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Billionaires in Paris Cynthia Dane 2022/8/3 13:56:24

I have to admit, right now it doesn’t sound like a bad idea. Even men want to stop making decisions once in a while. Give our brains a rest. Stop worrying about being manly enough for the world. Sit back and be.

“Why don’t you have a seat on the couch?” Kathryn pulls away. “I’ll be right there.”

I’ve got a good idea what’s going on here, but I’m not going to voice my assumptions until they’re already coming true. Let’s say I don’t feel any inhibitions going to the couch and having my first relaxing seat in quite a while. There was nothing comfortable about that restaurant chair the whole time I was there.

Kathryn disappears into the bathroom and comes back two minutes later. The only thing difference is perkier breasts – because that’s the first thing I notice, of course. Someone changed her bra. To what end? Mine, probably.

She straddles one of my legs, hovering over me, those breasts teasing and taunting my hands which are firmly clasped behind my head. Kathryn moves slightly to the side, one knee resting on the couch. Her other leg is still wrapped around mine. Even through our pants I can feel the heat of her skin against mine. Damp hair tickles my hands.

“Do you want me?” Usually when she asks that question, it’s with a whiny tone laced in insecurity. There is no insecurity now. Kathryn has come into her own and fully intends to suck me into her gravitational pull. Done. “Go on. Tell me that you want me.”

Was that permission? “Of course I want you.”

“What do you want?” Before I can answer, she continues, “What do you want from me?”

Not an accusation. An earnest question. With that sort of fortitude, I can only answer truthfully. “I want to feel like we’re the only people in the world. I want to use our love to escape from the universe.”

Her forehead touches mine. Her hand is on my chest again, tugging at my collar. There’s no stopping her as she lifts my sweater and frees my abs from pesky clothing. Kathryn’s mouth lowers until it meets me in my barest place. “I can’t argue with that,” she mutters against my skin.

Kisses as hard and hot as any I’ve ever given her ascend my abdomen toward my chest. It relaxes me, enough that I can close my eyes and release a pent up breath, anyway. Under normal circumstances, I would see this as her being a playful girlfriend at least, a sub hellbent on servitude at best. This would be purely for my benefit. Help me forget about my stress by serving my every whim. I’d fully expect her lips to meet my growing erection at any moment – no time like the present to get a relaxing blowjob.

These are not normal circumstances.

“I want similar things, you know.” Her bright eyes gaze up at me. Harsh. Stinging. Whirling in thoughts I can’t even comprehend. How does one comprehend the mind of a woman who wants to take control? I know what it’s like as a man, but I was raised to think that way. How much of it is nature? How much of it is nurture? From as long ago as my first memory, I’ve been conditioned to take control, both in the boardroom and in the bedroom. There is no lack of women who would happily volunteer to take on the opposite role. Kathryn will tell you as easily as anyone that it’s a great escape to disappear into a world where she is unconditionally cared for.

I think of Martin Charles and the way he so openly embraces being a beta male in need of such attention. Nobody thinks twice when a woman does it.

Is this how Kathryn acted with him? I’m not speaking from a place of jealousy. I think I’m past that now. Right at this moment all I want to do is truly understand what feels so good about giving up control. The few times Kathryn and I have indulged in her Domme side didn’t give me much opportunity to explore that side of myself. I don’t think I could have in the beginning of our relationship.

I dare to ask her to marry me. If Kathryn Alison is ever going to consent to being my wife, I need to step up and give her everything she needs. I need to prove that I am truly the last and only man she ever needs to know, carnally and vulnerably.

Like I’ve asked her to trust me countless times, I must believe in my trust for her. She would never steer me wrong. She would never do something that she knows I’m uncomfortable with. Safe words go both ways in a BDSM relationship. I’ve used safe words when I’ve Topped. Does that surprise you? It shouldn’t. Sometimes scenes get too intense for us, or we worry that our Bottoms are too far gone to know what their limits are anymore. I’m not saying I want to enter this kind of scene with Kathryn so I’m pushed to use a safe word. That’s stupid, and unsafe. What I want is to know every side of her. In turn, perhaps I will learn something new about myself.