by Lund, S. E.
"I'm sorry," I said, my voice soft, feeling guilty for ignoring his messages. "Lara asked me to think about what was more important – my happiness or your career. I left the apartment because she told me you were coming over."
"You were planning on not seeing me ever again?"
"I was afraid I'd hate myself if I did meet with you." I nodded and even then, the thought of it physically hurt. "I knew I wouldn't be able to resist you if I got within a foot of you. I was right."
He smiled. "I can't resist you. I don't want to. Kate, I can't leave this thing between us hanging. I have to know. I have to know how far I can go with you."
A surge of something went through my body at that. "I just don't want anything to happen to you because of me."
"If anything happens, it will be because someone else made the wrong choice, not either of us. It will be because you're important enough to me to take that risk." He kissed me then stroked my cheek. "Your father was glad to see me and even he encouraged me to go to your apartment and not give up."
I smiled. "He said he thought we were really intense with each other and well-matched."
Drake nodded at that. "We are." He kissed me softly.
"Maybe I should leave you alone for a while before your next surgery."
He sighed. "Probably. I don't want you out of my sight though."
"I'll go back to my father's for the rest of the afternoon. I'll make an excuse to go back to my apartment for the night. Then, we can meet at the apartment on 8th Avenue after your practice."
"Maybe I'll cancel tonight."
"Don't because of me. Your music is important to you."
He stroked my cheek with the backs of his fingers. "I don't want you out of arm's reach, Kate."
"I can't stay here all day," I said, smiling. "We can spend the evening together at your secret hideaway. After your practice."
"Tonight." He kissed me again, softly.
"I should go now," I said. "Let you focus before your next surgery."
"I wish I could cancel that, but I can't. Poor man's been waiting for a while to get the procedure."
I stood and started dressing once more, pulling on my underwear and tights. Drake helped, handing me my jean skirt, zipping it up for me, buttoning the button. He helped me on with my bra and fastened the front clasp. Then he pulled the sweater on and around my shoulders and buttoned it up.
"You like dressing me?"
"Dressing and undressing a woman is a total turn on and pleasure." Finally, he smoothed my hair before leaning down to kiss me once more. "Where should I pick you up tonight?"
"I can meet you – it's probably better that I don't get a ride with you anywhere. I'll take a taxi."
"I don't like leaving you alone. I don't like loose ends, Kate."
"Just give me the address and I'll meet you there."
"Give me your iPhone."
I reached into my bag and pulled it out. He took it and called up my GPS, entering in the address and directions from my father's apartment. "There," he said. "You can find your way there easily with that."
I took the phone back. 8th Avenue a few blocks away from Columbia, where I went to school. It would be convenient. I lived just a dozen blocks to the north in Harlem.
He walked me to the door of his office. "Are you sure I can't drive you back to your apartment?"
I shook my head. "No. I can take a taxi. I don't want to be seen in your car just in case we run into anyone. We already risked a lot coming here."
He exhaled. "OK, but I don't like this, leaving you alone now. You can always call me and I can pick you up if you change your mind. Text me and let me know you're on your way, OK? Otherwise, I'll worry."
"I will."
He kissed me once more before I left him. Then he watched me at his office door as I walked down the long hallway to the exit.
I hailed a taxi and took it back to my apartment in Harlem, happy that we had made a decision, even though a sense of guilt flooded through me. Lara would not be pleased.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The rest of the day couldn't pass quickly enough. I went back to my father's apartment as I promised I would and was smiling like an idiot thinking of my meeting with Drake later that night. I had to bite my lip to stop the grin from getting any larger and took in a deep cleansing breath. I put on my best glum face and popped my head into his study. He was sitting in his chair, his tie undone and his shirt open at the collar, sleeves rolled up. He had his black reading glasses on and was studying a paper.
"Hi, Daddy."
"Hello, dear," he said, putting the paper down. "You're back. I was so worried about you."
"I thought I'd come by. I'm lonely…"
"Is everything OK with you? You look a bit flushed."
I shook my head. "It's cold out."
"Are you feeling OK?"
"Still a bit disappointed."
He stood and came over to me, his hands on my shoulders. "Are you sure you know what you're doing? Breaking up with Drake? You two seemed so happy together while we were out scuba diving. What changed?"
I sighed and turned away, feeling bad to be lying to him, but I had no choice.
"I think I was just a bit infatuated but when we were alone and away from everything, it just became apparent that he's too old for me."
"Nonsense, Kate. I'm twenty years older than Elaine and we're very happy."
"Maybe you're younger at heart than Drake, Daddy. He's a bit of a fuddy-duddy."
"A fuddy-duddy?" He frowned at me. "I never would have thought that about Drake…"
Oh, Daddy, if you only knew how far from an old fuddy-duddy he is…
"Will you be staying here all night?"
"No," I said, hoping I wasn't overdoing it with the Drake dissing. "I'm better. I'll stay for supper if it's OK and then go home. I have to go to class tomorrow so I need a good night's sleep."
He nodded. "You're welcome to stay here as long as you want. I know Elaine enjoys having you here. I do, too, but I'm really busy with the campaign."
