by S. E. Lund
“I know,” I said and smiled, trying to be cheerful. “I understand.”
He lay down beside me and cradled my face with a hand. “I love you, sooo much.”
“I love you,” I said and closed my eyes when he kissed me. “Sooo much.”
“Hold that thought,” he said and squeezed one breast. “We’ll pick up where we left off when I get back home. This shouldn’t take too long. I’ll text you so that you know what to expect.”
“Okay,” I said and sighed dramatically -- playfully. “I’ll pine for you when you go, but I’ll wait.”
“Good,” he said. “Have a nice warm bath, and be waiting for me, naked in bed. You’ll be all nice and warm and I’ll be unable to resist ravishing you when I get back home.”
“Mmm, ravishing,” I murmured, my eyes closed.
Drake kissed me all over my face, then on my mouth.
Then I was alone on the bed.
I had to face the fact that Drake would be called away at all hours when he was on call. Interruptions would be part of our life together. I had to learn to adapt.
When it was time for bed, I did as Drake suggested and had a nice warm bath with plenty of bubbles. After, I brushed my teeth and crept naked into bed, my Kindle in hand so I could read while I waited for him to return.
By the time he returned, I’d fallen asleep and he was too tired to ravish me as he promised.
He did snuggle in after brushing his teeth and kissed my naked shoulder tenderly.
“Very difficult case,” he said and sighed. “I spent three hours in the OR trying to stabilize a trauma patient we operated on earlier in the day.” Then he yawned and pulled me tightly into his arms. “Sorry about this. My last shift is on Wednesday so I promise that for the eleven days after, I’m all yours. Every single inch.”
He turned my face and kissed me, and I could feel his lips curve in a smile when he pressed them against mine.
CHAPTER NINE
Drake
I received a response to my text from Derek Richardson the next morning.
Lisa Monroe? I haven’t seen her for over a year. Last I heard she was doing her internship at NYP. We parted company after she decided she was more of a switch than a true submissive. She spent far too much time topping from the bottom for my likes, but she’s very bright and ambitious. You did top her a couple of times a few years ago, if I recall. The first time was one of the first parties you attended. She went by the name Mia. You might remember her by that name.
I sat and pondered my response, a sense of dread settling over me that I had in fact topped her. I had little memory of it for I had been quite busy with my new submissives and topped a few women that night. We didn’t actually have sex, but I remember demonstrating rope bondage with one of Richardson’s subs, for I was just trying it out. The name Mia did sound familiar but in all honesty, I topped her not out of interest in her but in the interest of building up my reputation. The fact I had topped her twice and didn’t remember much told me all I needed to know about her. She was not memorable to me.
I hoped she wouldn’t become a problem, but I had a bad feeling that she was not going to let our mutual past be forgotten. In fact, I suspected she’d use it to her advantage. She was a switch?
That meant she could be happy topping or being topped.
She was unpredictable as a result.
I tried to push Lisa out of my mind, because Kate and I had far too many things going on to let it dampen my mood. Luckily, I was damn good at compartmentalization. I swore I would never keep anything from Kate, and I was determined to tell her about Lisa as soon as our marriage and honeymoon were over, but I did not want to ruin this time for her over a colleague.
So, Thursday night before the wedding, I went on with my life and preparations for my wedding. My bachelor party was pretty lame by most men’s standards, but for me, a once-divorced, once-confirmed never-to-be-married-again kind of man, it was perfect.
Ken, Dave, Colin and I went to an old Italian barber in Chelsea to get a professional shave and haircut. The place was like it had been transported from the ‘20s, with a candy-cane barber pole on the exterior, even rotating. The interior had exposed red brick walls¸ antique mirrors and barber chairs, and thick plank floors. Antique ceiling fans circulated overhead, and the barber looked more like a surgeon or dentist than a stylist, with his crisp white barber tunic. The man who greeted us called himself Mr. Alberto. He resembled someone from Vito Corleone’s extended family, with piercing dark eyes and salt-and-pepper grey hair.
