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She’s kidding. Asking more of me? Hasn’t she asked enough already? This whole relationship has been her asking things of me!

“All right. I’ll bite. What is it you want from me?”

Ira’s eyes burn into mine. Now I can’t look away. I’m stuck with carrots in my teeth, but I don’t pick them out in front of her. Perhaps if this were a regular date. One where I could covertly cover my mouth with the handkerchief and pick until my teeth were sparkly clean. Holy shit, I do not dare. I cannot compromise my demeanor. I cannot be any less than Perfect Kathleen Allen, the woman who can go toe-to-toe with Ira Mathison.

I’ve been that woman before, and I will continue to be her.

Yet… shit, look at her. She wants to eat me alive. She wants to devour me, consume me, suck the soul right from my body, and hold onto it for all eternity. She would, too. I’ve had plenty of sex with her now to know that she would do that if she was in the mood.

The sub in me – Katie, let’s call her – wants that to happen. She wants to blush, smile, giggle, and get ready for a night of being whisked away into a hot BDSM fantasy.

Kathleen is squishing her down for now. There is no room for sub Katie in this discussion. Sub Katie is great at getting Kathleen in trouble and derailing the original subject. So, fuck Katie. Not literally, Ira.

“There’s only one last thing I want from you.” Ira’s voice is laced with controlled desire. The shivers I sense can get the hell out. “I want the world to know that you submit to me.”

I pick up my wine glasses and sample a taste. It beats looking her in the eye… plus, I get alcohol. Because what she suggested is from another planet.

Me. Being publicly declared her sub.

“Before you twist the lacy panties I’m sure you’re wearing, I’ll remind you that Dommes have debuted as subs before with no repercussions.” I’m gonna reach across this table and slap the smug right off her face. “Remember Heidi? She was in a relationship with that sub for years. After they broke up, she fell in with Jay Spader, the West Coast Dom. Her debut as his sub was… enchanting. The man was the envy of every other dominant in the club that night.”

“Of course I remember dear Heidi,” I say sweetly. “She used to be a friend of mine.”

“Before she moved out west with Jay?”

I butter a biscuit and pick off a flake. “Before she turned traitor.”

The silence falling between us could slaughter an army.

Heidi used to be a friend of mine, years ago. She partied in my circle of Dommes while she dated that sub. Nobody ever pegged her as a switch, since sometimes that comes out after a few drinks or it’s given freely. Like I’ve said before, nobody gives a shit if a Domme also switches with the right partners. Being a Domme is a lifestyle, but it’s also intrinsic to our personalities. As Ira has shown me, however, sometimes we want to let go of control too.

No, what happened was she started dating Jay Spader out of nowhere. Everyone knew he was a hardcore Dom. More hardcore than Ira. That man wanted a life of domination and submission. Normally, we wouldn’t bat an eyelash, but the fact Heidi volunteered to be his Monique Grant sent more than a few ripples in the group of Dommes I know.

I don’t go into these details with Ira, however. She needs to understand what I’m possibly giving up. Like a social life. Business dealings.

For what? Love? How much do I really love her?

“Your apprehension is noted,” Ira says. “Don’t get me wrong, Kathleen. I would want to do it right. I want to debut you properly as my permanent sub.”

“Your permanent sub… you may have opened a little black box and asked me to marry you, but instead of a ring, it’s a tangle of thorns.”

“I mean my permanent sub in the sense that you’re the only woman I Top, not that you’re a full-time sub now. Please, I know how much you’ve enjoyed our times together.”

I purse my lips. “That’s neither here nor there. I wouldn’t have kept up my training if I didn’t enjoy it.” Before she can interrupt, I continue, “You’re asking me to dedicate my life to being a switch. What are you giving me in return?”

Don’t let her know how much you want that, Kathleen. Don’t let her see your knees shaking and your loins aching to have her fuck you, hard and rough, her hand pulling your hair and her mouth telling you what you are.

Hers.

“I’ll give you a night, Kathleen.” Her hands fold on the table. Is she even eating anything tonight? “A night of me doing whatever you want. You want me on my knees like I’ve had you on your knees? Fine. One night. That night will give you the bragging rights of being the only person in this world who will ever Top this Domme.”

It should be music to my ears. It isn’t.

“That’s not good enough.” I drop my utensils, my handkerchief, half of my honor. “I’m not taking some half-hearted sub to bed, Ira Mathison.” The chair screeches as I stand, forcing her to behold my form in candlelight. I am a goddess. She is a mere kid. She should be quaking in her leather shoes to be in my presence, fighting with this table to get to me and begging my feet to worship who I am.

“Fine. I’ll give you bragging rights,” doesn’t come anywhere close.

“If you want me to give myself to you, Mathison, then you need to fully give yourself to me. Not just your body, but your cold, ragged little heart. Oh, and that deliciously pitiful ego of yours. I am going to devour it.”