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

by Lund, S. E.

  Lara sighed and shook her head. "She told me you broke up with her in public."

  "I had no choice," I said, feeling defensive. "She came to O'Riley's."

  "So?" Lara said. "I've heard you play before."

  "You're my friend."

  "Can't you be friends with your subs?"

  "I have all the friends I need. I need a fuck partner who likes a bit of kink. Look," I said, impatient with her. "I told Allie from the start that our relationship would be strictly sexual. Nothing more. She wanted to be my girlfriend, Lara. I don't do girlfriends. You know that."

  "Poor Drake. Still hurting after all this time? Still have mommy issues?"

  I frowned. "What are you talking about?"

  She shook her head and said nothing but I knew damn well what she meant. She was referring to my divorce from Maureen and the loss of my mother when I was ten.

  It was after my divorce that Lara and I became reacquainted after a decade being apart, each pursuing our own lives. We met in an abnormal psychology class when we both studied sexual perversions of the sadomasochistic variety. She took the class because she was a sadist and I did because I was fascinated with those who were obsessed with pain, giving it and receiving it.

  I didn't want to give pain. I wanted to cure it.

  We never crossed over into being sexual partners because both of us were too dominant in personality and she felt strange that I was so young, only eighteen when we met while she was a few years older. I knew she was kinky when we were friends before, but at that time, I resisted the notion that I was as well. When I was in trouble after my marriage failed and Maureen obtained a restraining order, I ran into Lara at a café and we caught up once more. It was then she diagnosed me as a sexual Dominant.

  She urged me to take training from her so I could do it properly. At that point, broken as I was, confused and wounded, I agreed. For three months, I was her submissive, learning what it felt like to be tied up and helpless, how to be safe when using ropes and restraints, how to flog, whip and administer spankings. She even used a strap-on with me so I’d understand anal sex and how to do it properly.

  Once Lara felt I had learned everything there was to learn about being a sub, explaining to me why she was doing everything, I graduated into being a novice Dom, and under her tutelage, had my first subs. It made us especially close, those months after Maureen and I separated and I began to explore the world of BDSM. She felt a certain ownership of me as a result, and I felt very indebted to her. She took me when I was broken and fucked up, and fixed me. Put me on the right path, and helped me learn who and what I was.

  Because of that history, she couldn’t help but interfere. If it had been anyone else, I would have not-so-politely told them to fuck off, but it was Lara. Allie was a favorite of Lara’s because she was studying to be a lawyer. I knew she’d have received an earful from Allie about our breakup.

  We sat in silence for a moment, the atmosphere chilly between us. I felt her disapproval from across the table.

  "So you want me to find you someone new."

  I nodded, glad she decided to move on and not belabor things.

  "Experienced or novice?"

  "A novice. I don't want to get anyone with bad habits or expectations I can't meet. I'd rather mold their expectations."

  She raised her eyebrows at that. "Isn't it better to find someone who already knows what they want? You might get someone who needs more than you want to give. Like Allie."

  The waitress came and brought my order – tomato soup and a toasted BLT. I waited for her to leave and then shook my head.

  "If I do, I'll move on."

  "Just like that? You'll move on."

  "Yes. I like exploring with a new sub. I want someone pretty vanilla but with a need for domination. Someone into power exchange, but not pain. You know what I like."

  “Yes, I do.” Lara sat back in her chair and watched me dig in to my BLT. "I may have someone for you. Two students I met during a seminar I gave on finding a Dom. Neither of them are very extreme and have no real desire for pain, but both expect to be spanked, hair pulled, and one likes hot wax."

  I considered. "Send me links to their photos and profiles on FetLife."

  After my last surgery of the day was finished and I'd done rounds to check on how my patients were doing, I went directly to the health club a few blocks from the hospital, where I worked out several times a week.

  While in the locker room, I saw Ethan McDermott, Justice of the Supreme Court of New York, and my father's oldest and best friend from Vietnam. After I finished tying my shoes, I went to where he sat with another man.

