The Drake Restrained Compete Collection: Part 1 - 4 (The Drake Series Book 7)

by Lund, S. E.

  I undressed as well and lay between her legs, fully naked, my erection pressed into her groin. I took my time, working her up with my fingers and my tongue, exploring every part of her body. I wanted her aching with need. Then I pulled her on top of me so that she lay with me between her thighs.

  "Seduce me now," I said and closed my eyes. I wanted to feel her trying to arouse me.

  She did, using her mouth and tongue and fingers, rubbing herself against me, shoving her breasts in my face, her hair trailing down my body as she placed a trail of kisses down my belly and began teasing me, breathing on me, slowly licking my cock all over before sucking the head into her mouth, her hands cupping my scrotum.

  When I finally entered her, she was so ready, it took barely five slow thrusts with my fingers on her clit and she was groaning.

  "Master, I'm going to…"

  I didn't stop. I kept on thrusting, circling her clit with my thumb. Then, when I felt she was almost there, I lay on top of her, holding her face in my hands. "Say my name."

  She tried, forcing her eyes open as her orgasm started, and I fucked her missionary style until she cried out “Drake” instead of “Master.”

  I came as well in a few strokes, ramming into her with each spasm, white hot pleasure blinding me. Then I collapsed onto her and panted in her ear for a moment, kissing her neck.

  She smiled beneath me.

  "So?" I said, raising my eyebrows and grinning like a fool. "How was vanilla ice cream without any chocolate sauce and whipped cream tonight? Good enough?"

  "More than good enough, in case you didn't notice, Master."

  I bent down and kissed her throat. I slipped out of her and quickly sat up between her thighs and spread her legs wide so I could watch my come drip out of her.

  She covered her face, trying to hide her smile.

  "What are you smiling about, Ms. Bennet?" I said in mock disapproval. "The fact I can't deny at least one of my kinks?"

  She opened her hands and watched me enjoy myself with my artwork.

  We were, at that moment, completely out of scene and I didn’t care at all. The contract we had wasn’t binding. We were both free to throw it out at any time and be whatever it was we wanted to be to each other.

  At that moment, despite the fact I was totally off the reservation with Kate, I was more fulfilled than I had been in a very long time.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  There were only a few times Kate was at 8th Avenue before me, despite how much I wished it was the opposite. The Monday before Christmas Eve, she was there waiting for me. She’d brought along a couple of strings of Christmas lights and some decorations.

  "You're here," I said, smiling. "I was running a bit late in surgery."

  "I'm here, breathlessly waiting for you," she said.

  "Just the way I like you."

  She smiled and helped me with my coat and packages. Then, she held her hands behind her back.

  "What have you got there, Ms. Bennet?" I asked as I went to her, wanting to pull her into a hug. Before I could, she held up a sprig of mistletoe, grinning.

  "Just this," she said. She tried to hold it high enough so that it was over my head but she was too petite. "I need stilts to get it over you."

  "No stilts for you," I said and grabbed her, my arms slipping around her. "Too dangerous. Don't you know you're supposed to hold it over your own head? Not that I need any excuse to kiss you…"

  I kissed her and soon, the mistletoe was forgotten. I grabbed her buttock with one hand and slipped the other under her skirt to feel her garters and naked pussy.

  "Mmm," I said against her throat. "Slave, you are nice and wet."

  She gasped when my fingers slipped inside of her. "You've got me trained like Pavlov's little submissive, Master."

  I laughed at that and then pulled away. "Speaking of Russians, how about some Anisovaya?"

  She nodded and went to the sideboard where the crystal glasses waited. We made a toast to each other.

  While I nibbled her neck, she stroked her hands up my back. "I wish we could go somewhere to celebrate New Year's, Master."

  I didn’t say anything for a moment, trying to decide whether to tell her my plans or keep them as a surprise.

