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Yup. That’s what I feel like I’m walking into right now.

“Kathleen.” I don’t let my voice waver, but it’s struggling to not betray my reservations. “You look… intimidating.”

Her blue eyes drown in shadows. Yet the sparks I see emanating from their depths… kill me. “Intimidating? Why, thank you. Do sit down.”

I’d rather not, so I continue to stand before her. Standing is the only way I feel like I have any power right now. Kathleen is sucking it up like it’s her lifeblood.

“What can I do for you, Ira?”

This is so formal. This is so… not my Katie. The way she sits, the way she’s dressed, the way she looks at me… never mind the tone of her voice. This is the Kathleen I knew of years ago. The one I avoided for so long because she wasn’t like any woman I wanted to deal with. In fact, if I may say so…

Kathleen Allen is the type of Domme who scares the shit out of me.

The Dommes you imagine are the kind the media plays up. They wear lingerie and leather, maybe some steely boots, and walk around carrying whips while making their subs get down on their knees and God knows what. Kathleen isn’t that kind of Domme. She makes her love by dressing up like a hardcore businesswoman and taking no names. This is the type of woman who destroys a boardroom and then slaps another woman’s tits and calls her a slut.

All right, so some get off on that. Good for them. I’d rather not.

I fling my jacket over my arm, trying to look casual, like the Ira she wants to roll around in bed with. I don’t think it’s working.

“Business. I’m here for business.” I won’t press my luck with love.

Kathleen looks between me and something beneath her nails. Is that all I am to her? Lint? Dirt? “I heard on the grapevine that one of your father’s investors didn’t come through. Is that what you’re here about?” The sharp, icy look I get would make me shake in my boots if I were wearing any.

“You heard correctly. We’re in a bit of a pickle. My father asked… well, I thought… if you would be able to help out in any way.”

No one likes to grovel for money. And let’s be honest, no one likes to grovel to the woman they love for money. I would grovel to my mother first, but she’s been useless enough to not only deny us the funds but to go running to Kathleen – yeah, I don’t doubt it was her.

Kathleen’s demeanor does not falter. “You want money from me.”

“More like an investment…”

“Which is money, right?”

Her plucked eyebrows look like a witch’s. Whatever. Would still fuck her.

In fact, my mind is racing with images of me putting both hands on her, turning her over on this couch, and teaching her to think twice about acting this way toward me.

I don’t dare.

“Yes. Money tends to be the form for investments.”

Kathleen pulls her arms off the couch and sits up, elbows resting on knees and ankles pushed together. “It’s funny. I was talking to my accountant the other day. He told me that my forecast is so bright and sunny that I could retire and keep living my life the way I am… and barely see a dent by the time I die at eighty. Isn’t that something? I’m swimming in money. Fifteen million is barely a drop in my big, big bucket.”

“That’s good to hear…” Where’s the but?

She gets up, her body so alluring in her outfit that it’s taking me everything I know to not try to touch her. Why shouldn’t I? We’re dating, aren’t we? It’s fair game to touch her as I always have. To take her into my arms. To nibble on her ear and suggest we go to the bedroom and have a good time, even if it’s vanilla.

“I could give you the money. God knows my family has some stake in that place.” The way she slowly crosses her arms, creating a barrier between us, does not ease my nerves. “I don’t feel like it. That would be too easy for you.”

“Excuse me?”

She steps closer, her perfume so strong that I almost gag. “You always get your way, don’t you, Ira? Since the dawn of your life, you’ve never had to be more than the King, strutting around, taking what you want, and leaving people crying in your wake. How many women have you broken the hearts of? Half a dozen? More? I would like to know some of their names one day if you can remember them.”

Ouch.

“Yeah, you worked hard in school to qualify for the positions you have in your company, but let’s be real, nepotism was 75% of that perceived hard work. I worked twice as hard as you, at least. I’ve sweated more. I’ve taken bigger falls and more flack. For the love of God…” she shakes her head, clicking her tongue, “I’ve gotten on my knees in front of you, let you spank me, fuck my ass, and call me a fucking slut. Normally I would kill someone for doing that, but for some reason, you have also charmed me into letting you get away with whatever you want.”

I remain silent. Don’t feel like being killed, after all.