The Agreement

by Lund, S. E.

  She nodded. "Nothing like a new Dom to wash away the taste of the old one. Listen, I can hook you up with a Dom who's looking for a life partner, if you'd like. Not every Dom is like Drake. Some want a relationship. Why don't you come to a fetish night with me? You could come under my protection and I could introduce you to a few Doms I know. Only the ones who are looking for a relationship beyond play. I already have someone in mind. His name is Steve. He's closer to your age. He's even in the arts – he does copy editing for a publisher. He's kinkier than Drake, but not a sadist. I know you're not into pain."

  "I can't meet with anyone else, Lara. I can't even think of it."

  "You were alone for what – a year before Drake? Don't you want someone else?"

  I shook my head. "I want Drake. I can't have him. Not the way I really want him."

  "Well, I offered. I still think you should come to a fetish night with me. There are lifestyle partners and there are lifetime partners. It is possible to meet someone who wants D/s and a real relationship. You won't find another man who will satisfy your submissive side outside of the lifestyle, Kate."

  I forced a smile, wiping my eyes, acutely aware of other patrons watching me. "Maybe I'll just go with my friend to India and become a nun, working at Mother Theresa's hospice."

  "Yeah, sure Kate," Lara said, smiling back at me, shaking her head. "If you liked Drake as much as you claim, you'll never be able to go back to normal again."

  "That's hopeful."

  "Look, it's hard enough to find compatible lifestyle partners, let alone someone who you could be with in a permanent relationship. If that's what you really want, you have to get out there and meet people."

  I shook my head. "It's too soon. I can't imagine it. I only want Drake."

  "When you're ready, just let me know."

  We finished our drinks and parted ways.

  I walked the rest of the way to my father's. When I got there, I ran up the stairs to his apartment instead of taking the elevator. He must have heard me close the front door because he emerged from the hallway to his study, his half-eye glasses on the end of his nose, a paper in his hand.

  "Katie, what on earth happened to you? My God – your eye…"

  "I fell in the bathroom, Daddy. I'm fine."

  "Come here. Give your old man a hug. You look like you need one."

  I threw my bag and coat on the floor and went to him, hugging him, my tears starting fresh.

  "There, there," he said, his gravelly voice soft, squeezing me in a bear hug. "You'll stay with us over Christmas and New Year's. You shouldn't be alone now."

  I didn't argue.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  I didn't even go back to my apartment.

  My father sent the driver over with Elaine and they went in and retrieved my things from my apartment, my laptop and a few items from my closet plus the presents I'd bought but hadn't wrapped. I'd wrap them later.

  We went to Midnight Mass, and I managed to have a shower and look somewhat presentable, although the choir singing "O Magnum Mysterium" by Morten Lauridsen made me cry, of course, and my tears at the beautiful music morphed into tears for myself and for the loss I felt for Drake.

  On Christmas morning, I realized that breaking it off with Drake was the right thing to do. We should have been together on Christmas morning, exchanging gifts, spending the day together, having Christmas dinner together. I should have been with him the entire time. He had no surgeries. His band played a few gigs over the holidays but he'd hurt his hand and wasn't playing. He had the rest of the vacation to spend as he chose. Instead, we couldn’t be together except for a few hours here and there when I could find an excuse to sneak away. And then, it would be just to fuck.

  That was no life. That was no relationship.

  Still, I cried myself to sleep each night and each day, I forced myself to get up and go through the motions. I wore Elaine's slippers, an old pair of pajamas, and my hair in a messy ponytail, doing little else than mope around, watching old movies, and eating ice cream directly from the container.

  My father let me mope, but he was there as company when I felt like it, and when I didn’t, he left me to my own devices. As New Years approached, I dreaded the day. My father was having a dinner party with his 'people' and I would be expected to dress up and greet them, sit with him and Elaine. Then, he and Elaine had tickets to a fancy party to ring in the New Year. Heath and Christie would join them, but I bowed out.

