Page 27 of A Dom Vs. Domme Story
I creep up behind Kathryn, taking in the sight of her elegantly arranged hair. Usually when she’s in business mode, she ties it up in a tight French twist that is pure Heaven to rip apart in the throes of passion. Today, however, it’s clipped into a low ponytail, a peacock-shaped barrette the size of my hand twinkling in a flurry of reds and greens. It attracts my eye long enough to prevent me from properly announcing myself. Before Kathryn realizes I’m here, I catch a glimpse of the website she’s perusing.
“What’s this now?” I startle her out of her seat. A woman at the table behind us also jumps in surprise. “Anagrams?”
Yes. Kathryn is looking up anagrams. Of our last names.
I don’t need her to explain what she’s doing, but I want her to anyway. Because this isgold.
Grumbling, Kathryn attempts to click out of the browser window, but only ends up hitting the magnifier and making the hilarious anagrams of our last names bigger. She really should not have done that. Although, to be fair, she’s practically asked for what I’m about to say.
“Mirthless! Perfect last name for a pair of billionaire newlyweds.” Hey, I’ve met some pretty miserable ones. Forcing your rich kids to marry each other rarely works out in the end. (For all you ridiculously rich people reading this, don’t do that to your children. Seriously. Don’t do it. The rest of us have to live with it and their equally miserable spawn.)
“I swear to God.” Finally, she gets the window to close, but it’s too late. I’ve memorized most of the list.
“Hotelman is going to be our last name.” I place my hand on her shoulder. “Ian and Kathryn Hotelman. It’s perfect. Good job, babe. Thinking practical.”
“Ian...”
“Ian Daniel Hotelman, yes. It’s perfect. Brilliant. Better than Ian Manholes or Ian Harassment.” I bend down and whisper in her ear. “You can be Kathryn Manholes, though. Know what I meaaaan?”
Her elbow ends up in my gut. I totally deserved that.
“Point taken,” I gasp. The chair next to Kathryn slides out as I sit down and collect my breath. “What the hell are you up to? Picking out our future last name without my input?”
I’m under no delusion that Kathryn will legally become Kathryn Mathers one day. “Mrs. Mathers” is a joke, one meant to rib her up and down until she comically bursts. I’d become Ian Alison before she ever changes her paperwork to my last name. That doesn’t mean we haven’t briefly discussed what we would do about our last names when (I’m sayingwhen,okay?) we marry. We’ll either hyphenate our names (like I’m under further delusions my name would come first…) or leave them alone, although that could cause some legal bullshit even at our level. Case in point: hospitals. At least we’re not having kids?
Anagrams have never entered the picture. Until now.
“Playing around,” Kathryn grumbles. “I see you’re 100% back to your usual self.”
“Missed me?”
Her face softens, much to my relief. “Maybe. At least it means we’re cleared for takeoff tomorrow.”
“Ah, yes, back to our humdrum American lives. We’ve been gone so long that I’m sure we’ve been totally forgotten.”
“I see your hospital stay has left you more dramatic than me.”
“Now that, my dear, is downright impossible.” Katie should’ve done theatre in high school. She would’ve slayed the stage with her melodrama.
My girlfriend stuffs her laptop back in its case. “Ready to head out? I want to spend tonight in our room, because tomorrow is going to suck.” Really? Twenty hours of travel sucks? I would have never guessed.
“You talking room service for dinner? I like it.” There’s a dining table that overlooks our part of Shibuya. At night, the neon lights are so bright and colorful that it’s like looking out over Vegas three-hundred years from now. The fact almost everything is in a different language I know nothing about only adds to the feeling.
I’d be down for going out tonight, too, since Kathryn and I never got our big date day in Tokyo, but taking it easy tonight is fine too.
That and I would really, really like to cash in on her promise to give me whatever I want.
Been thinking about it for days. The most fooling around Kathryn and I have done since I got out of the hospital is her giving me a blowjob two days ago. Short, sweet, and only temporarily satisfying. I want to have sex, damnit. I knew I was doing better when I went not once, but twice yesterday with my old girlfriend from high school. (You might know her. The name’s Palmela.)
Does not help Kathryn goes braless at home and wears big T-shirts to bed. Or lingerie. Or, you know, the whole showering together thing. So much naked. So many hard nipples. So much me sitting there whimpering like a whipped puppy because I haven’t stuck my dick in my girlfriend in a week. Have I mentioned how pathetic I am yet? Life’s hard. (It’s not the only thing perpetually hard right now.)
“Maybe rent a movie. Take a bath.” Kathryn bats her eyelashes at me. I don’t know why she enjoys taking a bath together so much. I mean, I’m not complaining, because it’s pretty nice to have your naked girlfriend park her hot ass against your naked thighs, but I’ll be a shower man until the day I die. “I want to cuddle up with my man and not think about anything.”
“Technically, we would cuddle and watch movies on the plane tomorrow.” My plane has a private bedroom. Great for bedding your gal at 3,000 feet in the air while your assistant slobbers all over the giant, leather sofas in the main cabin. (Seriously, know how many times I’ve walked out there to find Valerie conked out when she was supposed to be researching and working on reports for me? Even brings her own blanket. Sheesh.)
“We could. We could also do it tonight, and tomorrow night when we get home.”
“Your place or mine?”