The four of us took our places on the chairs and then three other barbers entered, one for each of us, dark haired and looking like Mr. Alberto’s sons or nephews.
Kate liked me to have a bit of scruff, so I told Mr. Alberto that the whiskers could be trimmed, but they had to stay. Kate also liked my hair a little on the long side, and so I told Mr. Alberto that he could give me a trim, but like Samson, I didn’t want anyone toying with my hair since it pleased Kate the way it was.
“Boy, does she have you wrapped around her little finger,” Ken said with a laugh as we lay back in the barber chairs, long black capes draped around us, waiting for the hot towel treatment.
“She does,” Dave said from the other chair. “Completely and utterly wrapped.”
“Absolutely,” I said with a smile and closed my eyes, waiting for the hot towels.
When Mr. Alberto was finished with me, I glanced in the mirror and saw that I hadn’t been transformed in any meaningful way so hopefully, Kate would be pleased.
I stood up beside my chair after Mr. Alberto removed my cape.
“You look almost exactly like you did before we arrived,” Dave said, standing up beside me. On his part, he had his hair cut and was clean shaven, as were the other three.
“That was the goal.” I slipped on my jacket and waited for Ken to finish paying. It was ridiculous that he paid for our shaves, since I was the one with too much money, but he insisted.
Several hours later, after a steak and beer at a chop house in the Battery Park area, we went to Jerome’s in the Lower East Side, a club that still allowed patrons to smoke cigars. Our limo took us to an old red brick building with a doorman standing in wait to open the massive wooden door. Dressed in red livery with a black top hat, he opened the door and tipped his hat as we went inside.
“Gentlemen,” he said with a smile. “Welcome to Jerome’s.”
A totally masculine décor, with rich dark wood paneling and floors, polished brass fixtures and classic jazz playing in the background, Jerome’s was exactly what I had in mind. Most of the patrons were older businessmen in suits, visiting after their day of merchant banking and high finance. There were a few hipsters there – younger men in jeans and suit jackets, soaking up ambience of a bygone era – but the rest of the patrons were my age or older.
The air was blue with cigar smoke, despite the ornate ceiling fans and what I supposed was a really great exhaust system. We sat at the bar, taking empty stools at one end. The bartender came up to us and wiped down the bar.
“What can I get for you gents?”
“Gents,” Colin said with a laugh. “I like that.”
As usual, I wanted a vodka martini, but Ken protested.
“You always drink vodka. Have some bourbon. A man has to drink bourbon before he gets married.”
“Yeah,” Colin weighed in. “Drake is the most boring customer.”
I sighed and nodded to the bartender, who poured us all shots of bourbon in crystal tasting glasses.
“Cheers,” Ken said and we all clinked glasses and took a sip. The bourbon was good, as bourbons go – rich and smooth with a nice taste. Ken pulled out a box of cigars, and we all took one and lit them, puffing away like we knew what we were doing.
We talked about everything but the wedding – my fellowship at NYU, Liam’s disease and progress, Ethan’s rehabilitation, Dave’s plans for the foundation, Colin’s new plans for the pub, the band and our next few
gigs after I returned from our honeymoon.
“I guess I’m a holdout,” Dave said, holding up his drink. “Still not ready to tie the knot.”
“Is there someone even close to being the type you’d bring home to mom?” Ken asked. Ken had been married for a dozen years and was the most experienced at a successful marriage.
“Drake caught her first,” Dave said with a grin. “I did my best, but she wasn’t that into me.”
“You really liked Kate?” I said, turning to him in surprise. I knew he’d hit on Kate – a lot – before we met but I never thought he was serious about her. “I thought it was just good-natured fun.”
“Yeah,” he said, nodding. “She’s definitely the kind you bring home to mom.” Then he turned to me, a guilty expression on his face. “Sorry, Drake…”
“No problem,” I said, shrugging. We were silent for a moment as I thought about that statement. Having no mother to bring Kate home to still hurt even after all the years that had passed since my mother left me. I shot back my bourbon, enjoying the burn as it slid down my throat, and placed my glass firmly on the bar. “I’ll have another.”
