The Commitment (The Unrestrained #2)

by S. E. Lund

  I let myself go and my orgasm crashed through me. I couldn't stop from moaning, my body convulsing around his fingers and under his tongue. He kept his mouth on me throughout my orgasm, his own sounds of enjoyment vibrating through my flesh.

  While I recovered, he was still, his mouth still covering me, tiny licks on my overly-sensitive clit making me shudder. When I was back to full awareness, I started stroking his shaft and sucking the head of his thick cock once more, eager to feel and hear his own release. He kept licking me, and I knew he wanted me to come again. I tried to focus on his pleasure, stroking him, sucking the head, taking him as deeply into my mouth as I could and soon, I could feel him harden under my lips. He was close.

  "Stop," I gasped when his fingers began stroking inside me again. "I can't focus when you do that."

  "I want you to come again," he said, his voice smoky.

  "I can't do both," I said, trying to stroke him and let my body respond.

  "Let yourself come," he said. "Then I will. I'm so close…"

  After a moment while he built me up once more, my second orgasm came on from the insistent sucking and stroking of my clit, his fingers thrusting inside of me. I gave in and let the sensations wash over me until once more, I clenched around his fingers, my hips thrusting blindly at his mouth, my thighs trembling. I groaned with the head of his cock in my mouth and he began thrusting in my fist, trying to come himself. Soon, I felt him stiffen, his cock so hard I knew he would soon come. Then, the spurt of semen filled my mouth. I let him pour into me while he thrust, his body shuddering, his mouth on my still-too sensitive clit, his fingers deep inside of me.

  Finally, I pulled slowly off him and swallowed, his strong salty taste familiar. I licked his length, my tongue playing gently with the sensitive head and he pulled off me to groan.

  "Oh, God," he said, gasping. "That was so good…"

  He crawled around and lay facing me, pulling me into his arms, one thigh thrown over me possessively. He kissed me, his kiss deep and passionate.

  "I love you, Kate," he said when he pulled away, brushing the hair from my face, his eyes warm and holding mine. "I love you."

  "I love you," I said, warmth for him filling me. I crawled more closely into his arms and closed my eyes, the euphoria from my orgasms and the happiness I felt being so close to him almost unbearable.

  After we had both recovered, we lay in each other's arms. He stroked his hands over my body affectionately, cupping my breasts, threading his fingers in mine.

  "That was delicious." He nestled his head in the crook of my neck and kissed me. "I think I'd like to do that at least once a week."

  "It wasn't too vanilla for you?"

  "In case you didn't realize it, I like vanilla ice cream, too. Besides, my kink is control, with a bit of leather thrown in for good measure."

  "You can't let me come only once, can you?"

  "Sacrilege!" he said and laughed. "My evil plot is to keep you so thoroughly aroused and then satiated that you can't imagine looking at another man."

  I wrapped my hands around his arms. "Other men don't even exist."

  He squeezed me in response and we lay in the warmth of the bed in silence.

  Then, he sighed heavily. He rose up on his elbow and ran a finger down my body from my chest to my hip. "As much as I'd love to lie here all morning, I have work to do."

  "You're leaving?"

  "Foundation work to wrap up." He leaned down and kissed me. "I'll be home later this afternoon. I'm going to play one last game of racquetball after lunch with a colleague. We'll have a nice dinner and spend the evening together."

  "Sounds good."

  "I love you," he said and kissed me again.

  "I love you."

  Although I would have loved to spend the day with Drake, I was eager to work on my drawing. After he left, I had breakfast, then made myself a cup of coffee and sat and read news headlines on my iPhone. Elaine was out with a friend for lunch and my dad was at his club for lunch and a meeting, so I was completely on my own.

