Intense 2

by Hebert, Cambria

  She smiled at that, against her will for she turned her head away to hide her amusement. "Not fair.”

  "What?"

  "You trying to make me like you."

  I laughed out loud at that. Of course, I was trying to make her like me. I wanted her to lust after me, more than anything, but like was fine as well.

  "See? You do like me." I cleared my throat, trying not to gloat too much, at least, not yet. I’d gloat once I was between her thighs. Until then, nothing was certain. "Really soft leather is also nice for restraints, but you have to know how to tie them carefully." I glanced at her, and saw her wide eyes. She couldn’t help but listen and imagine what I described. "But this?" I lifted my hand and showed her the band once more. "This was a gift from a patient."

  "What does it say?" she said, her voice less defensive.

  "It's French. Here," I said and held my wrist so she could see it. "Do you read French?"

  "Just a bit." She took my wrist and examined the carving, peering down at it carefully.

  "It's from Fern Hill."

  "I know that poem,” she said. “Dylan Thomas."

  "You know it?" I said, a bit surprised, but she did study journalism. Maybe she took a few literature courses. "It's my favorite poem. The end especially."

  I recited the last line, which I remembered from my college days.

  She smiled shyly. "My favorite line was something about being easy under the apple boughs."

  Now it was my turn to be impressed. "That's the first line." I recited it as well.

  "Do you know the whole poem by heart?"

  I shook my head. "I can only remember the first and last stanzas. I memorized the whole thing once, back in college. I loved it because it made me think of my childhood. How happy I was and how unaware that soon, it would all come crashing down."

  "How did it come crashing down?" she asked, her pretty brow furrowed, genuinely interested.

  "Oh, you know. Life in general." I didn’t really want to talk about my youth. "I had a patient, a young boy of thirteen from South Africa. He suffered from inherited dystonia. A muscle contraction that makes the body contort. He had it all his life. It's hell, but he had such a great attitude. The Foundation brought him here a few years ago to do the operation and we became friends. He made this after he recovered from surgery and went back home. You know – touristy 'native' jewelry sold in the gift shops. I wear it because it reminds me why I became a doctor and a surgeon."

  "Oh, that's…" she said, hesitating as if searching for words. "That's so… nice."

  I smiled to myself. It was special to me – the young boy seeing me as a favorite uncle or father substitute. I never had children of my own and given what a neglectful father I had growing up, I wasn’t sure if I’d make a good father. Without any siblings, I had no nieces or nephews and expected I’d never marry so would die alone, some old bachelor living in a barren apartment…

  "But the quote?” she said, frowning. “How did he know to include that?"

  "He was here for six months and we arranged for him to have tutors,” I said. “He liked poetry the most of all his classes. He asked me what my favorite line of poetry was and I told him."

  This was getting far too sentimental. I cleared my mind of thoughts of Kwesi and returned to more comfortable topics. Like sex – specifically bondage and dominance.

  "So about our agreement,’ I said, raising my eyebrows, trying to inject a note of humor into the discussion. “You can include sex if you want, but remember I'm only so kinky. I have limits…"

  She didn’t smile or reply. Instead she frowned. Not what I intended…

  I decided to move things forward. "Give me your phone," I said, motioning to her bag. If she wouldn’t volunteer, I’d take matters into my own hands and put my phone number into her contacts. Then, I could text her. Texting might be less intrusive.

  "Why?"

  "Just give it to me."

  She reached into her bag, handing me her iPhone. I opened her contacts, entering my information. There. Simple. As long as she didn’t erase it before she got home, I’d be able to text her while she was lying in bed, thinking of the evening. I wanted her to think of me while she was in bed. I wanted her to connect me with her bed in her mind.

  "There," I said, handing her phone back. "At least consider what I've suggested. Draw up an agreement with whatever you want included and send it to me in an email."

  She took the phone and turned away without a word, starting up the stairs. Before she reached the top, I called out.

  "Remember, send me an email. I'll sign anything you want."

  "Goodbye, Dr. Morgan," she said without looking back.

  "Good night, Ms. Bennet."

  I smiled as I watched her climb the stairs. I’d gotten under her skin – I was sure of it. It was now only a matter of time before we were carrying on intimate conversations via text message.

  I went to my car and texted her right away, hoping to ensure she didn’t erase my contact info.

  You seem surprised that I like poetry. What you must think of me… I'm not a Neanderthal, Kate. Write up an agreement between us. Whatever you want. Include as much detail as you feel is necessary. I'll honor it to the letter. Your father would be only too pleased if we were to date and that can be our cover.

  At least he thinks I'm a decent sort…

  She responded, but not the way I planned…

  Imagine how surprised he'd be to find out how wrong he is…

  I made a face. Talk about not sparing my feelings…

  Ouch…

  She didn’t text back and part of me was upset that she’d threatened, in a passive kind of way, to reveal me to her father. But that would mean she’d have to reveal how the whole matter came up in the first place, and I was sure she wouldn’t do that.

