by Lund, S. E.
"I'm that girl, aren't I?" I said, sighing
He turned back to me. "What girl?"
"The girl who thinks too much."
He couldn’t hold back a grin. "That's my girl. D/s is intense. Everything feels much more significant. It's hard not to over respond." He then he turned to me, a serious expression on his face, but I could see mirth underneath, barely suppressed. "It'll pass. It's the high from the orgasm. I've read that the testosterone in semen gives the woman a bit of an energy boost, and drains it from men so it makes women wake up, their minds race while men fall asleep. …"
I smiled, leaning my head back to take him in. He was so gorgeous, so strong, so knowledgeable. I was so lucky.
"That's what I wanted to see." He took me in his arms and kissed my forehead. "You can't resist me. I don’t want you to. I like when you comply with me, Kate, so tonight I feel like you and I passed a threshold in our relationship."
"Really?" I said, surprised.
"Yes. Once you gave in, you allowed me to make all the decisions about what we'd do. No questions."
"It's not really fair," I said, smiling.
"What's not fair?" Drake said, pulling back a bit.
"You know," I said and put a hand on his chest. "You know my mind. Sometimes, I think you know me better than I know myself."
He smiled and trailed his fingers down my cheek to my throat, and then my collar. "I know you, Kate. I told you that the first night we were together. I meant it."
"How do you know me?"
"Your father talked a lot about you. He described you to a 'T'. He understands you far more than you realize."
Then he wrapped his arms around me and held me. The music on the satellite radio playing in the limo was something jazzy and mellow, and Drake held me close for the rest of the drive.
"I missed you all week, Katie," he said, his voice deep and warm.
I said nothing for a moment, enjoying the mood. Finally, I took in a breath.
"I missed you, too." I tried to pull away but he held me firmly.
"No, stay like this," he said, pulling me closer. "What made you so insecure, Kate?" he said finally. "What happened to you to make you doubt how much a man would desire you?"
I didn't know what to say in response. How could I explain? I tried to find something in my past that could account for it, but there was nothing. I was never abused, I was never shamed outright for anything. I was very well taken care of. There was this weakness in me, somewhere deep inside, that made me doubt that a man could love me. Really love me. He might like to have sex with me. He might like to parade me around as his conquest. But really love me?
"I don’t know," I said and sighed. "Daddy issues?"
He pulled back and looked in my eyes. "Your father loves you so much, Kate."
"I know that now, but I guess I always felt like second best next to Heath. Like I was of no consequence. My father was always doing things with Heath, taking him to games, playing ball with him, showing him off like he was his little clone. I felt like nothing."
He shook his head and then pulled me back against him. "I'm sure he never meant to make you feel that way. He's very proud of you. He kept you away from us bachelors because he knew you were worth more than being arm candy on some hungry dog's arm the way you could have been."
"Arm candy? Me?" I said and laughed. "Hardly."
"You don’t think you qualify as arm candy?" he said, his voice disbelieving. "You are the definition of arm candy to me, with the delicious advantage of being brain candy and heart candy. I wish you knew that. I'm going to spend the rest of my life making sure you do."
I smiled against his shoulder and squeezed him a bit tighter, my chest tight, my throat constricting.
CHAPTER FIVE
A few days later, Drake had a day off so we could do some shopping. I woke early and had a shower while Drake slept. After I finished up in the bathroom, Drake had a shower, and we sat in the living room and had our breakfast, brought in by our butler, the food hot, the coffee fresh. Later, we sat on our small patio and enjoyed the view of the estate, the wind a breath of warm air, the sky clear except for a few high clouds. In the distance, the Ngong Hills were dark against a bight blue sky.
Drake turned to me. "We get the place next week. What do you say we ask Jan if we can go to the house and take some measurements? We could go shopping for furniture."
"That sounds nice," I said, smiling. "Where do Kenyan's shop for furniture in Nairobi?"
Drake shrugged. "I have no idea."