  I decided to go to 8th Avenue and spend the day there drawing. It was a hideaway for Drake. I loved the old apartment so much, I decided that if Drake was going to keep himself busy all day, I'd spend the remaining time before we left for Africa at 8th Avenue, working on my sketch. I'd been in the Chelsea apartment for two solid days drawing and needed some air. I had my key and so I packed up my backpack, taking my pencils and sketchpad with me, and began the hike from Drake's apartment in Chelsea to the 8th Avenue apartment. I walked for half an hour and then caught a taxi for the rest of the journey, arriving at the apartment a little before ten o'clock.

  I entered the apartment, and took in a deep breath. It smelled so familiar – of Drake, of his cologne, of old books and leather. The front of the apartment was dim and quiet. I took off my coat and boots, and threw my bag on one of the couches. Then, I walked around the rooms. Soon, Drake and I would leave for Nairobi and leave this place behind for half a year. I'd miss it, for it was here that our relationship really developed.

  Such a short a time had passed since we met in October. I went to the back of the apartment to the bedroom and opened the closet, looking at the old leather tie he'd used on my wrists that first time. He could have done anything to me at that point. Anything. Yet, all he did was give me pleasure. He gave me what I wanted and needed, in a way that didn't frighten me. He was extremely careful and extremely concerned that I was never hurt or frightened or upset.

  Why couldn't Dawn understand?

  Was she jealous? Was it as simple as that? She'd been like me – only a few relationships that were not really meant to be. We were both pretty unlucky in love up till I met Drake. I couldn't imagine that she was jealous that I had someone and she didn't, but it was a possibility.

  She was pretty with those wild blonde curls and brown eyes, a nice body. But she was so damn demanding and exacting in her expectations of people. They had to be so morally solid. No one seemed to live up to her standards.

  Maybe that's why she was alone.

  I sighed and left the bedroom, walking out through the dim apartment to the living room and the table where Yelena Kuznetsova's crystal shot glasses usually stood. They were now at my father's apartment in his bar. I touched the side of the table where I'd hit my brow that night before Christmas when all this came to a head. Then, I went to Drake's collection of old guitars and to the acoustic guitar he'd played that night when I first came over. I picked up the picture of my father and his father as young men over in Vietnam.

  So much had happened in such a short time. I felt like a different person from that young woman who went to the fundraiser that night, reluctantly, doing it only to please my father.

  I spent the rest of the day drawing, music on the sound system, my playlist set to shuffle, the music selection eclectic, ranging from classical to alternative. When the light started to fade, I looked out the window at the street. Then, my cell chimed, indicating a text. I took it out and it was from Drake.

  Where are you? I'm home and you're not here.

  I texted right back.

  I needed some air so I went for a walk and stopped in at 8th Avenue. I'm going to take a taxi home.

  Of course, Drake couldn't stand the thought I'd be taking a taxi.

  Let me come by and pick you up. I'll be there in ten.

  I responded, knowing that he'd likely drive over no matter what I wanted. Although he desired our equality outside of sex, there was still a protective streak in Drake and he'd worry that I was walking outside when it was dark.

  OK. See you outside.

  That wasn't good enough for Drake.

  Wait inside and I'll text you when I drive up.

  I smiled. He was so protective.

  I'm a big girl, Drake. I can take care of myself…

  I waited to see what he'd write in reply.

  Let me take care of you, Kate. It makes me feel all Dominant…

  I laughed at that and texted h
im back.

  Yes, Sir.

  I put my cell away and stood by the front window, watching as big fat flakes of snow fell outside.

  Then the landline rang. I went over to where the phone sat on a small table in the dining room. The phone had an old answering machine and I saw that there was a flashing light, indicating that there were unanswered messages waiting.

  The machine clicked on after three rings and a female voice came on the line.

  "Drake? It's me. I tried your place in Chelsea and got no answer. I don’t have your new cell number. Listen, sorry to bother you after all this time, but Steve told me you were leaving New York Presbyterian for a year. If you're going away to Africa, we need to talk ASAP. Call me at my mother's. The number's still the same. "

  I frowned as the message ended and the caller hung up.