Then, I proceeded to get drunk.
Our next stop was a small nightclub in Chelsea. By then, all three of us were quite drunk and we danced indiscriminately – with partners, with each other or ourselves. I wasn’t at all picky about who I danced with. Short or tall, slim or curvy, blonde or brunette – it was all the same to me. I just danced and Ken, Colin and Dave danced along with me. The music was eighties pop, and we all laughed our heads off at some of the cheesy lyrics, shouting them out, doubling over with laughter, channeling our teens. By then, I had my tie around my forehead, my jacket off and my shirt unbuttoned and untucked. I tried to pull off a Saturday Night Fever dance when the Bee Gees song came on, but did a bad job.
Whoever I was dancing with at the time played along with me, dancing around me and shaking her stuff like a pro.
When a slower dance started, she leaned in and whispered in my ear. “Hey, you,” she said, her hair brushing my face. “Want to come back to my place?”
I put my hands on both her shoulders and leaned in. “You’re really sweet, but I’m getting married on Saturday.”
She smiled and leaned in close once more. “Then, this is your last chance for some fun.”
I shook my head “Au contraire,” I said and smiled. “My fun’s only just starting.”
Then I turned away, trying to do the moonwalk when Michael Jackson’s Billie Jean started to play, but I failed spectacularly, tripping into Dave.
Our next stop was a karaoke bar named Bar 7 somewhere in Korea Town. The bar was decorated in leopard print, had bubble machines blowing tiny bubbles into the air at random times, and had an open mic at the front of the stage and private karaoke rooms in the back. We wanted to mix with the public so we stayed in the front end and waited our turn to do hits of the sixties. I chose the Beach Boys, and ran through I Get Around, Good Vibrations and Surfin' USA.
The other guys took their turns while I sat and watched, clapping along and shouting out the lyrics to their own choices. During a break in the performance while Ken found a song he liked, a pretty brunette in a purple dress and heels sidled up between Dave and me.
“You boys look like you’re having a great time,” she said, drink in her hand. Another pretty young thing stood behind her, smiling. “Want to join us?”
Dave glanced at me, a sly grin on his face. “This is his bachelor party,” Dave said and pointed to me. “We’re on our best behavior.”
“Isn’t the point of a bachelor party to be bad?” she asked.
“Not at his,” Dave said with a pout. “We have to be good.”
“That’s too bad,” the brunette said. “Our loss.”
I smiled and shrugged, but I was more about brotherhood than mingling with the female patrons.
Finally, at around two o’clock in the morning, we left and stopped for some street food on our way to my building. I had a sausage with a load of sauerkraut and mustard on a bun from a vendor with a cart, hoping to sober up before I went home.
We arrived back at the apartment, and I said goodbye to the guys, thanking them all for a great night.
“It was exactly what I wanted,” I said, still not quite sober. We all clapped each other on the back and I took the elevator up to my floor, fumbling with my key in the lock, and stumbling into the foyer.
The light was still on in the kitchen, and on the island was a glass of water with a bottle of aspirin beside it and a note from Kate.
Drake, make sure to drink this entire glass and take your medicine.
See you in the morning!
Love, Kate.
I did love Kate. I loved her more than I ever thought possible. I took my medicine as she suggested, then went to the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth, stripped naked and slipped into bed beside a warm and sleeping Kate.
“Katie, are you awake?” I said, even though I could tell she wasn’t. I touched her arm, wanting to connect with her before I went to sleep. She rolled over, her hair covering her face, but didn’t open her eyes.
“Are you all right?” she whispered, pushing the hair away from her face. She cracked her eyes open and finally looked at me.
“Yes,” I said and leaned down to nuzzle her neck. “I just wanted to say good night and that I love you.”
She slipped her arms around my neck and pulled me down for a kiss. “I love you.”