  "We'll meet here during your time off. I have no surgeries for a week. I was thinking we could go to a special fetish party for New Year's,” I said, knowing she would probably enjoy another visit to a dungeon. “This time, we'd have to wear masks so no one would recognize us. The party I have in mind is in Brooklyn. There’ll be fewer people there that either of us might know compared to the one in Manhattan."

  She smiled broadly and rewarded me with a kiss. "What are you doing tomorrow, Master?"

  "I'll probably just stay around here. Play some music. You could sneak over if you can make an excuse to be alone for a couple of hours…"

  She smiled. "I'll make sure. Will they dance at these fetish parties?"

  "You liked dancing with me the other night, did you, Ms. Bennet?" I said, remembering how we had danced at the party.

  "Yes," she said. "I did, Master."

  I picked her up and swung her around my hip then I twirled her around before pulling her tightly against my body. "I did learn in high school," I said. "Although I haven't had much time to practice. I know a few moves…"

  I went to the sound system and sorted through some records until I found an old mix with the right music.

  "’Rock Around The Clock,’" I said, smiling. "Bill Hailey and the Comets."

  I led her around the room, showing her how to do the Jitterbug, tripping a bit over the loose Persian carpets on the smooth hardwoods. I picked her up, lifted her up high, and then tried to swing her over my other hip, repeating my earlier move, but my foot caught on the carpet and I tripped just as she was coming down in a less-than-graceful arc. I fell backwards and we tumbled to the floor.

  I tried to save us both from the fall by absorbing the force, my arm going back to stop us, but Kate fell a little too close to the sideboard with it's sharp corner, which struck her on the side of her head, right above her eye. By the time we came to rest on the floor, I realized something was wrong. She was on her back, her hands covering her eye.

  "Oh, God, Kate," I said, and bent down to her. "You're hurt…"

  I turned her face towards me using one hand, while I cradled my other hand against my body, and saw immediately that she needed attention. I left her lying on the floor, her hands touching her cheek. I went to my bathroom cabinet and rummaged around, searching for my first aid kit and some gauze and bandages.

  "How are you?" I asked when I ran back with supplies. I pressed the bandage against her brow, examining her. "Did you black out at any time?"

  "I don't think so. But I saw stars."

  "Are you in pain? How many fingers can you see?" I held up a hand with three fingers.

  "Three," she said. "My head really hurt for a minute, but now it just stings."

  "Look at me, in my eyes," I said, and when she complied, I examined the cut. It was deep enough that it needed more than just a few butterfly bandages. I didn’t have my emergency surgical kit at the apartment, so I’d have to take her to the hospital.

  I exhaled. "Goddammit. I have to take you to the ER and get you stitched up. I don't have my bag here."

  She smiled, despite everything. "You have one of those little black doctor bags?"

  "Something like that," I said, but I wasn't smiling. "Damn, Kate. You're going to have to just come with me. We'll have to risk it. That cut is too deep for butterfly sutures."

  "You're the neurosurgeon."

  After I bandaged her up, we took the Mercedes to St. Luke's ER. It wasn't the nearest hospital, but Kate didn't want to go to Harlem because her friend worked there. I didn't want to go to NY Presbyterian because I had too many colleagues and associates who might recognize us. The ER nurses at St. Luke's had Kate in an examining room within a very few minutes of registering.

  She sat on the gurne
y in the tiny space and I stood between her knees, examining her, brushing her hair back, feeling so bad that my two left feet resulted in harm. The young female physician entered and I stepped aside. She asked who I was and what happened. I related how we were dancing the Jitterbug. I told her that I was clumsy, and Kate fell and hit her head against a wooden table. She seemed upset that I spoke instead of Kate, but how could I explain that I needed to take control in such a situation? Not only was I a Dom, I was a surgeon. It was as natural as breathing to me.

  The physician looked at Kate carefully while she repeated the story. Kate watched me and smiled while she told the story of her fall.

  "He was a bit out of practice,” she said. “Like twenty years out of practice."

  "I'll be back in a bit to stitch that up," the attending ER doc said and left us alone.