  Who was she? Obviously someone who knew Drake well enough to say 'it's me' and think he'd recognize her voice and knew her mother's phone number. Was it his ex? Why would she be calling him now, five years after they split?

  I waited at the window, my stomach starting to tighten, the nice mood I was in from Drake's texts dissipating. I stared at the street below, watching to see Drake drive up. The streets were pretty busy but soon I saw his car approach from the south.

  As I waited for his text, I wondered who this mystery woman was and what she wanted from Drake. His car drove up and double-parked on the street below the apartment. My cell buzzed and I read his message.

  Ms. Bennet, your chauffeur awaits…

  I texted him back, trying to match his playful tone, despite my sense of unease about the woman who contacted him.

  Ha ha! Should I start calling you Mr. Darcy? Or was it Heathcliff?

  There are a few voice messages on your phone and while I was here, a woman called and said you should call her before you leave. Should you come up and listen to your messages?

  There was a noticeable pause before he responded.

  Hmm. Maybe I should pop up and check. Let me park and I'll be right up.

  I remained standing by the window, watching him drive to a parking garage down the block. I tried to squelch the jealousy threatening to break through as well as the guilt I had for hearing his voice message. I couldn’t help it, but I still felt embarrassed that I heard a private message of his.

  His key turned in the deadbolt and then he entered the apartment. Dressed in his camel coat and a plaid scarf, his hair peppered with a few snowflakes, Drake was gorgeous. He smiled when he saw me, his blue eyes crinkling in the corners, and instantly, my heart melted.

  Before doing anything, he came right to me and wrapped his arms around me, kissing me, and it made my heart swell that he wanted to give me attention first before listening to his messages. He really did seem happy to see me whenever we'd been apart.

  When he released my arms, he turned to the answering machine and stood beside me, looking at it as if he was reluctant to listen to his messages. As curious as I was, I didn’t want to intrude.

  "If you want, I can wait downstairs in the entry while you listen."

  He shook his head and went to the ancient machine, hitting the play button to listen to the messages. The first one was a message from a band member named Brent, indicating he'd left a message at Drake's home but wanted to leave one at his hideaway as well. The man wished Drake a great sabbatical, inviting Drake to get in a jam session before he left for Africa if he hand time. Several sales people tried to interest Drake in carpet cleaning or renovations and then we came to the final message from the woman asking Drake to call her as soon as possible, before he left for Africa.

  I said nothing after the message was over, trying not to appear too interested. Of course, I was dying to know who it was.

  "Maureen," he said. He ran his fingers through his hair and I could sense the unease in him as he heard her message. "I should call her, see what she wants to talk about."

  "I can leave if you need privacy…"

  He shook his head quickly. "No, you don't have to leave."

  Then he dialed a number and held his cell up to his ear. He waited, standing beside me, running the backs of his fingers over my cheek, smiling softly at me. Despite the smile, I could see a bit of tension in his jaw, in the way he held it tightly shut.

  Finally, she must have come on the line.

  "Hey," he said. "It's me. What's up?"

  He listened, and then frowned, his frown growing more intense with each passing moment, his face actually blanching. He turned from me, staring out the window, one hand on his forehead. Finally, he exhaled heavily, and then sat on the edge of the couch, holding his head in his hand.

  "Why didn’t you tell me?" A long silence followed. "Why?"

  He listened to her speak for a moment and then he took his phone and threw it across the room where it struck the far wall and fell to the ground.

  "Let's go," he said and turned to the door, not meeting my eyes.

  I went to the phone and picked it up to find that the screen had cracked. Then, I followed him out and down the stairs, barely stopping long enough to lock the door behind me, my heart in my throat, wondering what it was she said that could make Drake, the otherwise carefully controlled man I knew, explode.

  As we went down the stairs, my heart raced. I'd never seen Drake like this and it alarmed me. Whatever it was she said infuriated him – or scared the hell out of him.

