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“Approach your relationship like a business transaction. Make her pay for what you both want."

Chapter 72

Ira

“What are you talking about?” I ask the doorman in Katie’s apartment building. “I’ve never had to check in before.”

“Sorry, Ms. Mathison.” The man, a short gentleman with dyed black hair and wiry glasses, tips his hat to me and writes something down with a gloved hand. “Ms. Allen has requested that all guests be checked in and admitted.”

“She’s expecting me.”

“Even so, I must ring her up first.” He picks up a silver phone and holds a finger up to me. “One moment please.”

So here I am, standing in the lobby of Kathleen’s building, watching well-to-do people come and go as I stand off to the side of this desk and wonder what the hell I’ve done this time to be banned from her home. I have a hard time believing she’s blocking out everyone…

Wait, she is, you say? Bullshit!

“Ms. Allen says you may enter.” The doorman gestures to the elevator, where an operator also tips his hat and holds the door open for me. “Have a good evening, Ms. Mathison.”

I was hoping for a good evening before this happened. Sure, I’m here to ask Katie for money on behalf of my family. But I was also hoping we could… you know…

Wine. Dine. Make love. Except if she’s blocking me from coming up to see her…

I text her on the ride up in the elevator. When I don’t get a response, I try not to panic. The doors open. I step out into the quiet hallway and walk straight to her door.

It’s open.

The average person would assume something was wrong. Terribly wrong. The average dumbass would panic that someone broke into Kathleen’s home and is holding her prisoner somewhere for a sweet reward.

I’m not the average dumbass-person.

First of all, I hear music. Soft, powerful music comes in the form of string instruments over a stereo. The kind of music that plays when we’re trying to focus on something important. Like work. I’ve heard Kathleen play this music on her computer when we did our projects.

Second, I smell her spicier perfume. Not the kind she wore on our dates.

Next, as I step into the apartment, I find myself surrounded by candles. Most of them electric, but some of them real and emitting scents I didn’t know were possible.

Finally, I see her.

The door latches shut behind me as I step into Kathleen Allen’s domain. This isn’t Katie dressed in sweats and a T-shirt. She’s not even wearing a skintight dress. Nope.

She’s wearing a tailored pantsuit, sitting in the middle of her couch, legs crossed and arms spread behind her. Many times have I pulled that ponytail sticking out on top of her head. But it’s covered in black wires, her dark eye makeup searing into my soul as she curls her red lips into a man-eating smile.

Uh-oh.

“Good evening,” she says with a tight voice. One leg uncurls from the other, revealing her leather boots. She’s worn those boots while submitting to me. She also wears them to the club as a Domme.

Uh-oh.

If I were a captain of a ship, attempting to come into port in my hometown, I would probably start worrying. Okay, not worrying. Panicking. Imagine coming up on deck, expecting to see the sleepy docks and the people that inhabit them. Maybe it’s rainy or foggy, but everything is as you left it.

Except it’s not.

Soldiers stand on the dock. Your country’s soldiers, but they’re not supposed to be there, especially not in that large of numbers. They’re all armed to the teeth. Guns are aimed at you. Canons point in the direction of your ship. Your first reaction is to man your decks, but you’re afraid that will come off as too aggressive, and you’ll be set on fire before you have the chance to anchor at the dock and kiss your wife hello for the first time in months.

You’re pretty sure you’re going to die, just not sure for what reason and how quickly. At the very least, you’re being arrested.

Handcuffed. Strung up. Flogged.