"Thanks, Daddy. I have to get back to my life."
Dinner was quiet, but I had to submit to Elaine's questions about Drake and how I was feeling and my father's pointed stare as I answered. It was like he didn't believe me and kept frowning when I spoke about why Drake and I weren't right for each other.
Finally, I yawned about eight o'clock and said I needed to go.
"Take the service," he said. "Why spend your money on a cab?"
"If you insist," I said, because he wouldn't let up. "I can afford cab fare."
"Nonsense," he said, accepting no refusal. "Why have an old man with money if you can't take advantage of it now and then?"
He bundled me up in my coat and handed me my bag. I kissed him on the cheek as was our usual practice. He pulled me into a hug, which wasn't our usual practice.
"You know what I think?" he said, his voice soft. "I think you don't really want to end it with Drake. If you change your mind, I'm sure – in fact I know he'd be only too pleased. So don't do this if you really don't want to. Life is too short. People come into and go out of your life and sometimes it's only when they're gone that you realize how you felt about them. How much you cared."
I sighed. "Do you mean Mom?"
"And Liam." He squeezed my shoulders. "Good night, sweetheart."
I took the limo service back to my apartment and went inside. I had a quick bath and examined my pussy with a faint growth of hair emerging. He was going to shave me again tonight and I felt my body respond to the very thought of it.
I changed my clothes, putting on the garter belt and a pair of nylons Dawn had brought over that night we went to the bar. I wore a black cashmere sweater that buttoned up in the front, a lacy black bra and the black lace garter belt. I wore no underwear, remembering Drake mentioning that if I became his sub, he would expect me to not wear any underwear when we were together. It thrilled me to imagine what he'd do when he found out I was nude under
the skirt except for the garter belt and nylons. I hoped it would please him to know I was thinking about what he'd like.
Then, I stood in the shadows of the entryway, checking the street to see if there was anyone watching the building. Just to be safe, I went out the back exit and walked down the alley to the street and hailed a cab, giving the driver directions to Drake's apartment on 8th Avenue. Luckily, the driver didn't try to make light conversation with me and I was able to focus on the meeting with him at his old apartment. I sent him a text when I was a few blocks away.
I'm on my way. Be there in 2.
He texted back immediately.
I am so ready for you, Ms. Bennet…
I smiled, hiding my grin behind my hand in case the driver was watching me in the rearview mirror.
I was so curious to see his place – both of them. His current apartment I wouldn't get to see, but I could imagine it was all dark wood and leather furniture and smelled of him.
This old apartment – Drake said his father, and then he himself, lived in it during their school years at Columbia Medical School and I wondered why he kept it. Sentimental reasons? That just added another dimension to the image of Drake Morgan, MD, I was getting to know – bass player, philanthropist, Dominant. He liked old sixties Brit Invasion music. He was a certified scuba diver. A vodka aficionado with a taste for all things Russian. A man who loved his job as a highly specialized neurosurgeon and did it because he enjoyed it and because it was rewarding. He didn’t have to work because of his father's wealth and the still-profitable company Liam founded. A man who made junkets to war-torn parts of Africa to do delicate surgery, risking his own life to do so.
A man who liked to tie women up and dominate them sexually, controlling their orgasms, making them look in his eyes and say his name while they came.
One thing he didn't do was romance. He made that clear to me in the Bahamas and that night at my apartment. We wouldn't do Sunday breakfast in bed, or meet for lunch, or do other romantic relationship things. We'd meet like we were going to tonight. He'd tie me up and fuck me. I'd come several times. We'd each go our separate ways and I'd sleep like a baby.
That had to be enough for me.
The thing was, he was so much. There was so much to him. I already knew too much about him to think of him as just a Dominant stud service and I knew I was on dangerous ground. If I let myself slip just a bit, I could fall.
Hard.
When I looked at him, I already saw too much inside of him – that strap on his wrist, the letters he wrote to his subs, his preferring the tragic Heathcliff and Catherine of Wuthering Heights to Pride and Prejudice's Elizabeth and Darcy. Yet, he playfully called me Ms. Bennet or Elizabeth.
I swallowed back this nagging sense of something I didn’t want to think about and exhaled, trying to blank my mind of such thoughts. I was going to meet with Drake Morgan to be well-fucked and to explore this fascination with submission that wouldn’t let up. My body responded to the very thought of what he might do to me. Would he tie me up tonight? Would he blindfold me?
I signed his contract and had to expect anything, but I had a feeling he was going to move very slowly with me. So far, he'd only made me hold my own hands together and close my eyes despite me wanting more. Would he soon start to use real leather restraints and a blindfold?
I hoped so. I wanted to feel totally possessed the way I imagined his subs felt when I read his letters.
After the taxi drove up to Drake's building on 8th Avenue, I paid the driver and stood in front on the sidewalk. A corner brownstone walkup with ornate windows and wrought iron window boxes with faded ivy, the building was very old. Browning ivy crept up the building's façade so that it looked like it belonged in London instead of Manhattan. There was a buzzer system and I noted that the penthouse was listed as Mr. L. Morgan. I wondered why it was in Liam's name, but it was his building so I imagined Liam bought it for Drake when he was at Columbia and Drake never changed it.
