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

by Lund, S. E.

  "You may have to carry me up the rest of the way," she said, her voice shaking a bit from nerves. "I feel a bit weak-kneed."

  "Ms. Bennet, are you nervous to be alone with me?" I smiled, pleased that she was excited even though she was still a bit shy.

  "Yes," she said. "But the good kind of nervous."

  "Good. I want you a little nervous." Then I bent down and picked her up, one arm under hers, the other under her legs.

  "Oh, no, don't," she said when I started up the stairs. "I was just kidding! Put me down, please! Let me walk."

  "I don't think so, Katherine. I think I want to carry you up and into my lair." I grinned at her, enjoying the look of helplessness on her face.

  She buried her face in my shoulder as I carried her up the rest of the way to my floor and through the doorway.

  "Are you going to put me down?"

  I smiled. "I don't know what I'm going to do with you, Ms. Bennet. I haven’t decided yet. One thing I might have to do, if memory serves me, is kiss you to keep you from talking."

  I kissed her, a soft kiss, just lips on lips, my mind already imagining the rest of the night to come.

  "I must be getting heavy…" she said, a slight hint of protest in her voice.

  "You're light as a feather."

  She relaxed in my arms and glanced around the apartment. "You have so many books. And all these guitars…I want to explore your apartment."

  "I want to explore you."

  Her eyes widened. "You do, do you? I think you already did after lunch…"

  "Ms. Bennet, there's so much more of you to explore. So much more of your body. So much more of your mind."

  I put her down finally and removed her coat. She took off her boots, leaving them on the mat by the front door.

  "Take a look around. I'll get us a drink."

  She put her bag down on the table and walked around while I went to my sideboard in the living room to get us a drink. I kept glasses inside and old bottles of liqueurs and scotch. Vodka I kept in the refrigerator. I watched Kate wander around, examining my things, sorting through the piles and piles of magazines including Guitar, Rolling Stone, Bass Player, and then scientific journals – Annals of Internal Medicine, Lancet, JAMA and others.

  She peeked into the bedroom, probably wondering when she’d end up there. Soon, if I had my way, a delicious stab of desire running through me when I thought about her lying naked on my bed. When she returned to the living room, I had two shot glasses of Anisovaya ready for us.

  "Here," I said, handing her one of the crystal shot glasses I inherited from my father. "These are my father's glasses that he got from an old woman named Yelena Kuznetzova, who was rumored to be Stalin's housekeeper at his dacha in Soviet Georgia. This is Anisovaya. Drink up."

  "I should have known," she said, smiling. "Stalin's housekeeper?"

  "It was one of my father's favorite stories,” I said and laughed. “Probably just his bullshit wishful thinking."

  "He was a Stalinist? I thought he was a Trotskyite."

  "He was a Sovietophile. Anything Russian, especially Soviet. He was sad to see the Soviet Union fall. Said it was their folly in Afghanistan."

  Kate nodded. "It was probably Afghanistan."

  "Anyway, Za vas," I said, giving a Russian toast, not wanting to get into any political discussions. "To you."

  "Za vas," she replied. We shot the vodka back and she grimaced when she downed it. On my part, I loved the bite of Anisovaya and smacked my lips in appreciation.

  "Oh korosho, that's so good." I smiled at her and was rewarded with a smile in return. She was still a bit hesitant but definitely more relaxed than during our previous times alone.

  "This is a nice old apartment."

  I took her glass and watched as she started to explore the apartment a bit more.

  "My father bought it for me when I started college,” I said, remembering the first time he brought me here to show me my new place. I loved it from the start. “Until then, I lived in Baltimore with him. He worked at the University of Maryland Shock Trauma Center until he died."

  "So you came to Manhattan and lived here all by yourself?"

  I nodded. "He hated that I was moving away, but I wanted to come to New York to Columbia, get away from Baltimore – and him."

  "Why him?"

  I shrugged, not sure I could explain. How can you describe feeling betrayed by someone and at the same time, craving their attention and affirmation nonetheless? I always wanted more from my father than he could give and was always disappointed. Even when he spent his money on me, I felt nothing but sad.

