“If you can. If she resists, forward her number to me.”
When Kathryn returns, I’ve long since put my phone away. I’m still thinking about it, though. About that video locked deep in its vaults. I want to watch it again later tonight, this time picking up on every way in which my sweet Katie is actually a tough Kathryn in search of the perfect man to worship her.
I wake up alone. Or at least I confirm that I am alone in bed when I roll over and Ian is nowhere to be found. In the bathroom? Possibly. All I know is that it’s nine in the morning in France and I am boyfriendless.
Damn. I need to let my eyes focus before I run around making accusations like that. Because as soon as I rub the sleep from my eyes and sit up, I find Ian carrying a tray of breakfast in my direction.
“Good morning,” he says, placing the tray over my lap. The smell of croissant and eggs hit me in the face, and my stomach wakes up, begging me to eat. A bowl of melon slices and half an orange round out my unexpected meal. “I woke up early and thought I’d spoil you.”
“Spoil me, huh?” I sound like an old hag. After five rounds of clearing my throat, I pick up a fork and sneak a bite of eggs. Whoops. Stomach is now wondering why we’re not having a wake-up trip to the bathroom. Really? Food so soon? “Does it count as spoiling me when you didn’t even cook it?” Like I can’t tell what came from room service.
I move the tray so I can get up and go to the bathroom. Ian watches me, intrigued. “You don’t like it.” No disappointment. An observation.
“I’ll eat it when I get back.” I stop long enough to give him a thank you kiss to the cheek. “Did you eat?” Like a great girlfriend I leave the door open so I can holler at him from the toilet. What? You think he hasn’t seen me be super unladylike about a hundred times by now? You should pity me for walking in on him taking those long as hell man-pisses. I’ve seen everything his dick can do and then some. It’s real love.
“I ate.” His voice enters the bathroom and echoes around my head. “Thought you might like some breakfast too. And I am spoiling you. All day.”
“All day, huh?” After washing my hands I wander back into the room, hand lingering on his arm before heading to the tray on the bed. Before I can pick it up, however, Ian shoos me away and does it on my behalf. Well, then. “Any particular reason?”
I sit at the table by the window. Ian brings over the tray and places the dishes in front of me, like a waiter. “Because you’re a woman who deserves no less.”
He walks away. I’m left sitting at this table in my pajamas, wondering what the hell is going on.
Okay. What did he do? You can tell me. Something got fucked up, didn’t it? Something nasty on that blog? What are they saying? Is he trying to dissuade me from looking? It’s bad, isn’t it? Come on, tell me!
…I will take your silence with nothing but the utmost suspicion.
Breakfast is good. I don’t find anything foul on my phone. A few texts from Eva about nothing in particular. Nevertheless, I feel something strange in the air.
“What would you like to do today?” Ian sits across from me. His posture is relaxed. His voice is softer than usual. Why is he deferring to me like that? “What would you like to do.” Not “What should we do today?” We had no plans for today. “I may have to meet someone else for dinner, but I’m going to be with you all day before and after. You choose what we do.”
My eyes narrow in greater suspicion.
What! This isn’t like him. I’m weirded out.
“I don’t really care what we do,” I say.
“What would you do if you were alone in Paris?”
Find a way to not be alone is what I want to say. There are lounges around here for a woman of my predilections. Trust me. France is teeming with my kind of men. I could walk into any BDSM lounge on any night of the week and find me a match for the night. How good he would be is a big variable… but I would find one, and I would get laid the old-fashioned way for a Domme.
Even I surprise myself when my brain goes straight there. Curious.
“If I really didn’t have anyone to meet up with, I would probably do some sight-seeing or go shopping. I doubt you want to go shopping again, though.” Men, right? Some of them blow smoke up your ass and swear that they love shopping as much as you do. They’ll even carry your bags, the sweethearts! Then you go shopping, and within half an hour they’re dead from boredom and wondering when you’ll have sex.
“What’s wrong with shopping? You think I don’t have to find some souvenirs for my mother?” Ian clicks his tongue. “If I don’t bring her back a bag full of Parisian goodies, I’ll never hear the end of it. She’s annoyed enough that I haven’t proposed…”