  On New Year's Eve Day, I checked the guest list. As I stood in the kitchen, my father came up behind me and glanced over my shoulder.

  "Drake isn't on the list," he said. "I didn't think you'd want to see him, but I felt incredibly bad. He's like a son to me and I would have invited him if it wasn't for your breakup."

  "I'm sorry Dad. I could always just spend the evening at my apartment if you want to invite him."

  "Too late," he said. "Besides, you belong with me. Did you know he's leaving NY Presbyterian for a year? Can you believe it?"

  "What?" A shock of adrenaline went through me, making my knees weak.

  "Yes, I called over to speak with him, see how he was doing, and he said he'd cleared his slate and had a definite leave of absence. He's spending four months in Africa, teaching and doing Foundation work in Kenya. Going to see where his dad died, helping fix up a few hospitals in the area. Then he's coming back to focus on the Foundation. His band."

  "How did he seem?" I asked, my throat choked with emotion.

  "Who can say? He seemed to be busy making plans." My father looked at his watch. "Well, I've got a conference call. Seems as though this campaign stuff goes on no matter that it's New Year's Eve."

  He kissed my cheek and left me alone in the kitchen.

  I went to my room and laid on my bed, devastated that Drake felt he had to leave NY Presbyterian over this. It was my fault. I never should have agreed to see him again. That day when I sat in the storefront window and he texted me from across the street, I should have just let him go.

  Elaine popped her head in the doorway.

  "Katie? Are you OK?"

  I rolled over away from the door. "No, I'm not."

  She came in, closing the door behind her. She sat on the bed beside me and took my hand.

  "What's the matter, Kate. Tell me. Is it Drake? Your father told me that he was leaving for Africa in a few days."

  I nodded and then covered my face with my hands, unable to stop my tears.

  She bent down and put her arms around my shoulders. "There, there… I thought you would be sad. You two seemed to be really good together. His eyes seemed so bright when he was with you in the Bahamas. I just can't believe you two broke up. What happened?"

  "I had to break up with him," I said to her. "He isn't interested in anything long term, just casual. I knew that when we started out, but I fell in love with him, Elaine. There's just so much more to him than I ever thought was possible. He loves music, he is so good hearted, he's so strong and warm and smart. But I need more than he can give."

  "Aw, sweetheart," she said and pulled me into her arms. "It's OK. These things have a way of working out for the best." She hugged me and just let me cry. How I wished my mother was here to comfort me, but she wasn't. I hugged Elaine tighter.

  We sat like that for a while and she stroked my hair, murmured in my ear and soon, I regained control over myself.

  "Have a bath and put a cold compress on your eyes. We'll have a nice dinner. I wish you would come with us to the dance, but I understand if you decide to stay here."

  She left me on the bed and I lay there, deciding what I should do.

  I didn't have Drake any more. I didn't have Dawn. I didn't have my own mother. I felt incredibly sorry for myself.

  I slept the afternoon away, hiding from the world under the covers of my childhood bed.

  Later, before dinner, I did what Elaine suggested. There was no good reason to make my father upset so I had a bath, put a cold washcloth over my eyes, and did
the best I could to look presentable, wearing that dress I wore the night I attended my father's first campaign dinner. No amount of makeup could disguise my bloodshot black eye so I decided to carry a tissue around and plead allergies if anyone asked me. I prepared a story about falling in the bathtub for when people asked about my stitches.

  Finally, the time came for guests to start arriving. I went to the bar and looked for something to drink, needing alcohol to take away my sadness. The bartender was gone to the kitchen for ice, and so I bent down and checked the bar. There was every kind of scotch, some bourbon, gin, but my dad kept the vodka cold. I opened the small bar fridge under the counter for some vodka and cold soda. In the back of the fridge was a bottle with a label I recognized from Drake's apartment. Anisovaya. On a small label attached to the bottle was a note in Drake's handwriting:

  "To my second father, Happy New Year, my best regards, Drake"

  I picked it up and when I stood, I glanced up, thinking the bartender was back only to be looking into the clear blue eyes of Drake Morgan.

