Obviously, Charles is unhappy and as much as I don’t like to see his dissatisfaction, it makes me feel childish and immature, I feel the burning need to see this through. I could save Kat. I could help her set her life straight. I could finally have the sister I always wanted. It was certainly better than Charles’ option of disowning her. Though I felt at the pit of my stomach, if this didn’t work, that would be the only option left.

The more I thought about Lucas’s suggestion that week, the more it encapsulated my brain. There couldn’t really be such a man out there that could persuade a woman to change her ways?

We Barcus women have strong opinions and can find ways to get what we want. Perhaps Kat has truly never harnessed the power like I have - using it to devour men at the bar instead of rise up the social ladder.

With great ease, Lucas arranged a meet up for myself and this dominant or "Dom" as he’s called. Charles requested I don’t google search any of this information on any of my personal devices. One wrong leak and it could come across that Governor Barcus has two perverted daughters. And as always, Charles was right. So I asked Lucas everything I could think of all week. Lucas stuttered and looked away a lot, but explained some people like being in control of another person. That they like to tell them what to do, in the bedroom, and out.

What Katrina does in her bedroom, ugh, I don’t need those details. I’ve accidentally walked in on enough. But if he could get her to wear the right fucking dress... And having a respectable looking "boyfriend" at her side could put aside the rumors she’s banging reporters.

Charles had concerns of me going into some sort of sex den, but I was already ahead of him on that one. I had him arranged a luncheon at the Pinewood Country Club under his name. And naturally, he and Lucas will be coming with me to make sure the conversation doesn’t grow, "indelicate" as he called it.

I stayed up the night about before wondering about those indelicacies as Charles slept soundly beside me. I’m ashamed to admit it but it seems our sex life began and ended with the coffee colored sofa.

Sex, of course, happens but it has become a routine and one that leaves me... uninspired. I can be patient for him to ply himself with medication - it’s not that. It’s just, all that anticipation, the panting and waiting of my body, begging to be touched, can lead to a very short pay off. He’ll collapse beside me, spent and while I lay there, still yearning.

I tell myself that there other things besides sex that keep a couple together. Power. Unified goals. A mutual understanding of the creatures we are. And when I think of these things, I am content and can sleep snuggled up beside him.

Then there’s tonight.

I lie in Charles’ four-postered bed, on satin sheets, unable to sleep. Right now my imagination is lured by this new idea: A dominant. I try to imagine what it must be like to be someone’s toy. To be used. To be thoroughly used until you’re no longer wanting.

I imagine him tall, dark, shirtless. I cannot look away from six pack and cocky smile. That he has a commanding voice that I cannot ignore. What could he tell me to do, I wonder?

I feel a fresh wave of wetness across the pink folds in between my legs. Begging me to finish this train of thought, to explain what this man might be like to my body.

Nonetheless, by one AM, my body is humming with warmth and refusing the sleep. I feel awakened, yawning and stretching at this new frontier - pleasure. The dark man of my fantasies refuses to be put aside, twists my arms behind my back, tying my wrists firmly together and blindfolding me.

And the anticipation... though I have waited countless times on bated arousal for Charles to be ready for me-- this truly felt exquisite as he bates me in the darkness with small caresses, each one building off of the last.

I give in and finger myself quietly next to Charles, imagining this dark man breathing across my neck, biting my earlobe... whispering "we’ve only just begun." And I cum, hard and strong. My legs bucking so much I twist them into the sheets, feeling waves of gratitude that Charles is not a light sleeper.

* * *

The next day at Pinewood Country Club I can barely breathe at our table overlooking the green. Lucas is beside me, unsure of what to say as always. He’s chosen the worst tie from Sears, the shining polyester casting a glow over our table. Charles informed me this morning that he had a more pressing matter-- one of his clients got in quite a bind overseas.

Charles reassured this matter would hardly be resolved over one luncheon anyway and likely it would be a dead end. The pit in my stomach warns me that this little luncheon is Charles humoring me. I’ve pretended not to notice because then he wouldn’t have even set up this meeting.