I picked up my cell. "Claire will know. I'll call her." While I made my call, Drake read the local papers.
Claire answered on the third ring. "Kate. Nice to hear from you," she said her voice sounding pleased. "What can I do for you?"
"Drake and I chose a house and we want to do some shopping for furniture. We get possession next weekend so we want the furniture to be delivered before we move in."
She gave me a few suggestions, and I scribbled them down on a hotel notepad on the desk.
"Thanks so much," I said, glad that we knew someone in the city.
"Make sure to invite Michael and me for dinner soon," she said and laughed. "I'm eager to see your place. If you want, I can take you to the Institute tomorrow and you can try to register in an art studio class like we discussed. We can go for lunch and then I can take you over to the Institute. I have some overtime banked so I can take it tomorrow."
"That sounds great," I said, a surge of excitement in me at the prospect of taking a studio class. "Drake will be working tomorrow, so I'm as free as a bird. I'd love to."
I ended the call and turned to Drake, who was looking at me expectantly.
"Well?" he said, putting his paper down. "What did Claire say?"
"She gave me a few ideas of where to shop." I handed him the list of stores.
"What else did she say? It sounded like you two were going to get together."
I shrugged. "She suggested that I register in a studio art class through the Institute. That way I'll meet some students. Maybe make a few new friends who share my love of art."
He nodded, but said nothing, his brow furrowed. A moment passed. I thought he'd have something more to say about it, but instead, he was strangely silent.
"You don't mind, do you?" I said, noticing his reticence. I sat beside him, my thigh pressed against his knee.
He opened his paper to another section, and didn't meet my eye. "Why would I mind? You love art. You should do art."
I sighed. "You seemed, I don't know, a little hesitant."
Was he jealous of my time away from him? It didn't seem like the Drake I knew and loved. He wanted me to be independent outside of our D/s relationship in the bedroom.
He exhaled, and turned to me, his face a bit guarded. "I thought having a studio in our home would allow you to paint as much as you want. That's all."
"It will, but we'll be here for six months. You'll be away all day every day and on call every three weekends. I need to make a life here for myself apart from you. If I take a class," I said, trying to make it sound harmless, rational. "I might meet a few students I can have coffee with now and then, when you're busy and at the hospital or teaching. With Dawn and me on the outs, I have no one else but you."
"Sure," he said and put his paper down, reaching out to take my hand. He squeezed it, his face earnest. "I will be very busy, especially at first. But I want us to be together when I'm not working. I don't want to compete with anyone for your time and attention. When you agreed to come with me to Africa, I had visions of you waiting for me in our house, pining away for me, dressed in something revealing, nice and wet for when I returned home at night… You know, typical male fantasies…"
I laughed at that. "Don't worry," I said, a little thrill in me that he wanted me all to himself. "When we've been apart, I'm always ready for you."
He kissed my knuckles.
"When you're free, I want to be with you." I squeezed his hand back. "At your beck and call.
" I wagged my eyebrows suggestively.
"At my beck and call, hmm?" he said and grinned wickedly. "I like that. Reminds me of your slave-girl persona. I'll hold you to that, Ms. Bennet."
I was going to make a crack about him holding me to it any time he wanted, but instead, I smiled.
We dressed and ordered a taxi service suggested through the hotel. Our butler gave us the name of the service the hotel used for its foreign guests, and soon, we were in a late model SUV maneuvering through traffic on our way to our first destination.
Claire had provided us with the names of several furniture stores that catered to the expat crowd, and we spent the rest of the day picking out a sofa and love seat, an overstuffed chair and ottoman, coffee tables and end tables and lamps for our new home. By the end of the afternoon, the taxi was filled with packages and we were both exhausted and in need of a drink.
"Let's have a swim, and then a drink before dinner," Drake said as we drove back to the hotel. "I'd love it if a certain slave-girl gave me a nice full body massage tonight. All that shopping used muscles I haven't used for a long time."
