’s lunch? Vivian long learned to let me pay for all meals. Annie still has some pride in that regard.

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