  "He wanted me to become a doctor like him,” I said finally. “And I was in rebellious youth mode at the time. I wanted to study psychoanalysis. So I came here. When he couldn't talk me out of it, he made sure to come here and buy me a place to live. He wanted me to live here because he'd been so happy here, and so he made the owner an offer way over its market value. It was his only real splurge despite his wealth. He approved because it was a rent-controlled building and he let the other tenants stay, not raising the rent once. Such an idealistic socialist…"

  "It's yours now," she said. "Have you raised the rent?"

  I shook my head and smiled guiltily. "Nah. I'll let the current tenants keep the units until they decide to move out. Rent controlled units are so rare, it's a shame to lose them. I keep this place just for the memories."

  "Sounds like a bit of his socialism rubbed off on you." She raised her eyebrows skeptically.

  I grinned and refused to be drawn into her game. "It's just lazy rich boy, actually. I can't be bothered to change things." I glanced around at the place with affection. It was all I had left of my father except memories. "I don't want to."

  I put our glasses down and watched as Kate stood in the center of the living room and examined the space. The apartment was dim at that time of night, and the furniture looked drab and well-used. The living room was crammed full with his furniture and mine – leather and dark wood and overstuffed cushions. A huge old wooden desk sat below the window, a wooden office chair on rollers parked in its space. All the boxes from my father’s apartment were stacked high in one corner, marked with Dad.

  "Is this your father's furniture?"

  I smiled briefly. "Yeah, I know. Sentimental, right? When he died, I couldn't bring myself to sell it or give it away so I closed up his apartment in Baltimore and had it shipped here."

  She turned around in a complete circle. "How often do you come here?"

  "I practice here," I said, standing a few feet away, watching her, planning my moves. "Luckily, old Mr. Neumann downstairs is practically deaf, so it doesn't bother him."

  "You practice here with your band?"

  "No, just me,” I said, giving her time to completely relax. “I come here when I have time off and just play."

  "Do you ever have time off? You sound so busy… Your surgery. Your band. The foundation. Your subs…"

  "I'm rich. I only work as much as I want to. Interesting cases only. I keep busy."

  "Do you play this?" She went to my acoustic guitar standing next to the desk and wall of books. "I thought you played the bass guitar."

  "I play lead and acoustic as well."

  Then, she picked up the sheet music I’d left on the desk. I went to her side and glanced over her shoulder. Simon and Garfunkel. "Old Friends/Bookends". On the top of the sheet music was a hand-written note.

  'To Liam. From your 'old friend'. E'

  Her father's handwriting, given to my father years earlier. She held the piece of sheet music up and beneath it was the faded Polaroid of our fathers as much younger men.

  "Oh my God," she said, staring at the Polaroid, a hand covering her mouth. "This is them." She turned to me and I nodded.

  "Your father gave that photo and sheet music to my dad a long time ago. I remembered them when I came here tonight and found them so you could see."

  She examined them closely. "They really were friend
s." She glanced up at me as if she was surprised. "Somehow, I didn't really believe it. Like it was just a story my father told me about this crazy doctor friend of his from 'Nam."

  I took the photo out of her hand and looked at it more closely myself. The two seemed so happy then, despite the wars. Seeing it sent a stab of regret and sadness through me. "They thought they'd be friends forever."

  "Will you play this for me?" She held the sheet music out.

  I shook my head and took the sheet music away. "I don't think so."

  She frowned, and I knew then it was the wrong answer but I just didn’t want to go too deep into each other’s personal lives.

  "Why not?"

  I forced a smile and put the sheet of music down on the desk, saying nothing. How could I tell her that I wanted to get as deep into her life as I possibly could so I could know her inside and out so I could better understand her, but I didn’t want her doing the same?

  "I understand," she said, and made a face like she’d done something wrong. "That's getting too personal, right?"

