Page 4

Billionaires in Paris Cynthia Dane 2022/8/3 13:56:12

“I must be going.” Finally! Monroe nods to us before turning around. “Perhaps I will see you two around The Dark Hour.” His deadly wink slaps me across the face and stabs Kathryn right in the heart and loins. I quit.

Once we’re alone, Kathryn slaps her hands against her legs and flashes me the goofiest grin.

“You like my dress? It’s couture.”

Okay, first of all, we have things to talk about here. Like how you’re hoisting your breasts in some other man’s face… right in front of me! “That’s couture?” I know how to pick my battles. “Looks like a regular dress to me.”

“I didn’t want to buy something too ostentatious, but I had to buy something after going through half their racks and sobbing over some of the best craftsmanship you’ve ever seen. Isn’t it crazy that he knew who Martine Collette is? The only reason I know her is because I got to go to that private show two weeks ago.”

Uh huh. That’s nice. “You sure were sweet with Monroe.” A waiter comes in to clear the man’s dishes, but Kathryn stops him and takes the plate for herself. “Are you serious?” She grabs my dirty fork instead of his, at least. “You’re going to eat his scraps?”

“What? Let this food go to waste?” All Kathryn orders is an iced tea. The waiter leaves the room. “Wow. His cologne is all over this plate.” She goes from slightly disgusted to giggling again in two seconds.

“Something you want to share over here?”

“What do you mean what?” My hand clenches her shoulder as she takes the first bite of Monroe’s leftovers. I know. I’m acting like a possessive caveman dickwad who found his most precious treasure being dragged by the hair to another cave. Monroe is also the kind of shit to start painting pornographic pictures of their encounter on his cave walls, not only for me to suffer through, but for our descendants to rediscover thousands of years later. Facebook trending headline: “Caveman Drawing Depicts Prehistoric Cuckold.”

Kathryn talks with rejected French food in her mouth. “Please don’t act like that. It’s unbecoming.”

“You hang out with my mother too much.”

She chuckles, stabbing more food with my dirty fork. “What’s crawled up your ass? Did he reject your deal and then start talking about Princeton?”

“All right, enough with being coy. I thought Monroe would be a big nemesis of yours. Didn’t his family tear down those low-income housing blocks to gentrify the neighborhood with expensive condos?” I know how to push her buttons, okay? Remind her of the poor and helpless, while she inhales French food in her brand new couture dress. I can admit she’s a hypocrite.

She won’t look me in the eye.

“You slept with him!”

My fork clatters on Monroe’s plate. Kathryn chokes on a piece of fish as the waiter returns with her iced tea. He offers to help her, but she brushes him away and sucks enough tea through a straw to drown that damned fish.

The fabric of her dress crinkles beneath my fingers. “It all makes sense now,” I grunt. “You were doe-eyed the moment you walked in here and saw him. When did it happen? How soon before we started dating?”

“You’re acting like a pig,” she reprimands me. Her chair scoots farther away, and I’m forced to let go of her.

“So you’re not denying it?”

“Why would I deny it?”

My face must be absolutely priceless, because she’s dithering between laughing and hastily explaining herself.

“Yes, Ian, I slept with him. Before we started dating. A few months, at least. We had a one-night stand after bumping into each other at The Dark Hour. It’s not a big deal. Get over it.”

“You must’ve bumped into him so hard you fell on his dick…” My mumbles are otherworldly. “Last I checked, he’s not your type.”

“You’re jealous because he’s a Dom.”

This is France, so I imagine a guillotine sliding down from the ceiling and attempting to decapitate me. It misses and grazes my dick instead.

Kathryn has touched on something beyond my comprehension. See, when we started going out, she was a legendary, ball-busting Domme who ate subs alive and regurgitated their souls. Okay, so she’s still a Domme, even if she doesn’t go out as such that often. Turns out she’s a natural switch, even if she had a lot of apprehension associated with it. Those first few months of our relationship was exploring how far she wanted to go. Now she’s regularly tied up in bed begging her Master to take his sexual aggression out on her. (That’s me, by the way.)