I buzzed and the door clicked open when I pulled. I stepped over the threshold into the dim entryway with three mailbox slots and a recycling box beneath it. There was a plaid rug to wipe your feet on and someone had chained a bicycle to a metal pole of some description beside the stairs to the basement. I heard a door open up the staircase and footsteps coming down, the wooden stairs creaking.
Drake – he must be coming to meet me. I smiled and started up the stairs, butterflies in my stomach. When I got to the second floor landing he was there, barefoot, dressed in some faded jeans and a white linen shirt unbuttoned and untucked to reveal his washboard abs and the thin black trail of hair leading down from his navel. He looked so… desirable, his black hair a bit mussed and a growth of whiskers on his jaw and chin. He smiled when our eyes met and a jolt of something went through me when I realized this was it – I was going to be completely in his world. Under his control. I'd signed his contract, giving him almost total license with me. All I had were safe words and trust that he'd respect them.
"There you are," he said and came to me, pulling me into his arms. I rested my head on his shoulder and inhaled, enjoying the familiar scent of Drake – his cologne and a hint of soap as if he'd just bathed.
He tilted my face up and kissed me and I felt weak, desire flooding my body when our tongues touched, my flesh already aching.
"You may have to carry me up the rest of the way," I said, my voice a quivery from excitement. "I feel a bit weak-kneed."
"Ms. Bennet, are you nervous to be alone with me?"
"Yes," I said. "But the good kind of nervous."
"Good. I want you a little nervous." Then he bent down and picked me up, one arm under mine, the other under my legs.
"Oh, no, don't," I said when he started up the stairs. "I was just kidding! Put me down, please! Let me walk."
"I don't think so, Katherine. I think I want to carry you up and into my lair."
He grinned at that, his eyes twinkling with a look that promised so much…
I gave in and buried my face in his neck, smiling, a thrill going through me at the thought of being in his lair. His place.
We went through the doorway and it was like a loft instead of a typical apartment with separate rooms. The unit was open concept and bookshelves covered all the walls, filled with thousands of books. Because it was a corner unit, it had windows on three walls and would be bright during the day. Now, it was dark outside, and only a single table lamp provided light. The floors were hardwood planks with antique-looking Persian carpets of various sizes scattered here and there. In the front was a combination living room / den and in the center of the apartment, the kitchen was on one wall and open to a dining room. In the back, through the only door, I could just make out a bed.
The windows were huge and ornate with multi-paned windows looking out over the street. In the living room six old guitars stood on stands, acoustic and electric. Posters of old bands covered the walls without bookshelves – the Beatles, Led Zeppelin, Deep Purple, The Who. I took it all in while he held me in his arms.
"Are you going to put me down?"
He smiled. "I don't know what I'm going to do with you, Ms. Bennet. I haven’t decided yet. One thing I might have to do, if memory serves me, is kiss you to keep you from talking."
He did kiss me as he stood there with me still in his arms. A soft kiss, just lips on lips. Then he pulled back and his eyes were so intense that I felt my breath hitch.
What that look promised…
"I must be getting heavy…" I said softly, for I didn't like being held.
"You're light as a feather."
I sighed and gave in to him. "You have so many books. And all these guitars…" I glanced around. "I want to explore your apartment."
"I want to explore you."
That sent a jolt of lust through me. "You do, do you? I think you already did after lunch…"
"Ms. Bennet, there's so much more of you to explore. So much more of your body. So much more of your mind."
<
br /> I swallowed at that, my mind immediately going to the clauses in the agreement, but he did put me down. He removed my coat and I took off my boots, leaving them on the mat by the front door.
"Take a look around. I'll get us a drink."
I put my bag down on the table and walked around while Drake went to a small sideboard in the living room. Dark wood paneling gave it a masculine feel. More bookshelves lined the walls, an ancient leather couch and wing chair sat beside a small fireplace, and leaded glass windows faced the street. I wandered around, looking at the posters on the walls, the guitars, the piles and piles of magazines on every flat surface with titles like Guitar, Rolling Stone, Bass Player, and then scientific journals – Annals of Internal Medicine, Lancet, JAMA and others.
I peeked into the bedroom at the rear of the apartment to see a huge four-poster bed covered in a thick coverlet. The room was light, with white walls and sheer curtains at the windows. There was a small bathroom off the bedroom with an old claw-foot bathtub and pedestal sink. When I returned to the living room, Drake was there with two tiny crystal glasses etched with a delicate filigree design. Inside was a clear liquid.
"Here," he said, handing me one. "These are my father's glasses that he got from an old woman named Yelena Kuznetzova, who was rumored to be Stalin's housekeeper at his dacha in Soviet Georgia. This is Anisovaya. Drink up."
"I should have known," I said, smiling. "Stalin's housekeeper?"
"It was one of my father's favorite stories. Probably just his bullshit wishful thinking."
"He was a Stalinist? I thought he was a Trotskyite."
"He was a Sovietophile. Anything Russian, especially Soviet. He was sad to see the Soviet Union fall. Said it was their folly in Afghanistan."
