by Lund, S. E.
"Promise." I leaned down, nestling my face in the crook of his neck. Finally, he stood, picking me up in the process. I slid down his body with reluctance and he went to his jacket and removed his cell. He examined it for a moment.
"Claire texted me and left a voice mail. Do you want me to read them?"
"If you want."
He held the phone in his hand, as if weighing his decision. Then he handed it to me.
"You read. You listen. Delete both afterwards if you want. I trust you."
I took the phone while he went to the staff washroom and I read Claire's text. There was no phone message except my own, which I left intact. I wanted him to hear how upset I was.
As for Claire, her text was what I expected.
Drake, I don't know how to break this to you, but I tell you as someone who has your best interests at heart. I found Kate with Sefton deVilliers, one of the art instructors she's taking a class with, and they were alone in our tent and in each other's arms. You can imagine how shocked I was for we thought that she was so sweet and would be so good for you. I'm sorry to be the one to bear bad news. You can count on Michael and me to help if you need it at all dealing with this.
I handed the phone to Drake when he returned.
"I didn't delete anything. I want you to know what she wrote and what I said."
He read it and rubbed his eyes after. Then, he listened to my voicemail.
When he was finished, he slipped the phone into his pocket.
"You said he had hold of your arms. Were you embracing?"
I shook my head. "No. He grabbed hold of my arm like this," I said and demonstrated. "It actually hurt. I thought he might force me to kiss him, or worse. He saw your bite mark when I took off my shirt during the mid-day heat, and he thought I was into rough play so there's no telling what he might have done if I hadn't threatened to scream."
He sighed. "I'm so sorry this happened to you. I'm sorry Claire misunderstood the situation and didn't try to help you. Michael's a very close friend of mine. I don't want there to be any hard feelings between us. I'm going to have to go in damage control mode with him."
"I'm sorry," I said, tears biting the corners of my eyes.
"It's not your fault you’re so delicious," Drake said and pulled me into his arms. "I'm so glad you're mine."
We stood in each other's arms and his warmth, and the solidity of his body soon melted away some of my anxiety from the weekend, but a sense of dread lingered that Claire was going to be a problem. I hated the thought that the weekend might cause problems between Drake and Michael.
The drive home was quiet, as if both of us were still too emotional to speak. Despite the lack of conversation, he held my hand the entire time, his thumb brushing against my knuckles, his expression dark and needful when he glanced at me. It sent a jolt of desire through me to see his blatant need.
He parked the car and came around to open my door, always the gentleman, taking my hand and leading me up the path to the doorway. He kept my hand in his as he unlocked the door, and then pulled me inside, throwing the keys onto the dish on the table in the entry. I thought he'd pull me into our bedroom and maybe give me orders about how we were going to play out a scene, but instead, he merely pushed me back against the wall beside the door, taking my hands in one of his and raising them over my head so that I was effectively confined by him and unable to move.
I started to speak, opening my mouth, but he silenced me, placing his index finger over my lips.
"Shh," he said, a look of such determination in his eyes that I stopped before even getting a word out. "No talking."
He didn’t kiss me. Instead, he ran his free hand down over my shoulder to cup a breast, watching my face the entire time, his eyes on mine. I closed my eyes when he squeezed my nipple through the fabric of my t-shirt and bra.
"Keep your eyes open and on mine."
I complied, opening my eyes to look into his, which were half-hooded. He was breathing faster, and I was as well, my lips parted. His hand moved down my body, over my belly, and then over one hip to my buttock, squeezing it, pulling me against him so that I could feel his erection against my groin. I rubbed myself against him wantonly, and he groaned, rubbing back.
Then, without a word, he began undressing me, pulling at my t-shirt, releasing my hands to strip it off me with rough hands then throwing it on the floor before running his hands over my skin-colored lace bra that still covered my breasts. He kept his hips pressed against mine, but squeezed my breasts once more before pulling down the fabric to expose my nipples, which he pinched between his fingers and thumbs. I gasped in response and he glanced up from my breasts to my face, as if he enjoyed how heated my cheeks were.