  I continued to examine Kate, cradling my injured hand, a tensor bandage on it. "I'm so sorry,” I said. "I'm really not usually so clumsy." I grinned at her, trying to make light of things. "Kind of ruined the mood I was going for…"

  Kate laughed and squeezed my good hand. "At least I was in the best hands. I mean, if you’re going to fall and crack your head, who better than a neurosurgeon to look after you?"

  The doctor came back in. "Can you excuse us, Dr. Morgan?" she said to me. "I'd like to speak with Kate alone for a moment."

  I knew what that meant. She wanted to ensure the wound wasn’t the result of domestic violence.

  "Certainly." I leaned over and kissed Kate briefly where she sat on the examining table. "I'll be right back. You'll be fine."

  She nodded. I stood outside the room, angry that I was being kicked out, but I had to remind myself that I would do the very same thing if I were confronted with the same scenario. Too many domestic violence incidents were described as the victim falling and hitting their head on a table or doorknob. We were trained to ask questions, however uncomfortable.

  I went back a few minutes later and pushed the door open to check on Kate. I stood watching as the doc stitched Kate up, examining each stitch carefully, and holding Kate’s hand on the other side of the gurney.

  When she was done, Kate sat back up and the doc gave instructions about aftercare. I felt somewhat insulted. I was a surgeon with a lot more experience than she had, but she was probably just dotting all her i’s and crossing her t’s. Finally, we left the hospital and went back to the apartment.

  "You're staying here tonight," I said when we were back inside. I brought Kate a glass of milk instead of Anisovaya and motioned to the couch.

  "No bondage tonight?" she said, sounding a bit disappointed. "No Anisovaya?"

  "No alcohol for you, just in case. No bondage because of my wrist," I said, holding it up. "I'm useless. Not in fighting form and neither are you."

  Kate sighed, and after I shot back my vodka and Kate drank her milk, we nestled on the couch.

  I put on some Gordon Lightfoot, something my father played a great deal when I was a kid. There was a song in particular I wanted to play for her, although I felt a little foolish. It was pretty romantic and sentimental at the same time.

  "What's this?" Kate asked.

  "A Canadian musician, Gordon Lightfoot. One of my dad's favorites. He had every single album. He was a big fan of Canada, raving about their health care system and welfare safety net. He almost wanted to move there after the war, but he was accepted to Columbia and wanted to go study medicine."

  "If he was such a socialist, why did he go to war?” Kate asked, frowning. “Couldn't he get an exemption?"

  "He volunteered. He said if the poor black kids had to fight, the middle-class white kids should as well."

  "That's what my dad said,” Kate replied. “No wonder they were friends…"

  I nodded. "He almost loved Canada as much as Mother Russia. We used to go to Northern Alberta every year on vacation and he'd do surgery up in the wilds. We'd fly in to these tiny communities and he'd donate his services. We'd always stop in Montréal and eat this absolutely horrible mess of french fries and gravy and cheese curds called poutine."

  Kate smiled and snuggled against me and for a while, we said nothing, listening to the music. "What is this piece?" she asked finally.

  "It's very appropriate," I said and went over to a stack of old albums. "This song is called ‘Affair on 8th Avenue.’” I brought some sheet music over and handed it to her.

  I sat back down while Kate examined the sheet music, reading the words that spoke of an affair between a couple who met at an apartment on 8th Avenue—just like us.

  "It's beautiful. Can you play this?" she asked as she read it over.

  "I can, but not with this wrist. I guess my hopes of playing with the band over the weekend are out."

  "It's that bad?"

  "I think I tore something. My whole arm hurts."

  Kate snuggled against me. "So, what are we going to do?"

  I shrugged, my good arm around her. "I don’t know."

  "I could do you," she said, her voice taking on suggestive tone. "You don't want me to just, you know, crawl on top? You wouldn't have to do anything…"

  I leaned my head back, looking at her from the corner of my eye. "You're going to try to top me, are you?"