  "Judge McDermott," I said, wanting to show him deference, despite being very familiar with him. "How are you?"

  He turned to me and a wide smile broke out on his face.

  "Well, young man, how are you?" He stood and held out a hand and we shook. He was shorter than me, greying with heavy jowls and bright blue eyes. He turned to the other man, who looked to be in his fifties as well. "George, this is Drake Morgan – Doctor Morgan, the son of my old buddy in the Marines. His dad and I were in 'Nam together at the tail end of the war. Drake, this is Justice George Smart, one of my colleagues."

  A round of handshakes took place and then Ethan turned to me, eyeing me carefully.

  "What have you been up to since I last saw you? Been keeping busy with surgery? Teaching any classes?"

  I nodded. "Robotic surgery," I said. "I'm keeping out of trouble. How's everything with you? Your family doing well, I hope?"

  "Just fine. Elaine is planning our vacation over Thanksgiving. I'm busy with campaign business, as you can imagine."

  "Where are you going over Thanksgiving? I'm presenting a paper in the Bahamas at a convention."

  "Elaine wants something tropical."

  "The Bahamas are great. Keep it in mind. And how's Heath?"

  Ethan's only son, Heath was a lawyer like his father, but specialized in corporate law. Rather quiet instead of outgoing like Ethan, but obviously on the same career path. "Heath's doing well. Been busy in Haiti on and off. Reconstruction work. That sort of thing."

  "How's Katherine?" I said lightly. Katherine was the true apple of Ethan's eye. He always spoke about her with real fondness, but I still hadn't met her. She never attended any of her father's social functions or fundraisers.

  Ethan had been adamant about internet security and refused to post pictures of his family online. Even though I had searched for info on Katherine, there was none to be had. Her Facebook page was friends only. I had the feeling she was still too fragile and he was protecting her from public scrutiny. There were no pictures of her online except when she was a small child in the obituary for her mother.

  "She's doing well. Very well, in fact. Still working on her Masters."

  "I read her work on Mangaize you sent me," I said, remembering the somber articles on Africa she wrote. "Really got me in the gut. Is she feeling better?"

  Katherine had volunteered in the camps in West Africa and had been traumatized by her stay there. Her articles were published in a student-run magazine and she had won the Columbia Journalism prize for them. She'd also had a breakdown.

  Ethan had spoken about her to me because of my interest in psychology and because I was a physician. I knew her history and had offered advice to him on how to handle his beloved daughter's emotional scars. Not only had her mother died the year before, but Katherine had gone to Africa during the worst days of the famine. It proved to be too soon after her mother’s death and she hadn’t really grieved fully. The two events combined led to her breakdown.

  Ethan nodded, his face solemn. "She's pretty much recovered, but still laying low. Got another year of work before she's finished her degree."

  I nodded. "Glad to hear she's doing better."

  "Me as well," Ethan said and laid a hand on my shoulder. "Listen, I'm hosting a fundraiser for Doctors Without Borders on Friday night. You're welcome to come. I know your father's f
oundation did a lot with them and I'm sure you wouldn't mind forking over some of your dad's hard earned cash for a good cause."

  "I'd be honored."

  "Good. 6:30 until 8:00." He glanced at George. "Well, I guess I better get a move on. See you on Friday. You know the address."

  "I do. See you then."

  I left Ethan and went to the weight room for my workout.

  That night, I tossed and turned in my bed, unable to get comfortable despite being exhausted. The discussion with Lara had raised all kinds of uncomfortable memories.

  Her comment about why I needed dominance didn’t help me fall asleep either. My mother was a sore spot in my life – a bad memory from my childhood, which had always been difficult, despite the wealth and privilege. I didn’t remember any happy period when she lived with us, for she was never able to recover from the death of my brother Liam. She laid on the couch in her pajamas, watching soap operas all day or staring out the window at our back garden, her face pale, her hair a mess, the house a mess around her. My father was too busy with his career to notice, or too self-absorbed to intervene. In hindsight, it was clear that she had been depressed for years, and had neglected me, but knowing that did little to make me feel any better.