He bent and sucked on first one then the other nipple, and I writhed against him in response, my breath catching in my throat from the waves of pleasure that washed over me. He pulled off the tunic of his scrubs, struggling with the tie at the back of his neck, roughly throwing it on the floor before turning to my jeans, which he attacked with the same need, stripping them off me, his thumbs hooking my lace thong and pulling it down and off me so that I stood naked before him. He pressed me roughly against the wall again and kissed me hungrily, one hand slipping between our bodies to brush my nipples, trailing down to my now-bare pussy. He slipped fingers between my lips and moaned against my throat when he felt how wet I was.
I was ready.
He untied his scrub trousers and let them fall around his ankles, pulling down his boxer briefs to his knees. Then, to my surprise, he placed my arms around his neck and picked me up.
He was going to take me right then and there.
I wrapped my thighs around his hips, groaning when he pressed his erection against me. He rubbed me like that for a few moments, kissing me all the while, his kiss hungry, his tongue searching out mine, sucking mine into his mouth. Then he took himself in hand and maneuvered me so that he could sink himself into me. I moaned when he filled me up completely.
He kissed me and we remained in that position without moving, our bodies joined. The kiss went on and on and my body ached for him to move but he didn't. Finally, I squeezed myself around him, wanting him to start thrusting but he merely made a sound in the back of his throat. I waited, my body vibrating with need, my breath fast, heart pounding. He didn't want me to speak and it was driving me crazy. Fuck me. Please…
I closed my eyes, gasping, waiting in delicious agony for him to start.
"Open your eyes," he said and I did, completely forgetting his command. I stared into his eyes as he looked down at me, his face red, his eyes darkening. Then, he began to move, slowly, agonizingly slowly, each withdrawal unhurried and each thrust deep, pulling almost all the way out before slamming hard back inside. He kept this almost leisurely rhythm, slow and deep, our eyes locked together. It was so intimate, I felt like he claimed me with each deep lunge, my soul bared completely to him, as if he could read my mind as he claimed my body.
His pace quickened, and my body responded, the sensations building so I knew I would soon orgasm if he kept it up. I gripped harder onto his shoulders, gritting my teeth as pleasure overwhelmed me, my eyes closing.
"Keep your eyes open," he growled, thrusting faster. "Look in mine."
I tried my best, but the pleasure was so intense, I saw him only through my eyelashes as my orgasm crested and my body trembled with pleasure. He thrust hard and fast, and soon, his face contorted, his own teeth gritted and then he came as well, thrusting hard and deep, once, twice, three times and stopped deep inside of me, his face slackening. He gasped, his mouth pressed against my shoulder, kissing his bite mark tenderly.
Finally, he lifted his head, moving his lips along my chin before kissing me deeply. When he pulled away, he stared in my eyes, frowning.
"Don't ever doubt me," he said, his voice deep, firm.
"Don't ever doubt me."
He nodded, then he sighed heavily and leaned back down to my shoulder, kissing the mark there
gently once more.
I ran my hands through his hair and closed my eyes.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I lay in the suds-filled bathtub, wrapped in Drake's arms, my arms around his neck. Scented candles provided the only light besides what came in from the window, but the sky was rapidly darkening.
"Tell me everything he said and did."
"Do you really want me to?" I said, shaking my head, brushing a hank of his black hair from his forehead.
"Tell me, Kate. We need complete openness and honesty. I need to know what he did and how you felt."
I tried to hold back a smile. "Most men avoid talking about feelings at all costs."
"They didn't study psychology like I did." He ran a finger over my wet shoulder and down to the cure of my breast. "Men want to do, and believe me, I want to do. I want to go and punch his lights out. We usually don't want to talk. But I know women talk things out. So talk. Tell me."