"You look really nice," Lucas tells me as he struggles to decide which flatware to use. Not that there’s any food on the table, I suppose he’s just trying to be prepared.

"Thank you," I say sweetly in the voice has passed just so well for the public ears. "My stylist says that pinks really help show off my skin tones."

Suddenly Lucas’ his eyes track someone behind me and gives an awkward wave. It’s him. It’s the man that’s kept me up at night, at one am, two, four... I suck in my breath.

I turn to see him for the first time:

And instantly deflate.

Peter is a good-looking man. Sandy hair and hazel eyes, well-dressed in slacks and a nice fitting button up, hints of stubble, and a pair of slightly worn boots. He gives a cordial smile and I detected a warm tenor in his "hello." He’s under 6 foot, maybe 5’11," fit but lean. He looks like he belongs on a surfboard or playing tennis. He looks like the type of guy who gets a drink with his friends after work at a lounge around the corner. A man who maybe forgets his wife’s anniversary every now and then but still buys her flowers on a whim. Good. That’s what was emanating from him.

His eyes lock on me, "You must be Beatrice," he says and takes my hand. "Lucas has said nothing but wonderful things about you." I suck my disappointment into a smile: "Lucas is all flattery, when he’s able to say anything at all."

The waiter comes with the bottle of red I’ve ordered and three glasses. I sip and admonish myself for this hair-brained idea. Charles was right to pooh-pooh this and fly to Australia to deal with the more urgent situation. This was a dead end.

"Well," I begin, "we happen to be in a unique situation and I am looking for unique solutions. But, since this is an extremely sensitive matter and we cannot have the press learning of this meeting or its contents."

I nod to Lucas who realizes at last moment that it’s time to take out the nondisclosure agreement. Pete looks of the paperwork and me with a smile, "It’s all very cloak and dagger, huh?"

"What, and that scares you?" I stab at him.

His eyes flash up at me - darker than before and my stomach squirms. "Not at all." He signs with a strike of the pen. Pushes the NDA to me. "Why don’t we continue what we’ve begun?"

"My name is Beatrice Barcus, I am the daughter of Governor Barcus."

"Ah, yes, I believe I’ve seen your sweet face on the news. Congratulations to you and your father." That sarcastic smile curls at the lips.

"Yes, it’s been a whirlwind these past weeks, but I don’t want to lose momentum for what my family has achieved and how we can change the face of our state. We come from a long line of trailblazers. I am proud to be a Barcus - it feels like our time is right to leave an imprint on the community."

Peter nods thoughtfully, then downs his glass. "This is lovely for you, but I hardly see a problem with being too successful. If you are seeking some sort of sexual humility to balance your new status then perhaps we can discuss further."

My cheeks instantly redden. I choke on his words. He’s talking to me like this here, at Pinewood? The way he said sexual, I felt it from my head to my toes.

"Beatrice has a sister." Lucas spits out. "Her sister has given them a bit of a problem on the campaign trail. And now that Governor Barcus has assumed the position, Beatrice simply wants to be extremely careful that her sister does not incur the wrath of the media."

I find the words at last, "My sister is a headache. An underachiever. But she’s my sister so I love her. But I’m not able to help her make better choices. Between my father and myself, even our mother who is passed away, there were many lessons that have sailed above Kat’s head. Lucas has informed me that you have a way of making women... listen to these lessons."

"What sort of things does she do?"

I flip open the folder and slide the headline of Kat towards him. In all of her black underwear glory. "So far she’s shown she’s got a capacity for making a scene and fucking reporters." I slide the second headline to Pete. "My Night with Katrina Barcus." Peter whistles.

He flags down the waiter, orders a bourbon as he reads. I impatiently wait as he drains the glass and finishes the last sentence. Looks up at me.

"So, how is this my problem?"

"This is a chance for you to..." I whisper, "get your rocks of fixing my sister. That’s what you like to do, right?"

"No." Pete says. "I like helping women who I find attractive, not being some wild child political daughter’s escort. I like discovering diamonds in the rough, shining them up and making them cum harder than they ever thought they could."