  She left me when I was ten. I had a dozen nannies and babysitters in her absence, who all doted on me, but they also left. I had a string of failed relationships before I met Maureen, and maybe three years of happiness before I was swamped with work during my residency and our marriage started to suffer from neglect.

  I never saw it coming when Maureen did leave me. Her words that day wouldn’t register. I heard the sounds they made, but it was like they didn’t penetrate my brain.

  I’m leaving you, Drake… I can’t live with you any longer.

  I don’t love you any more and I’m damn sure you don’t love me.

  I don’t think you ever did.

  You don’t know how to love anyone but yourself.

  I spent the following month in a funk. Maureen moved out of our apartment and within a month, had moved in with Chris. She obtained a temporary restraining order to keep me from contacting her. I had to take time off from work because I couldn’t concentrate. I spent days in my sweats, drinking myself into a stupor each night in order to fall asleep. I came really close to losing my privileges at New York Presbyterian, but luckily, had a sympathetic boss.

  Lara saved me from total breakdown, helping me to see that my marriage was fated to fall apart because Maureen and I were not sexually compatible. That I was a Dominant, and wouldn’t be happy unless I had someone sexually submissive as a partner.

  I didn’t look back. I didn’t want to, for there was nothing I could do about the past. Now, my life was well-ordered, and everything was clear, delineated, predictable. I was in complete control of everything in my life. It was perfect.

  Really.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  On Friday afternoon, once my last case of the day was done, I left the OR and spoke with the wife of my latest patient. After that, I dictated my notes on the procedure and looked over the cases on my slate for Monday. If I left right away, I'd get home just before seven, shower, eat a light meal, then I'd make my way to the fundraiser Ethan was hosting – one of the first Friday evenings I'd had off in … I didn't know how long.

  A night off to mix and mingle with power elite in the philanthropic circles in Manhattan – maybe drum up some donations for my father's foundation. I'd leave the fundraiser, go home and change, and then we were scheduled to play at O’Riley’s at ten. A busy day and night as usual.

  I was meeting Brent Jameson, a colleague of mine in Neurosurgery, for a drink after work to discuss an upcoming convention where we would both be presenting papers. We usually met at The Horn and Crown, a brew house a few blocks from the hospital and so I drove home for a quick shower and to change clothes before the fundraiser. I'd grab something to eat at the bar and then make my way to Ethan's for the event.

  The Horn and Crown was a regular haunt for staff at New York Presbyterian and they had a bottle of my favorite brand of vodka – Russian, called Anisovaya. I picked up a taste for it from my father, a Sovietophile who loved all things Russian. A strident socialist, my father idealized the Soviet Union under Gorbachev, and I suspect he was actually sad when it collapsed, the Berlin Wall falling. He made dire predictions about lawlessness there, and his predictions came true.

  We disagreed on most things political. As a teenager with a penchant for Libertarianism, I did not see eye to eye with him on the subject of Russia or politics in general. I was happy to see the crumble of the Soviet Union. He mourned it, spending even more time on his old Russian car, a Lada, which was held together with duck tape and love.

  The night the Berlin Wall fell, he poured us each a glass of Anisovaya and we shot them back. I was only thirteen but it seemed as if I graduated to being a man in my father's eyes on that night. The anise-flavored alcohol had been my favorite ever since.

  When I arrived at the bar, Brent was already there. The bartender recognized me and was on top of things, pushing a shot of Anisovaya towards me.

  I shot it back and sighed. While I enjoyed tequila shots now and then, and a beer or two on occasion, vodka was my drink. I ordered a martini and Brent and I caught up on things, discussing cases, and then our papers. Finally, the bartender pushed an iced martini towards me, a twist of lime as garnish just the way I liked it. I checked my cell and before I knew it, it was almost time to go to the fundraiser.