I sighed, not really wanting to go over it all again.
"Come on," he said and shook my shoulder gently. "Tell me. I won't get mad or upset."
I told him everything, from the moment we left to the moment I saw him at the hospital with Sam.
"Sounds passive-aggressive. Or else he thinks you're attracted to a sadistic Dom who likes to humiliate a submissive. Some women respond to that kind of behavior. I know you don't but he doesn't seem too bright if he was treating you like that."
"He actually suggested that he and I would be 24/7 if we were together. That I needed it, even if I didn't want to accept that fact."
Drake shook his head. "No, and that's how I know he's not a good Dom. You're not the type for TPE. I'm not the type for TPE and that's why we're good together. I might be able to do it for a weekend for fun and games, role playing, but not all the time."
I exhaled and sank lower in the water, my hands on his strong shoulders. "I might like roleplaying TPE for a weekend, too, but not all the time. Pretend I was your slave girl. That kind of thing but it would only be an act for fun. It wouldn’t be real. And no humiliation. I do that enough on my own."
"You don't humiliate yourself."
"In my mind I do. Like today, when I walked away. I should have gone in the room and pushed Sam out of the way, put my arms around you and kissed you in front of her. Claimed you as my own. But instead, I ran away like a child because I was afraid you'd read my texts and Claire's and were turning to her for comfort."
"You were vulnerable because we'd been apart all weekend and you’d been hounded by Sefton. You were emotional and couldn't face a confrontation. You didn't humiliate yourself."
"Sam was probably laughing at me."
"Why would you think that?"
"She wants you, and don't you think otherwise. That first night at the student-faculty mixer, she admitted as much."
"What?"
"She said that you weren't married and pretty much indicated you were fair game…"
He made a face of disapproval. "She'd be wrong." He touched my cheek, a smile slowly starting on his lips. "I just haven't made you a respectable woman yet."
I bit back a smile. "Drake, no single woman goes up to a single man as good looking as you and offers to give him a massage without wanting more… You're very naïve," I said and sighed in a mock-resigned manner. "She wants to jump your oh-so-desirable bones, Doctor Delish."
Drake laughed, throwing his head back. He looked back at me, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "You think she's still lusting after me after all this time? She knows I'm a Dom and that I don't want a purely vanilla relationship. She's far too dominant herself. She has an icicle's chance in hell of ever getting me. You've got me, Ms. Bennet, by the mind, heart and balls."
I smiled at that, my breath catching in my throat when he leaned down and kissed me. I reached one hand down, trailing it from his hair to his chest, where I placed my hand over his heart and then down over the crest of his hip.
"I do, do I?"
He moaned softly when I cupped him with my hand. "Most assuredly you do. Now, don't touch me there unless you mean serious business and plan on being fucked hard."
He quirked an eyebrow at me, his mouth turning up in a lopsided grin.
When I ran my hand along his quickly-hardening length, my fingers slipping around the head, he inhaled sharply and leaned down to me, his lips hovering over mine.
"I take that as a yes," he said and covered my lips with his and soon, once more, I was lost, all thoughts of Sam and Sefton swept away by the strength of our mutual passion.
Although the safari had been a momentous failure, one good thing had come of it. Sefton had unsettled me about my art and now I knew I had to take myself more seriously, think about what I wanted to do as an artist. I had him to thank for that and so even though it was a hard lesson to learn, I wanted to settle back quickly into my routine glad now that I had the time to focus on my art.
Each morning of the weeks to follow would be a common routine. I would kiss Drake goodbye in the early morning, get up leisurely and either work on my paintings in my studio or attend the drawing class at The Institute. Drake would work all day and into the evening, missing supper as usual, but soon, before I knew it, we'd be moving back to Manhattan and life would become a whole lot slower. Once back in Manhattan, Drake would still teach, perform surgery and occasionally play in his band, and of course there was the foundation and the business. Still, he wouldn't take on a full caseload and wouldn't be working so late every night or so frequently on the weekend. His call schedule would be much better – one in six weekends rather than one in three.
