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I’m under no delusion that sex will happen again. I don’t think I’ll say no, but it’s up to Kathleen, and I don’t see her jumping my bones again.

But… shit. Let me tell you. I went home Friday night, tired and ready for a shower and bed. So that’s what I did. I then promptly dreamed about tying that woman’s smooth arms above her head and tickling her nipples with the tip of a riding crop. Her ass was bigger in my dream, and there I was, spanking her and listening to her whimper in between shouts of pleasure…

…Begging me to spank her some more, to spread her open and have my fill of her…

…Just fuck me, all right? I do not want things that will for sure never happen.

“Kathleen’s been so busy working on the project that she hasn’t even had time to return my calls,” Eve says with a taut mouth. “And I’m in grad school.”

“Oh, how is that going? Must be so exciting.”

“It’s fine. Helen says that during my break later this year, I should start heading a small subsidiary she’s setting up. Jewelry. Good enough to get any girl’s feet wet, I suppose.”

“Speaking of your sister, how’s she doing?”

Eve gestures behind Lara. We glance in that direction, catching sight of the tallest Warner sibling gliding through a small crowd, wearing a white-brimmed hat and a smart dress made of crisp whites and pale browns. My father’s courting her to be a major investor in another project, which explains why Eve’s here tagging along with her sister.

What isn’t immediately apparent is the woman attached to Helen’s hip, a petite feminine beauty with curly dark locks and a white gown that drapes on her thin limbs so she looks like a beautiful, lost ghost. Well, a happy one, because Monique Grant can’t stop smiling whenever someone speaks to her.

I don’t know much about her. Just that she’s engaged to Helen Warner and runs the Manoir people go to when they need something a bit more private and fantastical than even Midnight. Rumor has it that’s where they met. A tramp, that Helen.

Oh, and they put on quite the BDSM show. Don’t ask me how I know. Not in front of Eve, anyway. She vomits anytime someone in our lifestyle brings it up. Oh, and don’t bring it up in front of the Anderssens. That’ll give them ideas, and they’ll be directed toward me right now. You’re beautiful, Lara, and I’m sure you’ll sub for me for a night, but I’m not super interested in your spouse watching. Or involving herself. I’m dreadfully dominant to the point of being no fun for you two. Another thing Eve and I can commiserate on right now, because you keep leering at her, Lara.

“What an intriguing couple,” Lara mutters, and I can’t tell if she’s being sarcastic. She won’t say anything, though. Not in front of us. That’s Eve’s family. And we both know what a damned hypocrite she’ll be since the Manoir is where the Anderssens have their mistress.

“It’s going to be the wedding of the year.” Eve’s droll voice cuts between us. “Whips and chains instead of party streamers. Everyone in latex. Ball gags for everyone who doesn’t compliment the bride.”

We both know she’s joking, but neither Lara nor I laugh. Eve soon excuses herself, leaving me with one of the most relentless women in either business or pleasure.

“Before you go along your way, Ira,” Lara begins, touching her fingers to my shoulder. “A friendly reminder that Kennedy and I are so looking forward to wiping our hands of The Ace. Bit of a bother, that building is. The taxes alone… but I digress.” Her sneer for the situation does not give me confidence. “What I’m trying to say is that you need to make sure Kathleen has her shit together. You may not be her keeper, but if you and your father want any chance of getting that building from us, then you had best make sure that Kathleen Allen doesn’t botch up your presentation. It’s bad enough that we let her get away with screwing up once. We won’t stand for it again.”

Those are her parting words to me before she goes off to make nice with Helen Warner and her blushing fiancée. I’m left by the damned bar with half my drink warming in my hand. I don’t care. I finish it off in one gulp.

If no one else talks to me about Kathleen today, I can die happy. Because I am so tired of hearing that name, even if I’m incapable of saying anyone’s name but hers.

Chapter 12

Kathleen

It’s four on a sunny Sunday afternoon. I’m in my apartment, enjoying the breeze through my open window as I curl up on my couch and drink hot tea. Green. Just the right temperature.

Sure, I’ve got work crap sprawled across my lap. And sure, I’m watching the same movies I always watch on my days off. If you can call this that. I mean, I am working.

Yet everything feels so peaceful that I’m about to fall asleep on my couch with this mug of hot tea in my hand, and I don’t caaaare.

I’ve been in this state ever since Friday night. Have you ever been so sexually satisfied that everything inside your body – and mind – has recalibrated, refocused your perspective, and is now so at peace that you can barely even stand yourself? That’s me right now.

It’s been a helluva long time since I last felt this way after sex. Let alone two days after. Usually by now, I’m antsy again. Enough to curl up in bed with my plastic partner and take a tour of a masturbatory world. Nope. I don’t even want to do that. In fact, I am so satisfied that the mere thought of having sex again is abhorrent.

Until I think about the way Ira slammed me against the wall, anyway. Or I think about how she sounded when she had me. Touched me. Kept going even after I came God knew how many times. Okay, so maybe I could have sex again. With Ira.

I laugh, because that’s stupid. We had sex because, clearly, we needed it. Not just because we’re two younger people with hormones raging in our 20s, but because it’s something we’ve both thought about over the years. Now we know. Now we can move on.

I’ll probably be ready to play by this weekend, after the public presentation. I’ll go to Midnight and find Ms. Beautiful again. This time I’ll finish the job. All over her.

Cackling, I drink my tea and look over my notes for the presentation.

My phone buzzes. Someone is texting me. I already know who.