  "No, it's just that I had other plans when inviting you here…" I said, trying to change the subject and the mood. I raised my eyebrows, hoping she got the hint. I watched, actually saw resignation fill her, her eyes becoming distant, closed off.

  "I get it, Drake." She sighed and went to the window, looking down at the street below. "You don't want us to cross that line. I'm sorry. This is just new to me. This fucking without emotion thing."

  I knew I had to do something and fast to overcome the sense of gloom she obviously was feeling at the thought we’d never be more than Dom/sub. I went behind her and wrapped my arms around her, taking her hands in mine, our fingers threading together.

  "Oh, there's lots of emotion, Kate,” I said, wanting her to know that I would care about her – about her pleasure and happiness. “Just very contained and appropriate."

  She nodded, but I had the sense it was her being a good girl and not that she really felt it was okay.

  "I know. You want to keep things compartmentalized. Your food in all the right spots on the plate. No messy mingling of flavors. I'm used to piling everything on the fork all at once. I don't know if I can do this."

  "Shh," I said, knowing I had to push through this. I kissed her neck, her shoulder. "Stop over-thinking. Just feel. Feel this," I said and pressed my erection against her to remind her of why she was there. "I've been imagining fucking you all afternoon. You don't know how difficult it was to blank you out of my thoughts because I kept thinking of your tight wet little pussy and getting hard. Not quite a good thing when you're supposed to be focused on delicate brain surgery…"

  She leaned back against me, her eyes closed. "You're exaggerating."

  I chuckled and nuzzled her neck, one hand slipping around her waist. "Maybe not during surgery but in between."

  She nestled into my arms. "I apologize if I intruded in your thoughts." Her voice had taken on a slightly playful tone, so I hoped I had salvaged the moment.

  "No apology necessary."

  We stood at the window, the faint light from the street filtering through the wrought iron trellis covering the window, my arms around her, her body warm against mine.

  "And now," I said, wanting to move beyond the moment. "Now that I have you all to myself, alone in my lair, it's time for you to put that signature on the agreement into effect. You understand what that means?"

  "Submission?" she said, her voice a bit husky.

  "Yes," I said, my lips at her neck. "No hesitation. No questions. Just comply."

  "What if—"

  I stopped her, my finger on her mouth, my lips at her ear. "Shh," I said. "No what-ifs. You know the safe words. Yellow if you need me to slow down. Red if you absolutely have to stop what's happening. You also know what red means."

  "Full stop and I go home?"

  I could hear the excitement in her voice. "Yes. But remember – I don't want to go too fast or scare you. I want you to trust me. I want this to work so I plan on keeping a very close watch over you and how you respond to me and what I'm doing. You don't have to be afraid. Much. Do you understand?"

  "Much?"

  "Kate,” I said, needing to calm her. “A little fear is arousing to a sub. A little uncertainty about what I'll do to you. What I'll make you do to me. Admit it. It makes you wet."

  She closed her eyes but said nothing.

  "Admit it," I said in her ear, my mouth on her neck, my arms tightening around her so she felt completely possessed. "You have to learn to be completely honest with me. It arouses you. I can tell, Kate. Your heart rate just increased. Your breathing is fast and shallow at the thought. If I was to slip my fingers between your lips, I'd feel how wet you are. Tell me I'm right."

  "Yes," she said softly.

  "Yes, what?"

  She hesitated. I wasn’t sure she was ready to call me Sir or Master, but I wanted to test her out.

  "What do you want me to call you? Sir? Or Master?"

  "What do I want you to call me? I want you to call me Master when we're in scene. I know you don't feel it yet. If you say it enough, if I make you feel it, eventually it will be second nature. I'll enjoy that. But more than that, I’ll enjoy you calling me Master even if you don't feel it."

  "Why? Don't you want me to feel it?"

  "Of course. That's what I long for. But I also just want your submission. Your obedience. I know you don't feel that I'm your Master now, but your willingness to just do what I command will please me in itself."

  "Yes," she said, her voice soft. "Master."

  I knew she didn’t feel it, and that it felt silly, but she had to get used to it.