  I was sure of one thing, and one thing only: she would never reveal to her father her interest in BDSM. She would never reveal my involvement in the lifestyle. She might not ever let me tie her up and fuck her, but she’d keep my secret safe for there was no way she would even know about it unless she was interested as well.

  I was safe with Kate. I just wish she understood that she was safe with me. I wasn’t the kind of Dom she feared – a sadist who would hurt and humiliate her. My only kink was leather and bondage. Other than that, I was pretty vanilla when it came to sex.

  I needed control. That was my true kink.

  She was perfectly safe with me. All she had to lose were her inhibitions. If she took a chance on me, I’d make sure she lost them and fast.

  She’d probably thank me for it in the long run.

  I drove back to my apartment in Chelsea and threw off my coat and boots, going to the kitchen for a glass of water before bed. I was still a bit up from my encounter with Kate – a bit restless and in need of some kind of release. I didn’t want to resort to masturbation yet again, feeling a bit like a failure for doing so since I was just outside her apartment building. Instead, I went for a late-night run to blow off some steam and drain off some of the pent-up sexual energy I’d been hoarding for Kate. When I returned, I checked my email and saw one from her.

  I sat at the island in my kitchen and read it over, surprised that she sent it to me so quickly, and that she apparently couldn’t sleep either.

  From: McDermott, Katherine M.

  Sent: November 07, 11:31 PM

  To: Morgan, D. L.

  Subject: The Agreement

  Attachments: The Agreement.doc (50 KB)

  Drake: I've attached the agreement for you to review and agree to.

  Please don't push any of my limits. I know it’s in your nature to do just that.

  If you do, I'm gone.

  Seriously.

  Kate

  I read her document over, noting how determined she seemed to be about keeping our distance, making our relationship one purely of research with me as an ‘informant’ and her as the ‘researcher’. I went to bed and lay awake for quite a while,
considering how I was going to approach this. I wasn’t going to quibble with her about her document. Instead, I’d revise and send her my own version in the form of a submission agreement, based on one of the most popular documents currently in use in the lifestyle.

  I didn’t get to sleep very quickly despite the run, for now that I had her document, I couldn’t stop thinking about how I’d get her to accept and sign mine, which was far more explicit.

  In the morning, after a fitful sleep in which I tossed and turned, thinking of having Kate under my complete control, I got up and showered before drinking a cup of coffee at my desk, laptop open to my boilerplate submission contract.

  I dithered, unable to get my wording correct, not wanting to include anything too frightening to Kate that she’d reject it out of hand, but not wanting to appear too easy to sway either. I considered including a few clauses that I knew she’d reject just so she could cross them off the list and feel some degree of control over the contents, but they couldn’t be too extreme. When I checked my watch, I had only a short time to get to work and scrub in for my first surgery so I sent her an email.

  From: Morgan, D. L.

  Sent: November 08, 5:31

  To: McDermott, Katherine M.

  Subject: The Agreement

  Attachments: The Agreement.doc (50 KB)

  Katherine, I received your agreement and will read it over. We can discuss when we meet.

  Drake

  All week, I kept busy with work, waiting for Kate to contact me so we could do her interviews. On Friday while I was dictating notes after a surgery, I received a text from her:

  Why don't you send me your schedule so we can set up some dates to meet next week and discuss the lifestyle. We can discuss the agreement at that time. I'm pretty free for the next couple of weeks with the exception of Monday and so I'd like to get started with the interviews.

  I texted her back right away, wondering what she was doing on Monday. I had Wednesday off and Friday and had a practice session with the band on Monday, but I was curious. What could she be doing on a Monday night?

  I'm pretty busy all week with my surgical slate and personal commitments… What are you doing on Monday night? What time are you done? I could make a late meal at a restaurant, if you're free after 10 PM.

  She texted me right back.

  I'm going to Carnegie Hall with my father and his wife.

  I quickly Googled Carnegie Hall’s schedule and saw it was a special Veteran’s Day performance. I had to take her. I’d rearrange my schedule, tell the guys we had to change our practice session to Tuesday instead.

  I want to take you.

  There was a very pregnant pause and I tapped my foot, waiting for her response. I was that close…

  We could meet after. I don't know if I'm ready to start the whole 'dating' ruse yet…

  What difference would it make to meet after the concert? A date for coffee was still a date but I wanted to go with her. I wanted to see how she responded to music, and share something that was important to both our fathers. She didn’t want it to be an official date, but there were ways around that.

  We could meet there by accident during intermission. I could invite you out for a late meal. I'm sure your father would be pleased. We could start the whole interview process.

  When she didn’t respond right away, I sent another text in the hopes of assuaging any concerns she had and prevent her from outright declining.