  "Drake," I said when we arrived in the lobby. "Tell me what's wrong." He stopped and I caught a look at his face. It was paler than pale, his blue eyes pained. "Tell me!"

  He shook his head, opening the door for me. I left the building, taking the steps to the sidewalk. We walked down the street to where he'd parked. I waited for him to open the door. When he got to the car, his hands were shaking so much, he dropped his keys before he'd unlocked the doors.

  "Fuck," he growled as he bent down to pick them out of the snow, wiping them off on his coat.

  I got in the passenger side and he closed my door, then came around to the driver's side and got in. He sat for a moment, and stared at the console.

  "Drake, you're scaring me." I reached out and took his hand in mine and squeezed. "Tell me what's wrong."

  Finally, he turned to face me, his face blanched. He exhaled heavily.

  "I have a son."

  CHAPTER TEN

  We drove through the quiet streets, east towards my father's apartment on Park Avenue.

  "Oh, Drake," I said, completely flustered, my cheeks hot. I struggled for words, not sure of what to say. "Maureen was pregnant when you broke up?"

  He nodded, still so upset that he seemed unable to speak.

  "Does she want you to meet him?"

  "She didn’t say anything more than he was mine and we needed to talk."

  I was silent for a moment. "I'm so sorry. You can drop me off at my father's."

  He sighed as we came to a stoplight. "I don’t know what she wants, but why else would she come back to Manhattan? You're my life, Kate." He was silent as if considering. Then, he squeezed my hand. "I want you with me all the time. If you're willing, I'd like you to come with me. She has to know you and I are together."

  "Do you think she wants you back?"

  He shrugged. "I have no idea what she wants. She married this guy Chris who she met before we broke up. She said she'd tell me when we met."

  "Where?"

  "The hospital in Washington Heights. A coffee shop we used to go to. It's familiar ground, I guess."

  I watched out the window as we changed direction and drove north to NYP.

  I said nothing as we found a parking space. We walked hand in hand into the lobby of the building. A tall blonde woman stood silhouetted against the window, dressed fashionably in a long black cloth coat and cream scarf. She was very lovely, and just about the opposite of me in every way.

  We walked up to her and she frowned when she saw me, looking me up and down, her grey eyes judging. "Is this your current slave?"

>   "This is Kate McDermott. Kate, this is Maureen Johnston, my ex-wife."

  I nodded at her, a bit hurt that she thought of me as Drake's 'slave'. She glanced at me briefly and then turned her attention to Drake.

  "I need you to come with me."

  "Where?" Drake said.

  "To Morgan Stanley. The oncology ward."

  "Your son—"

  "Our son," she corrected. "He's got leukemia. He needs a bone marrow transplant and so I thought you'd agree to be tested. You could be a match."

  Drake frowned, his face flushing. "Yes. Of course."

  "Can we go somewhere and talk?" she said and sighed. "I suppose this has come as a shock."

  Drake made a funny sound in the back of his throat, but didn't reply. We followed Maureen down the long hallway to a small coffee shop where we purchased some coffee. We went to an empty table surrounded by other visitors and patients.

  "So, tell me," Drake said, his hands around his cup, his face blanched. "How is it I have a son and I never heard about him?"

  Maureen took off her scarf, removed her coat. She sat down and stirred her coffee. Finally, after taking a sip, she spoke, her voice low.

  "I didn’t think he was yours. I thought he was Chris's. It wasn't until we tested Chris as a donor that we found out he wasn't related. It was then I knew." She glanced up at us, her face red. "I must have miscalculated my dates. I probably didn’t want to think he was yours."

  Drake sat there for a moment, his mouth open. "So you were sleeping with Chris before we split..."

  "Drake, I could have been sleeping with an entire college football team for all you'd have known. You were so busy in Africa and with lectures and surgery and your band to even notice that I was having an affair."