  I glanced around the bar and as my gaze moved over the crowd, I caught sight of a couple of attractive young women standing at a table along the periphery of the bar next to a small dance floor. One of the two I recognized from NYP – a pretty blonde nursing student that I'd seen around during her surgical rotation.

  The woman with her was brunette and on the petite side, with a nice rack. Our eyes met momentarily, and I smiled. She wasn’t my usual type, but there was something about her. An innocent look that was in direct contrast to the sexy little black dress she was wearing that barely held in her cleavage. I wondered if she was a nurse as well but I hadn't seen her around NYP.

  Maybe a new nursing student. If I hadn't been in the lifestyle, I might be tempted to go over to the table, strike up a conversation with the blonde so I could meet the brunette, but that was out of the question.

  Before I left the bar, I went to the washroom for a quick pit stop and bumped into the pretty brunette. She pushed the door open to the woman's washroom and knocked into me. I had to grab her to keep her from falling, because she was wearing ridiculously high leather heels and hadn't seemed to have mastered them.

  "Whoa," I said, and caught her by the arms, pulling her against my body. "Steady…"

  "Oh, so sorry," she said and grabbed onto my shoulders. She glanced up shyly, her cheeks reddening. "I'm not really used to these."

  In that moment, I was struck by the soft warmth of her body, the scent from her hair, and the soft curve of her breasts pressed against my chest.

  She was delicious.

  I was probably half a foot taller than her and from my vantage point, I was able to peek down her dress and see the swell of her breasts pushed together by the tight bodice.

  Now, I had admittedly fucked a lot of women in my time. Before I was married, I played around a lot, trying to figure out what sex was all about and what I liked and needed. I was married for five years and had a lot of sex, especially in the first few years we were together. Since I divorced, I had quite a few submissives, both as regular play partners and one-offs I topped at dungeon parties.

  I wasn't an inexperienced teenager, but the way my body responded to her, you would have thought I hadn't had sex for months instead of a week and a half.

  In that second or two I had her in my arms, her body pressed against mine, I imagined her naked, those breasts bound with thin leather straps, the leather wrapped around them so they protruded, her nipples hard and swollen. Her lips would be par
ted, she'd be blindfolded, and would gasp as I ran my teeth over the sensitive peaks, just a tiny bit of pain to make her aware of how soft and warm my tongue was afterwards.

  God… She was lovely.

  She smelled like shampoo and citrus. I wanted to bury my face in her groin and inhale deeply.

  I finally pulled myself together enough to respond. "Trying to defy the laws of physics?" I said and smiled as I helped steady her. I glanced down at her shoes once more. "Nice shoes though. Love the leather straps…"

  I would love to see her naked, my leather straps binding her body, looping around her tiny waist and over her hips, down between her thighs, splitting her labia…

  "Thank you," she said, straightening up with my help.

  At that moment, I wished she were a submissive. She had creamy white skin, and looked to be of Celtic background with green eyes and long golden brown hair. Her shyness suggested she might incline towards submission, especially with someone older, but there was no way of knowing from such a momentary meeting. It was wishful thinking on my part.

  She smiled briefly and then turned back to the bar as if she couldn't wait to get away from me.

  Despite my strong response to her, I knew she was right to do so for in that moment, I wanted her the way a wolf wants a doe, the need to possess her completely welling up inside of me more powerfully than it had in a long time.

  Run away, little girl. You don't belong with someone like me.

  I followed her back to the bar without using the washroom, forgetting completely why I went. At that moment, I wanted to go up to her and speak with her, but instead, I finished my martini with a gulp to help calm me. I said goodbye to Brent and made my way through the tables to the door. As I passed her table, I caught the brunette's eye and smiled. She smiled back, her expression shy.

  She was submissive – I had no doubt of it. She'd never approach me herself. With her, I'd have to be the one to make the move, and I was upset that I didn’t have more time or I would have, despite the fact I never approached women outside the lifestyle.