  I'll have you home by midnight as I have surgery early in the morning. No funny business. Scout's Honor…

  Finally, after a few minutes of delay, she texted me back.

  I'll go for coffee and dessert with you but this is a special family event. We always have a family dinner before the concert.

  Then I had a brilliant idea – I’d take her out for dinner to my favorite restaurant after the performance. Coffee and dessert was nice but I wanted to pull out all the stops with her. If we went to the Russian Tea Room, she’d be on my turf, in my comfort zone while she’d be in unfamiliar territory. I would be in complete control, thus beginning my seduction of her as my submissive.

  Can you hold off eating and join me at The Russian Tea Room? I feel like some Pelmeni and blini. Have you been and tried their blini? To die for. I would love company.

  Quite a few moments passed and I waited to see if she would agree. If she did, it was game over for the delightfully reticent Ms. Bennet. She’d be mine if I could get her to go out for a late meal with me. I’d ply her with vodka and hand-feed her rich food. I’d sit close to her and look deeply into her eyes, treating her like a princess. She’d be eating out of my hand, literally and figuratively. Getting her to invite me back to her apartment would be all the easier if I could feed her. I’d know at the first forkful of food I scooped into her mouth.

  Finally, she texted back.

  My father is very rigid about these things but I told him you invited me to go for a meal after the concert and he said I could miss our usual family dinner. Boy, does he like you… If he only knew…

  I texted right back, wanting to keep the momentum of her acceptance going before she gathered enough courage to stop me.

  He doesn’t know and I want things to stay that way. I don't want him finding out about my… pastimes. Just keep that in mind when you worry that I'll push your boundaries. I won't.

  She was fast to respond:

  I'll hold you to that. Good afternoon.

  Success.

  Adrenaline surged through me at that and I couldn’t resist.

  I'll meet you in the lobby during intermission. Until then, Ms. Bennet…

  She was falling, and it was only a matter of time before she was tied up to the headboard of my bed, crying out my name.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  On Thursday, I was at the club working out when I ran into Ethan once more. The fact we both were members had been a godsend with Kate.

  “There you are, my boy,” he said in his gravelly voice. “I hope Katherine invited you to sit with us in our box seats.”

  I smiled at Ethan and to myself, for imagine my surprise to learn Ethan asked her to invite me to sit with them for the entire performance. The better angels of my nature told me to be good and ‘find’ her at intermission. The lesser angels won out easily. I was only too happy to accept Ethan’s gracious invitation and would especially enjoy Kate’s face when she saw me walk up and sit right beside her.

  “I was planning on joining you at intermission, but I was able to rearrange my practice session with Mersey until another day so I’m free.”

  It was a lie, but that could be easily made true. I’d call Ken later and ask if we could practice on Tuesday instead. It would be no problem as we occasionally changed dates depending on people’s schedules.

  Ethan clapped his hand on my back and we said our goodbyes. Monday evening couldn’t come fast enough.

  My weekend went slowly, especially now that Kate was going out with me on Monday. Despite being busy with the band, and having a monthly general meeting of the local chapter of Doctors Without Borders to attend on Sunday afternoon, time seemed to drag. I was eager to see Kate and so my usual weekend pursuits seemed tedious. They were events to get through, not to enjoy.

  I was sitting with my fellow band members after Sunday dinner with the O’Riley’s when the subject of my love life – or lack thereof – came up as it usually did.

  The pub closed early on Sunday and each week, we were all invited for dinner. Everyone, from the cooks to the waitresses and waiters, as well as our band members, had a standing invitation and for a few hours, the pub was taken over for a sit-down meal. I didn’t always attend, but I needed a distraction. After we finished eating, I sat with the other band members enjoying a drink in the deserted bar, when Mrs. O’Riley leaned on the back of her son’s chair and peered at me pointedly.

  “So when are you going to settle down, Drake?” she said, patting her son on the shoulder. “My other boys are always bringing their wiv
es and children here for Sunday dinner, but you’re always alone. If anyone should be married, it should be you. Don’t tell me you’re afraid to walk down the aisle again?”

  I smiled. With Mrs. O, the talk usually turned to my bachelorhood. She couldn’t stand the thought that one of her ‘boys’ was single – especially not a doctor. She saw it as an affront to the female species.

  “Once bitten, twice shy?” I said, finishing my beer so I could escape any further grilling.

  “You? Shy?” she said, scoffing. “You’re the great brain surgeon. Handsome. Rich. Accomplished. I’m surprised some society gal hasn’t snapped you up. What’s wrong with you?”

  She said it only half in jest. I knew she worried about me, but frankly, I wasn’t used to having women concerned with my well-being. My mother abandoned me. My wife left me.

  Only my submissives seemed to actually want me.

  “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Mrs. O,” I said and shrugged. “No one has captured my heart yet.” I placed my hand over my heart and made a face of sorrow.