16. Rian
Sixteen
Rian
“Ibet you a hundred that I can chat her up before you.”
“You’ve got no chance, Dylan.” Leo grins and adjusts the cuff of his flamingo-patterned shirt. Only he can pull off this look, even sprawled out on a garish pink faux leather seat. “Why don’t you keep your money and watch the expert in action?”
“Dream on,” Dylan counters and runs his fingers through his blonde hair, still damp from the shower after his rugby match. “I’m on a roll, and I promise you, I’ll be rolling under the sheets with that lass later tonight.”
Leo snorts. “In bocca al lupo.”
I keep a smile on my face, pretending to be amused by their banter and Leo’s insincere well wishes, but truth is, the elaborate garnish of my cocktail holds more appeal. I pick the greenery off as my two mates increase the wager to two hundred.
Dylan’s long-term relationship broke down a few months ago after “the spark was gone” – his girlfriend’s words.
Dylan’s words were “not enough sex”. He’s made it his goal in life to rectify the situation with as many women as possible before he gets “trapped” again.
Dylan broke into the Ireland squad during the Six Nations two years ago, so if the girl they’re competing for is a rugby fan, Leo may have some competition.
Saying that, I could probably beat them both hands down if I wanted to.
What on earth possessed me to “reward” Catriona?
I hide a sigh behind the glass as I take a sip.
That question has been on a continuous loop in my head.
I had come back into the office to tell her we should call it a day, when…
When what? What was it about her reflection in the window that made me forget, made me want, made the passion simmering just under the surface be brought to a boil?
The urge to control her, give her…what she deserved? What she needed?
Oh, she needed it alright.
My hand isn’t quite steady as I place the glass back on the table, reliving how she leaned back against me, the weight of her in my arms, her soft lips moving against my skin.
Her sounds – oh God, the sounds she made as her orgasm shook her body.
I owned that orgasm. It was mine! The surge through my chest as she trembled under my control.
I’ve never felt that way before. I may be a dominant by nature, but I’ve never had a submissive – only played scenes with strangers or acquaintances – and more often than not been the spectator rather than the participant.
Is what I experienced – the feeling of ownership – is that what Doms feel toward their collared submissives?
I don’t know. All I do know is that I deserve a sainthood for letting Catriona go home.
Every cell in my body wanted to push her against the window and fuck her senseless with the world as audience.
But I hadn’t.
As she moved away from me, an emptiness took root, and with every step, it grew and grew until it filled the whole room with her departure.
When only my lonely reflection was left in the window, I wondered what Catriona sees when she looks at me.
A selfish, useless, rich kid who’s wasting his chances in life?
Is that what everyone thinks? No one cares about my achievements from the past. All they see is what is right in front of them, how I behave right now.
And that isn’t much to be proud of.
“Isn’t that right, Rian?”
“What? Sorry?” I lift my head at the sound of my name.
“Girls like blonde fellas more than dark ones, as there are so many dark-haired Irish men.” Dylan flicks a lock of hair from his forehead, grinning like an eejit and totally oblivious to my lack of interest in the conversation. Leo though, is watching me.
“Do you want me to go up to her and prove once and for all what girls prefer?” I ask, lifting an eyebrow.
“Eh, no. You stay out of it, Ri.” Dylan laughs. At least he acknowledges that he’ll not stand a chance against me.
I glance over my shoulder and spot the woman keeping them captivated.
“Three hundred on Leo,” I say with a smirk.
“What the hell, Ri?” Dylan complains.
“That woman at the bar is Anika Singh from my office. She’ll never fall for a rugby buff.”
Leo grins while Dylan shakes his head and mutters something that I can’t hear over the music.
I drain the last of my cocktail. It was good – bitter and strong. The plush pink chair glides against the carpet as I get up. “Right, I’ll let you fight it out. I’ll collect my winnings tomorrow. This Saturday working has taken it out of me. I’m knackered.”
“You’re leaving already?” Leo furrows his brows. “Alexandra and Jennie will be joining us soon.”
“Please pass on my apologies.”
Dylan leans his huge frame over the table. “Come on, Rian? Stay a bit longer.”
“I think your chances with Anika are even slimmer if I stay.”
“Well then, what are you waiting for? Feck off home already.” He laughs, and it brings on the first hint of a true smile on my face this evening.
The damp spring air is pleasant compared to the chilled air-conditioned wine bar. I walk home to the Docklands instead of flagging down a cab, but it doesn’t calm my mind.
Finally at home, I pace around my apartment, looking for something to keep my mind off her.
I could head out to The Bureau to release some tension, but I discard the idea quickly.
My last visit wasn’t worth it. I lean both hands against the glass dining table and, thankfully, my reflection doesn’t show in the frosted glass.
I don’t really like this table. I take a critical look around my apartment.
A massive open-plan room with dark leather and stainless-steel furniture in minimalistic style.
Nothing personal except two framed pictures on the wall.
One is of my family. I was nine in the picture, Rosie only two. Mum knows how to take care of herself – she looks almost the same now as then.
The other frame is of my group of friends in our late teens, full of self-importance and arrogance and not a care in the world.
Two pictures are all I contributed to my own home. I’ve lived here for six months and don’t know why I picked it. Maybe because a penthouse is what’s expected? An interior designer decorated it with minimal input from me. Maybe I should move somewhere I actually belong?
The sound of my laughter fills the room. Trying to get Catriona out of my mind has made me consider redecorating and moving? God, I have it bad.
Maybe I need Alexandra to settle? Her home is just like Alexandra herself, feminine, understated and perfect. However, a bit staged, a bit too perfect. Like a facade.
I wonder what Catriona’s apartment is like. It’s probably organised with military precision, like she approaches work. I wouldn’t mind messing it up a bit.
I run my hand over my face. Christ, get a grip!