by Lund, S. E.
"I'm going to have to find some other way to punish you," he said, and I could hear a hint of humor in his voice. "You're too damn responsive."
He kissed my shoulder and then I felt him slip out of me. I always hated that moment, wanting him to stay inside longer. He stood up straight and when I tried, he held me down, his hand on the small of my back. I knew what he was doing – watching his come dripping down my thighs.
I said nothing, biting my lip to stop from laughing. Finally, he let me up and I went to the bathroom to clean up. I started to undress, unzipping my dress. He stopped me, taking over. He took hold of my zipper and pulled it all the way down. I removed the dress and hung it up in on the back of the door and then removed my bra. My panties were still on the floor in the living room where he'd dropped them.
As I cleaned myself quickly with a washcloth, he stood in the door, his white bathrobe open to reveal his now-deflating erection, which was still impressive. He was so damn gorgeous that it was hard to be mad at him.
He watched me run a quick bath. I stepped inside the tub and sank down once the water was high enough. Then, I started washing my body, using the fragrant soap I found wrapped in pretty pastel paper.
"You're not going to say anything?" he said, a curious expression on his face as he watched me move to my knees, washing myself completely. He didn't sound angry. Nor did he sound amused.
"That was good," I said as I stood and used a pitcher to rinse off my body. "I needed that."
He shook his head slowly while I got out of the tub and wrapped a towel around my body.
"What am I going to do with you, Ms. Bennet?"
I grabbed my clothes and brushed past him, smiling. "Anything you want."
He followed me into the bedroom and watched while I hung up my dress in the closet.
"Anything I want, hmm?" he said, his voice now clearly amused.
"You're the Dom."
I dried my body off, wiping my arms and then my torso, before drying off my thighs. He stood a few feet away and watched.
Before I could put on my nightgown, he grabbed me and pulled me over to the bed, then he pushed me down onto my back. He lifted me up onto the bed farther so that his mouth was right over my pussy.
"What I want is to eat you and make you come again."
I closed my eyes and covered my face with my hands so he wouldn't see me smile.
Then he did exactly what he wanted.
Later, as we lay together naked, our limbs entwined, he kissed my neck.
"So, other than the fact that you should have called me sometime during the night, how did your evening go? Did you meet other students?"
I sighed. How would I tell him about Sefton?
"It was OK."
"That doesn't sound like much of a ringing endorsement."
I took in a deep breath. "To tell you the truth, it wasn't much fun. I felt uncomfortable a lot of the time."
"Why?" He brushed a finger over my bottom lip. "What happened?"
"Claire went off and was a social butterfly. I was stuck with this man who made a few strange comments and innuendo. I only wanted to come home and wait for you but I was trapped."
"What man?" he said, his voice soft.
"Sefton deVilliers," I said, instantly regretting that I mentioned Sefton, but I remembered the fiasco with Kurt back before we left Manhattan. "He's the artist in residence at the Institute. He's offering an open studio course and offered me a spot but I don't know if I want to take the class from him."
"Why?"
"He made me uncomfortable. I told him I was engaged to you so he'd stop."
"Was he at the dinner, too?"
"Yes," I said, feeling a weight of guilt descend over me. "He was a bit suggestive…"
"Suggestive?"
I turned to him. "He asked me if I was a submissive."
"What?" Drake frowned and I felt his body tense under my hands. "How did that come up? What did you say to him?"
"Nothing," I said, feeling a bit defensive at this tone. I touched my collar. "He saw my choker and asked me what it meant. Do you think he was at the dungeon the other night and saw me, recognized my choker?"
"I don't know why else he'd think you were a submissive," Drake said, his voice low. "He must have been there." He shook his head and rubbed his eyes as if he was really tired. "That was presumptuous of him and not acceptable. People in the lifestyle usually only meet through known contact routes – online websites, personals, or through friends who are in the lifestyle. You don't ask a stranger and even if you've seen someone at an event, you don't mention it unless you're close enough. It's respect for privacy. Besides, we were wearing masks. That means we don't want our participation in the event to be publicly known. He knew that if he was there."
"He's a buffoon," I said, remembering Sefton's tone with me.
"He is." Drake was silent for a moment. "Did he say anything other than that?"
I shook my head. "No. He made a few comments when he saw my painting of you that at first I thought could be taken two ways."
I told Drake about Sefton's comment about the size of my painting and how he wanted to know what the competition was.
"So I take it we weren't in a public room," I said, my voice soft because I knew he wanted to keep that a secret.
"Why do you think that?" he said.
"Because if he saw us having sex, he would know you're big."
"I'm neither going to confirm or deny that," he said and shook his head. "He's not going to spoil the experience for you."
He inhaled deeply and stroked my hair as I lay beside him, my arm across his chest, my face pressed against his shoulder. "Might want to keep your distance from him," he said. "I'd advise against taking his studio class. Not because I don't trust you," he said and turned to face me. He tilted my chin up so I had to look in his eyes. "I may get jealous, but I know you love me. Still, you don't want to feel harassed. You want someone to appreciate you for your talent and not because you are the most delicious bit of womanhood around."