"Your wish is my command," I said, smiling and bowing in mock servitude. "The hotel has a spa shop with lots of essential oils and lotions. I'll stop in and get a nice massage oil on our way to the room."
"Sounds amazing," he said as our taxi arrived at the entrance to the hotel.
A doorman helped us with our packages and as Drake and our butler took them back to the room, I stopped in the spa shop and sampled some massage oil and lotions. The woman in a brightly colored spa uniform helped me, suggesting I take a few tools with me to enhance the experience. I picked an oil with a coconut scent and a wooden massage ball.
I arrived back to the hotel room only to find Drake on the phone, his cell to his ear, one hand on his forehead. I put my package down and went to his side. He looked in my eyes, and shrugged.
"Sure," he said, his voice weary. "When should I be there?"
He listened some more and I had a bad feeling about our nice evening.
"OK, fine. See you then." He ended the call and exhaled heavily. "Sorry about this, but we have a patient…"
"Let me guess," I said, a knot of disappointment in the pit of my stomach. "A pediatric trauma case."
"You got it. I'm meeting Michael at the hospital. The child's being air lifted in from a car accident and we're meeting the helicopter. I'm sorry," he said and pulled me into his arms. "Sorrier than you can imagine. I'm exhausted already. Can you manage until I get back?"
"Isn't someone else on call this weekend?"
"Cardoso's sick. Michael's taking his call."
I sighed. "How long will you be?"
He shook his head. "I have no idea, but depending on what we find, surgery could be a few hours. We'll probably stay at the hospital until the child stabilizes. You should go ahead and order dinner in. I'll grab something at the hospital with Michael."
I nodded and squeezed him. And then, the green in my eyes intensified. "Will his resident be operating with you?"
"Sam?" he said, his voice light. "Yes, of course. She scrubs in on all his cases."
I turned away, hiding my frown.
"Kate…" He turned me back to face him. "We already talked about this. How can you still be jealous after last night?"
I shook my head. "Ignore me."
"You have no reason to be insecure. Sam's a resident. A fellow surgeon. Female surgeons are almost never submissive, so even if I was looking, she wouldn’t be on my radar." He pulled me hard against his body, his eyes intense. "And I'm not looking, so you can relax. No one but you is on my radar. I'm all yours. Every inch of me."
His expression took my breath away and I melted against him, a surge of desire going through me as I thought about all his inches.
"I love every inch of you, Dr. Delish," I said, trying to lighten my mood. "It's just that I know other women would love you as well."
"Other men would love you, too, Katherine," he said, his voice firm. "Admit it, we're both catches. We caught each other. It's settled." He grinned at me.
I smiled back, the last vestiges of my jealousy dissipating.
Drake kissed me firmly before he left the hotel. "Make sure you have that massage oil on hand when I get back. I have a feeling I'm going to need it."
I had a quick swim in the hotel pool and after I lay in the warm sunshine for about half an hour, I went inside our room and had a shower. I was sitting in my robe, examining the room service menu when the room phone rang. I picked it up and checked the call display, thinking it might be Drake saying he would be coming home sooner than thought.
It was Claire. "Kate, I know you're all alone tonight. Why don't you come with me to the Art Institute? There's a faculty exhibit of work to welcome the new art students. There's a wine and cheese reception. You could meet some of the other students."
"I don’t know, Claire," I said. "I'm not even registered."
"That doesn't matter. I know the Dean. He'll be there and will be only too happy to see a new foreign student. Your fees are many times higher than those of Kenyan residents."
"I don't know…"
"Michael and Drake will be very late, Kate. Don’t expect Drake home until closer to midnight, if these things go as they usually do. We'll go out, have a glass of wine and some snacks, meet a few people, and then you and I can go for dinner together. Better than eating all alone in your hotel room."
"If you think it would be OK," I said, a twinge of excitement at seeing the faculty member's artwork. Plus, the chance to meet a few students would be nice. "I don’t want to impose."