My ears are ringing at the word "cum." He smiles, orders another bourbon without missing a beat. "So, if I’m going to be your sister’s baby sitter, you need to pay me."

I snort. "You call yourself a Dominant, but you let a paycheck control you?" His eyes go dark again, he sizes me up. I feel a shiver run from my neck to my thighs. My pulse is racing. It’s exhilarating, like poking a lion, not knowing if you can run away in time, or devour you. I can’t stop myself. "Besides, it’s not like we can really vouch for your abilities as an independent contractor."

I take a drink, feeling my insides warm as the tension heats up between Peter and myself. But he just is more reserved, his eyes colder and sharp.

Lucas makes himself known at the table by clearing his throat and saying, “Look, I’ve seen it with my own eyes, Beatrice - If anyone can help your sister, it’s Pete.” Pete’s steely gaze softens as he looks to Lucas.

“Don’t take Lucas’s word for it, he’s just grateful I helped get him laid once or twice. That and you’re rather pretty and he has it bad for you.”

“Pete—“ Lucas hisses to shut him up.

"You’re right. I can’t really be vouched for on LinkedIn. That and… I don’t know if you’ve considered the other problem.” He gazes at the newspaper of Kat and her black panties.

“What other problem?”

“That when I’m done with her, no one will think you’re the good sister anymore."

"Your bit of an ass," I hiss, "Is that part of what you do or a perk?"

"Let’s just say I’m a little burnt out on women as of late and my patience is only so deep."

"Charming."

"I will be if you pay me."

"I want to know if you’re worth it first."

"This hardly seems like the place," he says, "but his eyes flicker with mischief. “And who would I demonstrate on… you?"

I flush but embarrassment, then defiantly say "Yes. If this is going to be coming from my husband’s campaign fund and I need to know it’s money well spent."

"And you call me a pervert."

"Just do it, or I’ll walk away and you won’t be able to get that apartment deposit you need."

Pete’s nostrils flare, he turns straight to Lucas who is sinking lower to the table. "Who’s side are you on, Luke?"

I grin and sit back in my chair.

"Lucas is employed by me. And while he is working, he’s on my side. I understand you and your ex were going to split the sales of your house, but something happened? Something about you ruining her current relationship and she will end you? Any of this ring a bell?"

Pete’s eyes darken deeper and I can feel myself squirm. It sure is fun to poke at a supposed tough guy. I bat my eyelashes and say as sweetly as I can "And perhaps I can make all of that easier if I know you’re qualified for this position."

“Alright. You want to know what it’s like to follow my orders?” He reaches across and takes my hand into his. His eyes lock onto mine and I immediately feel cold and vivisected. There is no sweetness I can pull out of me to soften what’s between us, to shirk from the bright spotlight upon me.

He reaches out and strokes my cheek - his fingers infinitely warm and gentle. I look to Lucas fiddles with his napkin, hardly comfortable with what’s going on, but too tongue-tied to say a word.

“Look at me.” Pete whispers and I slide back into our gaze. “Good.”

“I’m not following your orders, I’m just being socially polite,” I hiss.

Then he leans over and whispers in my ear. “I know this is a game for you, on your tower. And it’s a game you play because your bed is cold and you’re afraid of surrendering to a man like me.”

“My bed is not—“

“—Please, there’s no need to be polite when no one can hear us. Now, I want you to kiss me.”

“I am NOT going to—“ My mind reels at his order, my blood rising.

“You’ll prove you aren’t afraid of letting go for just one moment, to someone else.”

My mind flurried with thoughts of last night. Wondering if he could somehow tell what I did, and how long I stayed up doing it. The corners of his mouth curl up in a smile.

“You’ll prove that to yourself and deep down, I know you’ve wondered if you can. Just kiss me as to see what that’s like for yourself.”

I lean in. My eyes lowered to capture his face and mine.

And Pete pulls away. All smiles as my face reddens realizing I was about to kiss him. There, in the middle of Pinewood. Like a goddamn fool. "So," Pete takes a swig of his bourbon, "do you have your checkbook on you?"

Next Chapter: The Blind Hate - Kat