  Devastatingly handsome Drake Morgan, MD. Neurosurgeon on leave from NY Presbyterian, bass player, philanthropist, Dominant. Wearing a beautiful dark grey suit with a white shirt and black tie, hands behind his back, a half-smile on his face.

  He brought his hands forward and in them were the two crystal shot glasses that were rumored to have once belonged to Yelena Kuznetzova, Stalin's housekeeper at his dacha in Soviet Georgia.

  "I brought these along just in case you didn't have anything quite so special."

  He placed them on the bar and smiled at me.

  I put the bottle on the counter and stepped back, leaning against the wall, a bit dizzy as the blood drained from my face. I closed my eyes, taking in a deep breath. He came behind the bar and took me in his arms, practically holding me up because my knees went wobbly.

  He took my chin in his hand and I opened my eyes, barely able to see him through my tears.

  "Drake, you can't do this to me," I said, biting back a sob. "This is cruel."

  "You're the one who left. You can't do this to me." Then he kissed me, his arms squeezing me against him and I could do nothing to stop him, he was so strong and determined. When he pulled away, he held my face in his hands, wiping my tears away with his fingers.

  "Why are you here?" I said, my voice a whisper, barely able to speak. "You're leaving. I don't want to see you…"

  "Your father called me and told me you'd be here tonight. That if I was going away, I should come over and say goodbye."

  "This is torture."

  He smiled as if nothing was wrong. "Kate, your father knows. He gave me a dressing down, telling me that he already knew about the restraining order. About my 'proclivities' as he called them. He's known all along."

  "He knows?"

  Drake nodded. "He's been watching me for years, monitoring me for my father. He knew about the restraining order. He knew about the BDSM through Nigel."

  He led me to the couch in the living room and sat with his arm around me, touching my bottom lip, brushing a strand of hair off my cheek.

  "He and Nigel go back a long way. I guess Nigel faced some blackmail over his sexuality years ago when your dad was still a defense lawyer and your dad advised him. Nigel told him about me after he saw me at a Fetish night."

  "That's why Nigel was looking at you that way the night of my father's campaign fundraiser…"

  "Yeah, he told me that I had better not ever hurt you or he'd have my balls. I had no idea he'd told your father."

  "My father knows you're a Dom?"

  Drake laughed ruefully. "Who would ever have believed it? He knows even more about me than my own dad did."

  "And he approved of you as my boyfriend…" I shook my head. "I don't understand. I thought he'd be horrified."

  "So did I but I guess not. He said," and Drake put on a mock voice that sounded gravelly like my father, "'For some reason I can't think of off the top of my head, Kate seems to have a preference for a dominant man and you're a helluva lot better than some jackass who doesn't know what the Sam hell he's doing, like that flyboy she had the sense to get rid of.'"

  I covered my mouth to stifle a sob, tears filling my eyes.

  "He said that?"

  "His exact words."

  I closed my eyes and leaned against him, but even though I was relieved that my father was so accepting of this, Drake was leaving.

  "But you left NY Presbyterian. You’re going to Africa…"

  He pulled back and looked in my eyes. "I figured that if I did, I could lay low for a year and return when all this blows over. I talked to the head of the College and we agreed that I'd take a year leave of absence. I've been meaning to go to Africa and do a longer stint. Teach a class at the College in Nairobi."

  I shook my head, a feeling building in me that I couldn't identify.

  "So you came to say goodbye."

  He took my face in his hands again. "I came," he said, taking in a deep breath, "to say that I've developed a taste for potatoes and gravy and meat all on the same fork." He stared into my eyes, his expression so earnest, his brow furrowed. "Lara played a recording of you telling her you thought you could love me. She even tried to entice you to meet another Dom and you refused, saying you wanted me. That almost made me reconsider leaving, but could isn't does." He moved closer, his eyes so intense. "When Elaine called me this afternoon and told me that you said you had fallen in love with me, I realized that I would never meet anyone like you again in my life. So perfect for me in every way. And I think I'm good for you, too. I think I could make you happy."