He smiled briefly and kissed me. He was right. Sefton definitely made me feel uncomfortable. I didn't want to have to fend him off all the time, or listen to his flirty personal comments.
"I'll check with Nial Mbuno, the Dean of the Institute, about other open studio classes."
Drake nodded and pulled me against him.
Before too long, he was asleep, but I lay awake for a long time, thinking about what happened between us, and about Mr. Sefton deVilliers. He had to have been at the club and saw me there. Perhaps he didn't see Drake and me having sex, but saw me at some other point and recognized the choker. I tried to push the thought out of my mind, because it was going to drive me crazy trying to sort through all the possibilities.
Finally, even my eyelids became heavy, and in the warmth of Drake's arms, I drifted off to sleep.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The next week passed slowly, with Drake once again shadowing Michael at the hospital and teaching at the college. Like the first week, Drake returned to the hotel late every night, missing supper, and falling asleep soon after. He had a drink of hot tea before sleep and a few times we went for a swim, but we weren't very intimate during the week, especially compared to our first months together.
I spent my time on the net, looking at images of local artists and their work, after I found a studio class that I could take so I could avoid Sefton's. I was able to speak with Nial Mbuno about another studio class offered by one of the faculty members, and Nial agreed to speak with the instructor, Talia Abasi, a local artist who also taught life drawing. She had space in her class for me, but it wasn't a painting class. It was a drawing class with live models. I hadn't taken a drawing class for a few years, so it would be a challenge.
Moving day arrived and I was so eager to get out of the hotel. Although our suite was fantastic, I wanted a kitchen so Drake and I could cook together, and I wanted our own bedroom so I could have a real chest of drawers and closet. I wa
nted our own place.
Our home away from home.
On the day Drake had no classes, he took the day off, so once we were showered and dressed and ready to go, we took a taxi to Kitusuru Village and met Jan at the house to pick up our keys. The movers from the furniture store brought our purchases, and set up the bed. Drake had filled the taxi with our luggage and the housewares we'd bought and we spent the morning getting things moved into the house and put away.
After the movers finally left, and we were alone, I was in the bedroom making the bed when Drake walked in the room, and came up behind me, slipping his arms around my waist.
"We're finally here, Ms. Bennet," he said, his lips pressed against my neck. "Our own house. I can't wait to make it our home. Buy some groceries. Cook a meal. Christen the bed."
"Christen the bed, you say?"
He pulled me more tightly into his arms, planting a very warm and wet kiss on my neck.
"What do you say we get a taxi and go for lunch and then hit the market?"
I squeezed his arms around me. "Sounds wonderful."
The taxi driver was a friendly young man with a bright smile named Jomo, who spoke impeccable English with a British accent and gave us a running commentary as he drove through the streets of Nairobi. A student at the University of Nairobi, he spent some time in the US and was pleased to talk about Manhattan, where he'd attended the Model United Nations. He took us to a local hangout where they had great fish. There was a market nearby and the driver gave us his card and told us to call him when we were ready to go back to our house.
We sat at the tiny restaurant that was nothing more than a single room with a service window. There were already many customers and so we stood in line with the locals, waiting to place our order. Then, we sat at a picnic table on the sidewalk and ate our fish with chapattis and vegetables.
Once we were done, we strolled down the street to the open-air market and checked out each stall, selecting fresh produce and meat. The market was busy, with many women carrying brightly colored cloth shopping bags over their arms. We bought several bags of food and then called Jomo for our return trip. We sat on a bench by the market and waited, watching the people as they bought their goods, arguing with the shopkeepers over prices.
"You didn't haggle over prices like the locals do," I said, poking Drake in the ribs.
"I don’t really get the money system yet," he said and laughed. "Maybe we should have asked Jomo to be our agent. We probably overpaid for everything we bought today."
I shrugged. "Maybe, but we can afford it."
"Who knows? I may have paid a small fortune for those vegetables. We should probably shop at the mall until we get to know prices and the money a bit better."
There weren't a lot of Europeans in the city, so we were pretty visible, and a few small children stopped as they walked by us with their mothers. They stared at us, smiling, until the mothers pulled them along. "Mzungu," one small girl said as she stared at us.
I knew that it mean 'white person' in Swahili.
"We're curiosities," I said, waving at one small girl with big brown eyes.
"Definitely." Drake smiled and waved at her as well and then she was pulled away, back into the throng of people streaming through the market.
Jomo drove up a few moments later, glad to see us, and took us to another furniture shop so I could buy a table for my studio and some shelves for supplies. Finally, we stopped at a computer store at a local mall and Drake picked up something he needed for his class. Then Jomo took us back to our new home. He helped us with our bags and Drake gave him an extra large tip for being so helpful. He promised to be our personal taxi driver whenever we needed one, if he was available. It was nice to have someone we could trust to help us navigate the city.
After hauling in our bags and putting food away, we collapsed on the couch and I couldn't imagine cooking.
"I wish we were back in Manhattan," Drake said. "So we could order delivery from Marcellus or go to the bagel shop across the street from your apartment."
"There's that bag of potato chips," I said, yawning. "We could eat that. No cooking. No cleaning."