Besides, I'd be busy finishing my MA and working on my art.
I was more hopeful now than I had been that we'd make it work.
The first day back in class, I was worried about how things would be with Sefton, after the disastrous time on safari. I went to class with a sense of foreboding, but was determined not to let him bother me. Class went on as usual, with the first half hour devoted to quick studies of a middle-aged African woman with salt and pepper hair and ample if sagging curves. She had the most placid expression on her face, as if posing naked in front of a dozen students was the most natural thing in the world.
Sefton's students came in and took their places after the break, and I waited to see what kind of reception I’d get, if Sefton would apologize for his drunken pass, or act as if nothing had happened.
By the end of the class, after he'd ignored me completely except to compliment my final study of the model, I knew which approach he'd taken and I was relieved.
He acted as if nothing had happened. It meant I could keep taking the studio class, but I wouldn't take the Master Class just to be on the safe side. When class was over, I spoke to Talia to let her know I couldn't take the Master Class after all. I didn't say why. She seemed genuinely upset and told me that if I changed my mind, there would be a spot for me.
I felt immensely pleased that she was so willing to accommodate me, and as I walked down the hallway to the elevator, I thought I'd escaped Sefton. Before I could leave the building, he caught up with me in the empty hallway. When I reached the elevator, and stepped inside, he stepped in behind me.
"So, Ms. McDermott," he said, standing much too close to me. "Have you recovered after the weekend? Claire seemed rather upset to find us together in such a compromising situation."
"There was nothing compromising about it. You were drunk and you made an inappropriate pass at a woman engaged to be married. That's all. And yes, I did recover and everything's fine with me and Drake, if that's what you wanted to know."
"Pity," he said and leaned closer to me, his arm resting on the wall of the elevator. He bent down and touched a wisp of hair that had fallen out of my ponytail. The elevator came to the main floor and the doors started to open, but Sefton was blocking my exit. "Remember what I said. If that boyfriend of yours ever leaves you wanting more, I'm in the wings, waiting. I could teach you so much…"
"Please let me by,"
I said, trying to force my way off the elevator.
The next thing I knew, Drake was in the elevator, knocking Sefton against the far wall. I gasped, shocked by the sudden movement of the two men as they struggled. Finally, they stopped. Drake had Sefton pinned against the elevator wall, his forearm pressed against Sefton's throat, one of his fists poised in front of Sefton's face.
"You almost broke my nose," Sefton said, his voice horrified. He felt his nose with a free hand. Blood smeared his fingers.
"You'll be waiting nowhere near Kate, if you know what’s good for you, or you'll have more than a broken nose," Drake said, his voice low and menacing.
"Is that a threat?" Sefton said, his voice strained. His face was pale, his teeth gritted.
"It's a promise. You leave Kate alone or Kate and I will be making a trip to the police station to talk about what happened during the safari."
Then Drake stepped back and adjusted his shirt, the sleeves of which had pulled back in the struggle. He turned to me, one arm slipping around my shoulders, pulling me against him and out of the elevator. We walked down the hallway, my heart pounding.
"Drake…"
"Let's get out of here," he said, kissing the top of my head. "No arguing. I had the element of surprise going for me, and if I almost broke his nose, it was totally by accident. He's a big fucker and I don't know if I could beat him if he wants to fight."
We picked up the pace, Sefton walking behind us, his footsteps audible in the silence of the hallway.
"I could have you charged with assault for that," he called after us.
"Kate could have you charged with assault," Drake said.
Sefton said nothing in reply.
Relief and amusement bubbled up inside of me that Drake had bloodied Sefton's nose. Drake and I broke into a run after he pulled me through the doors and out to the street where the black Mercedes sat in wait. I laughed so hard as we tumbled into the car.