  He leaned down and kissed me tenderly.

  "I couldn’t stand it. I couldn't lose you. So I came over and spoke with your father while you were sleeping, perfectly willing to accept what ever he said I should do. He admitted to knowing about me all this time and said that if I had feelings for you, I shouldn't leave without telling you. Then, he sent me home to change and I came back as quickly as I could so we could talk and I could confess my feelings for you."

  I bit my lip to control my emotions.

  "Ms. Bennet," he said and shook his head, his eyes searching mine. "Kate, I love you. I never, ever want to be separated from you again."

  Emotion built in me, my vision blurring. I couldn't speak.

  "Kate," he said, his smile indulgent. "Your face is getting red. You should breathe now."

  I burst out crying at that, covering my face with my hands, and he just wrapped his arms around me, cradling me, my face in the crook of his neck. He pulled a handkerchief out of a pocket and gave it to me so I could mop up my eyes, rocking me back and forth. Then he tilted my head up and kissed me.

  "But you're leaving…" I said when he pulled away.

  "I want you to come with me."

  I shook my head. "Africa was so hard for me."

  He brushed hair off my cheek. "Not where we'll be. Kenya is so beautiful, Kate. Where I'll work, it's so full of hope and promise. You'll love it. The wildlife is spectacular. You could work on your art, your photography, write…"

  "I haven't finished my MA."

  "You can take a leave of absence. When we come back, you could finish it."

  "What would I go as? Your submissive?"

  "As my love. As the woman I can't live without. And, when we wanted it, and needed it, as my submissive."

  I sighed, my eyes still brimming, and leaned against him, my face in the crook of his neck, his cologne filling my nose, his warmth, his strength, soothing me.

  When a guest arrived at the front door, Drake took my hand and led me to the bathroom, closing the door behind us. He made me sit on the vanity while he rifled through the drawers in search of a washcloth, which he ran under cold water. Then, he held it to my eyes and leaned against me, his gaze so comforting – his eyes so tender. Only less than two months ago, I could barely bring myself to look in his eyes, but now, I wanted to look in them.

  I was surprised at what a caregi
ver he was, thinking that surgeons were usually a bit distant but that was the story of our relationship – from that first night at the bar when he saved me from a fall, to the fundraiser when he tended my wounds, to the concert when he wiped my tears, to the Bahamas when he cut me out of the wetsuit and applied aloe vera to my burns, to the ER when he bandaged me up.

  I just let him look after me, my happiness almost too much to bear, bringing more tears to my eyes. I had to breathe in deeply to calm myself.

  Finally, I was able to regain control and let him wipe my face. I reapplied some makeup while he watched.

  "You don’t have to stay with me for this," I said and I applied foundation to cover up my red nose.

  "I forgot how much I love watching a woman dress and put on her face. It's so intimate."

  "You used to like it?"

  He smiled, his smile a bit wistful. "When I was married."

  I said nothing, even though I wanted to hear more about his marriage. I didn't want to push him to talk about what was such a painful memory.

  But he seemed to want to tell me. While I applied my mascara, he sat on the edge of the bathtub and watched me in the mirror.

  "I used to watch her in the morning before she went to work."

  "What did she do?"

  "A nurse – of course. Who else do doctors spend so much time with? We worked together at NYP. If the nurses have a bad opinion of me, it's because of the divorce. It split them into two camps – those who still liked me and those who hated me because of the split."

  "Sorry to hear that. It's hard to stay neutral in a divorce."

  I applied a bit of lip gloss and then I turned around, leaning against the vanity and watched him. He seemed to want to keep talking.

  "I thought I'd never make the same mistake as my father, but I made every single one. He neglected my mother, he was so busy with his business and with his charity and his music, she finally gave up and left him."