Drake pulled me into his arms and kissed the top of my head. "What happened to our plans to cook real food?"
"Exhaustion happened. I think I could go to bed and stay there all night. Like John Lennon and Yoko Ono," I said, smiling up at Drake. "Only we wouldn't be protesting anything except sore muscles."
Drake laughed. "The pool guy was here. Luckily, Jan thought of everything. We could go have a swim, then eat the bag of chips and listen to some music. I doubt I'll be able to stay awake much longer than nine o'clock, the way I feel."
"Sounds like a plan."
Later, after our swim, with glasses of soda water and orange juice instead of wine, which Drake thought would make him too tired, we sat on the couch and listened to some of Drake's music on the new sound system he'd bought. He had to look over some notes for his lectures in the morning and so I took out my laptop and tried to work out a schedule for the next month, so that I would keep myself busy.
"Oh, I completely forgot," Drake said and then reached into his briefcase to pull out a brochure with an image of giraffes and elephants on the cover. "This is the one," he said, pointing to the third safari option in the brochure. "Claire gave it to me." He handed it to me and I checked the description. A safari for artists and photographers, it was on a weekend at the end of March.
"Our schedule for that week's ER call was posted and Michael and I will be on call but you could go with Claire. She's an amateur photographer and wants to go to get some good wildlife photos. Michael promised to arrange it so we can all go together to a regular safari, but Claire would love to go to this one, according to Michael. I know you wouldn't want to miss an artist safari."
I smiled at Drake, thankful that we had Michael and Claire to rely on. I was eager to go on safari, and Claire was pleasant enough to be with, despite her gossipy ways. Knowing her way around and how to get what she wanted, she'd be useful on safari.
After another hour passed, with Drake yawning widely, we decided to go to bed and did our usual preparations, undressing, washing up and brushing our teeth side by side. It was all very domestic.
We fell into bed, and Drake pulled me close so that I snuggled into his arms.
"Good night," I said to him as he lay behind me, one of his arms around my waist, his hand cupping one of my breasts.
"Good night my love," he said, barely able to stifle another yawn. "Sorry to be so unromantic, but I'm almost asleep with my eyes open."
"It's OK. So am I." I turned my head to face him and he kissed me, warmly, his mouth lingering on mine for a moment longer. Then I turned back and closed my eyes. I couldn’t help but remember what Claire had said – that she and Michael fell into bed late at night, too exhausted for anything but sleep.
As I listened to him breath so slow and steady behind me, I hoped his schedule loosened up a bit in the coming months so that we'd have more time to enjoy each other.
I missed the intensity of our scenes and wondered when we'd be able to go to another dungeon party. Hopefully, Sefton deVilliers wouldn't be there.
My first studio class was the following Wednesday and I was getting excited about it, looking forward to doing some life drawing again. On the Tuesday after we moved into our house, I pulled out my pencils and charcoals, a kit to carry my supplies and a small black leather portfolio to carry my sketchpads and artwork. I sat on the couch and sorted through my art case, touching everything, eager to get started. I felt like a real art student again and was so glad Claire suggested the Institute.
At about six, after I had a very light supper of poached eggs on toast and an orange, I had a nice warm bath and prepared myself, shaving everything in case Drake had enough energy and was in the mood. I put on a very skimpy sundress and waited, eager to see him after my day alone.
Drake called about seven o'clock to say he had a late surgery and
would probably not be home until after ten o'clock at the earliest. I felt a pang of regret for once more I'd spent the entire day alone, eating my breakfast, lunch and supper by myself. I sighed and plopped down on the couch, preparing to watch satellite television. Something on the National Geographic channel about the rainforests of Borneo. I tried not to get upset, but I was lonely for Drake. I wanted to at least talk to him. I hadn’t spoken to a single soul all day, except the television news reporter when I commented rather rudely on something he said.
That was it – my day in my new home. In Nairobi. Alone.
I went to bed around ten thirty, too tired to wait up in the living room. I was determined to stay awake though, wanting to greet Drake when he arrived home, but I must have fallen asleep, for the next thing I knew I woke up to Drake snuggling in close beside me, the lights out, the room in total darkness.
"You're home," I said and turned to face him. He'd brushed his teeth and I could still smell mint on his breath. "What time is it?"
"Eleven fifteen," he said and kissed me. "Sorry to wake you up. I tried to be quiet but I tripped over a box when I turned off the lights."
"Are you all right?' I wrapped my arms around his neck. "I missed you so much. I realized I didn't speak to a single soul today, until now."
"I'm sorry," Drake said and snuggled closer. "Your first art class is tomorrow. You'll meet some other students there, maybe make a friend."
He kissed me once more, as he stroked my hair. I waited for him to do say something to indicate he was in the mood for sex, but he said nothing. He snuggled in closer to me, kissing my shoulder.
Finally, I couldn't hold back. If he wasn't going to initiate anything, I still wanted to talk with him.
"How was your day?" I said, resigning myself to another night without sex.
"Busy. Had my class. Then a demonstration of robotic techniques to some visiting neurosurgeons from Ethiopia. Then OR time. Then, I had to cover for Michael. He went home sick with a cold so I scrubbed in on his cases."