  "Good girl," I said and stroked my hands over her body, over her shoulders and down her arms, then over her breasts, of which I couldn’t get enough. "When we meet from now on, after you cross that threshold and I kiss you the first time, it's a signal that we're in scene and I expect obedience. I'll call you Katherine or slave, you call me Master. Now, no more talking. No hesitation."

  Still standing behind her, I caressed her breasts through the fabric and then moved lower over her belly and to her thighs. I was hard as rock already, just touching her and thinking of the control I had over her body and mind. She pressed back against me, her buttocks against my erection and I was pleased that she was showing interest although I wanted to take control. I reached up beneath her sweater to cup her bra and with the other hand, I reached under the hem of her skirt and felt her garter belt.

  "Mmm, I like this, Ms. Bennet…" I murmured against her skin.

  I reached up between her thighs and felt her naked flesh beneath the garter belt.

  "Oh, I really like this," I said. "I like that you remembered and thought about this and how to please me." My fingers slipped between her labia and down lower to the entrance to her body. "I really really like that you're already so wet."

  I kissed her neck while stroking her clit and she gasped, inhaling when my fingers penetrated her. Then, I released her and turned her around to face me.

  "Take your clothes off except for your bra, the garters and nylons," I ordered. I backed away and sat on the wing chair against the wall, my arms on the arm rests, my legs spread wide. "Undress, Katherine. Slowly." I licked my lips. "Touch yourself while you do."

  She looked a bit hesitant at first but proceeded despite it.

  "It's a shame that you don't have some nice high heels,” I said, smiling, “but I know you're not good on them."

  She unbuttoned her sweater slowly, pulling it down over her shoulders, letting it hang for a moment before removing it from her arms. She dropped it on the coffee table. Then she ran her hands down her body and over her breasts, cupping them briefly before moving down to the zipper in back of her skirt. She unzipped it slowly.

  "Turn around and do that."

  She frowned, but complied, turning around so that her back was to me. She pulled the skirt down and over her hips, bending down as she did. Bending over like t
hat gave me a very good view of her ass and pussy.

  "Oh, Ms. Bennet…" I said and exhaled loudly. "I like this view very much…"

  "You said you'd only call me Katherine or slave,” she said, and I could hear a touch of impertinence in her voice.

  "Shh," I said quickly, hiding my smile behind my hand. "A slave never corrects her Master."

  She stepped out of the skirt and turned back, dropping it on the coffee table as well. Finally, she stood before me in nothing but her black lace garters and bra, sheer black nylons. She stood quietly, waiting. At that point, I believed she enjoyed the performance, her shyness gone completely.

  I twirled my fingers. "Turn around, slowly. Let me see you from all angles."

  She turned around slowly and I admired her curves and smooth skin.

  "Lift your hair up. Hold it up as you turn."

  She complied, pulling her hair up above her shoulders. She could be a model for an artist with skin and flesh like that.

  "Come here and straddle me on the chair."

  She stopped her turn. "Don't you want to shave me first?"

  "Slave," I said and shook my head, my voice impatient although I enjoyed the chance to correct her. "No questioning my decisions. Besides, I'm going to send you to get waxed. It lasts longer."

  She came over to the chair and straddled me, one knee on either side of my hips, her arms resting on my shoulders. I glanced down her body to her bare pussy and then up to her face.

  "Your cheeks are nicely flushed, Katherine,” I said. “You're nice and wet as well. I suspect you're also nicely swollen inside. Almost ready for me."

  I continued to simply examine her, taking her in, knowing that it would arouse her to be the object of my gaze. Finally, I pulled down the fabric of her bra to expose her nipples and tweaked each one to points. Then I leaned up and sucked one after the other, pulling on the areola gently with my teeth, knowing that the tiny bit of pain would arouse her, especially when I sucked immediately after. She gasped and closed her eyes.

  "Stand up."

  She did, standing with a foot on either side of me on the cushion so that her groin was level with my face. Then, I reached up behind her and squeezed her ass, pulling her closer.