  "It's not topping and you wouldn’t be bottoming. It's just having sex. I'm a little aroused. I was really looking forward to tonight."

  "Ms. Bennet, you're a horny little thing,” I said, unable to keep a grin off my face, “but I just can't be safe with only one working hand and arm…"

  "You don't have to restrain me."

  She climbed onto my lap without me requesting it, but I didn't fight. She leaned down and kissed me. I let her. Since that first night in Kate’s apartment, I always signaled when our scene would start by embracing her, then kissing her. She had never made the first move.

  At first, I didn’t kiss her back, wanting to see what she would do and how far she would take it. When I didn’t respond by taking over, she pulled away and looked in my eyes.

  "You don't want me to fuck you?" she said, her voice a little hurt.

  "Kate, I am never fucked,” I said softly. “I fuck."

  "But you're injured and can't manage,” she said in protest. “I could do all the work. If it would make you feel better, you could always order me to."

  "Katherine…" I eyed her, trying to decide whether to go with this or change direction. "Remember, we're always in scene at my place."

  She sighed. "Drake, do I have to go home and resort to Big? I need you…" She kissed me now, and I could tell she was upset from the force of the kiss.

  "I don't want you going home by yourself," I said when she pulled away. "I want you to stay here tonight."

  "I want to lick you, and suck you, then I want to get on top and ride you. That wouldn't please you?"

  "I thought you were uncomfortable taking the lead in sex, Kate,” I said, wanting her to tell me how she felt. “That’s why submission appeals to you."

  She looked in my eyes. "I feel like I could do anything with you."

  I smiled at that and ran my good hand up her back, my gaze moving over her body then back into her eyes. Usually, the idea of being passive didn’t do anything for me, but Kate was so eager to please me…

  "Convince me," I said, my body responding to the image of her riding me.

  "I need you," she said. "I may see you only two or three times over a week but I want you every day and—"

  I placed a finger over her lips. "I didn’t mean with words…"

  Then she understood and smiled. She crawled up a little bit closer to me, her arms around my neck, her groin pressed against mine. Her kiss started off soft and then deepened, her tongue finding mine. I tried to remain totally passive while she ground herself against me, pressing her breasts against my chest. When she pulled her sweater off, leaving her in only her lace bra and skirt, she pressed her beautiful breasts against my face and that did it. My dick had definitely overcome the fact that I wasn’t in c
ontrol. She pulled the fabric of her bra down to expose her breasts and squeezed them, tweaking her own nipples until they were hard. She closed her eyes and continued to touch herself, her lips parted.

  It was a revelation to me. Watching her touch herself, trying to arouse me, wanting to take the lead, was delicious. I waited as long as I could and finally, I reached behind her with my good hand.

  "Let me help you with that." I pulled her closer, my mouth covering one nipple. I took control, despite my injured hand. When she tried to initiate something, I took over. When she climbed on top of me as I lay naked on the bed, I directed her, telling her where to put her hands, how fast to move, when to kiss me. But she succeeded in getting me interested in the first place. I didn't tie her up, I didn't blindfold her, and I definitely didn’t make her come four times before I did.

  Kate came once and then I did, fucking her from behind, which didn’t rely on my hand for anything.

  She didn't call me Master once.

  Afterwards, as we lay with our limbs entwined, the sheets wrapped up around us, Kate turned to me.

  "You survived vanilla sex yet again."

  I grinned. "It's all I ever used to do."

  She said nothing for a moment and I knew her curious mind was working. "How did you start doing BDSM?"

  I rubbed her back with my good hand, but didn’t say anything.

  "You don’t want to talk about it?"

  "Not really,” I said. “Let's just say I recognized my Dominant side, then got some instruction—"

  "From Lara," she offered.

  "From Lara," I said.

  "This was after your divorce?"

  "Kate," I said, not really wanting to get into it at that moment. "I'm tired. I have to sleep…"

  "I'm sorry," she said, her voice quiet. "This is hard for you. We're mixing up the food on your plate too much, right?"