"It wouldn’t be imposing. Now, put on a little black dress and I'll be by in fifteen minutes."
Claire seemed as if she wouldn't take no for an answer, so I did as she suggested, and dressed in my only little black dress, put on some heels and made sure to wear my diamond choker. No one would know what it meant, but I wanted to make sure I wore it at all times when in public even though Drake wouldn’t see me. I'd see myself in any mirror, and it would make me feel good, possessed. Loved.
CHAPTER SIX
We drove through the city to the Institute of Fine Arts, located in a middle-class suburb of Nairobi. As we arrived, I took out my cell for in my rush to get ready, I'd forgotten to leave Drake a text message that I was going out with Claire. When I found my cell at the bottom of my bag, it was dead.
"My battery died," I said. "I forgot to leave Drake a message. Can you leave one for me?"
Claire waved her hand. "Don't worry. I'll leave Michael a message once we get to the college and he'll let Drake know you're with me."
I nodded, happy that Drake would know I was out with Claire, in case he tried to call me.
"Why don't you use my charger?" Claire said and pointed to the iPhone charger in her car. I nodded and attached my phone to the charger. It would draw a charge off the battery while we were at the reception.
The party was held in a room decorated in bright colors, the artwork on the walls mirroring the brightness of the decor. A couple dozen people were present, dressed up in cocktail dresses, traditional African clothing, and a few sober suits. The mix of Africans to Europeans was about three to one.
Claire marched right up to a tall African man with long dreads, wearing something I'd expect to see in an art studio in Manhattan - jeans, a plain white t-shirt and a thick black belt. They embraced and spoke to each other softly before turning me. I stood a few feet away, waiting to be introduced.
"Nial, may I introduce Kate McDermott. Kate, this is Nial Mbuno, one of the faculty members here at the Institute. Kate's an artist from Manhattan who's here for six months and would like to take a studio class if possible. Is it too late to register?"
Nial looked me over and smiled, extending his hand. "Our classes are pretty full, but there are a few open studio classes you could take. What are you interested in? Drawing or painting?"
"Either," I said, feeling a bit shy. Claire was making
me out to be something I wasn't.
"Did you study in Manhattan?"
I nodded. "Columbia. A few art classes. My major was journalism."
"Good," he said, nodding. "Come in and meet the other faculty members. Some of the senior students are here as well. Enjoy."
We spent the next half hour examining the artwork on the walls and eating canapés and drinking wine. The art was amazing and varied, everything from abstract works to extreme realism to impressionism.
While Claire spoke with Nial, I stopped and examined a series of works by an S. deVilliers. It was quite dark in content, featuring people in various shabby locations in what I imagined were the slums of Nairobi. Old men sitting on oil bins in front of shacks, their faces weatherworn, and their bodies bony under clothes that were too big. Small children picking through mounds of garbage in the slums outside the city, walking beside rivers of sewage with sticks in their hands. The backgrounds were drab grey, but the colors in the trash were overly bright, almost neon.
I felt someone behind me and thought at first it was Claire.
"Rather grim, isn't it?" a male voice said, the accent sounding slightly British with some kind of twang I couldn't identify.
I turned only to find myself looking into the brown eyes of a tall very handsome man with longish blond hair bleached by the sun, considerable growth of fair whiskers on his very square jaw. He glanced at me briefly and then turned back to the painting, his expression very studious.
"It's dark in subject matter," I said, cocking my head to the side. "But the colors in the trash are so vivid. Like it's purposeful." I pointed to the painting of the children. "Contrasting the darkness of the content with the brightness of the colors. The children's clothes are grey, but the trash is bright, and the sky is so blue behind the mountain of garbage."
"You think it's deliberate? A statement?"
I nodded. "Probably something about consumerism. All the brightly colored packaging from wealthy people's trash, but the people affected are dull. They almost blend into the dirt."