“We love each other,” I said, smiling.
“We do,” she said with a light laugh. “We’re disgusting in our schmoopyness.”
I laughed at the Seinfeld reference. I rolled off her when a sudden bout of vertigo struck and laid my head down on the pillow. “Oh, God, I’m still drunk.”
“Put one foot on the floor,” Kate said and rose up on her elbow. “I’ve heard it helps to stop the room from spinning.”
I did, sliding one leg out and hanging it over the side of the bed.
“I hope you don’t think this will become a habit,” I said, rubbing my eyes.
“Drake Morgan,” Kate said in mock disapproval. “I’ve seen you drunk what – maybe three times since I’ve known you. You being a lush is the last thing I worry about.”
I turned to her, watching her face. “What do you worry about?” I said, honestly wanting to know. “Is there something about me that bothers you ? Something you want changed? Tell me and I promise I’ll stop it or correct it. Anything.”
She snuggled closer, a smile on her face. “Anything?”
“Anything,” I said, tightness in my throat that she actually had something that she wanted me to change, and that I was doing something wrong.
She leaned closer, her voice low and conspiratorial. “Sometimes, on occasion, when you’ve been working long hours and are home really late? Well, sometimes, you forget to close the closet door when you put your coat away. It has to stop.”
I turned to look at her face, checking for her expression. She burst out laughing.
“Oh, you,” I said and grabbed her, pulling her against me. “I was serious.”
She pulled back. “What makes you think I wasn’t?” Then she giggled again and kissed me. “Drake Morgan, you are the sweetest most considerate man. There’s nothing I want to change about you. Nothing.” She brushed hair from my eyes. “I love you just the way you are.”
I pulled her against me and we lay like that, me with my leg thrown over the side of the bed, foot touching the floor, her with her arm around my chest, her head on my shoulder. I felt bad that I wasn’t telling her about Lisa Monroe but she was so happy and so good to me, I didn’t want my past to come back and not only haunt us, but ruin her happiness.
Then the room started to spin again.
“I think I have to throw up,” I said and she let go of me and sat up in bed.
I sat up quickly and then ran to the bathroom. I made sure to close the door first and then I ran the water so Kate
wouldn’t hear me.
When I was finished, after washing my face and brushing my teeth yet again, I went back to the bedroom, where Kate was snuggled down into the covers, her expression amused.
“Feeling better?” she said lightly.
“Yes,” I said and slipped into bed. “Complete waste of a polish sausage and sauerkraut.”
“Karma’s a bitch,” she said and laughed.
“That wasn’t Karma. It was a combination of beer, bourbon, and vodka. You’d think a man my age and profession, a doctor, would know better, but you’d be wrong.”
“You’ll be better now,” she said and then kissed my cheek. “Good night.”
“Good night,” I said and kissed her back.
Then I turned out the light.
CHAPTER TEN
Kate
My bridal shower, such as it was, went well although there was a place for a best female friend that was notably empty.
On Friday, while Drake lay in bed for the morning and recovered from his bachelor party, Elaine, Christie and I went to Elaine’s favorite day spa for the full treatment. We arrived before 10:00 a.m. and dressed in the spa’s thick white robes and slippers, then went for a massage, followed by a manicure and pedicure. Then we all had our hair washed and set and I tried out a hairstyle for my wedding day. I’d brought along the veil that I would wear and the stylist tried several hairstyles that used it.
In the end, we settled for an updo with a couple of long tendrils falling in curls around my face. Drake had asked me to keep my neck bare and so I expected he had some piece of jewelry that was meant to signify our new relationship. A collar of some sort that would be known and understood only by the two of us.
We went for a nice lunch at Elaine’s favorite restaurant near Central Park and I gave Elaine and Christie a small gift each to commemorate the wedding. Pearl drop earrings in white gold. Then I was home at about two o’clock. When I arrived, I saw that Drake had showered and dressed and was sitting on the couch with his feet up watching some game.