The Drake Restrained Compete Collection: Part 1 - 4 (The Drake Series Book 7) (5 page)

Tears finally spilled out from her eyes.

"I'm sorry," I said, shaking my head in disappointment. "I can't give more. You knew that when you signed."

"If you can't give me more, then it's over."

“I can’t.” I sighed and pulled out my keys from my jacket pocket and removed my key to Allie's apartment from my keychain. I placed it down firmly on the table across from her. "I didn't want to end it this way, but you're right. I guess it's over." I exhaled heavily as I slid it to her, exasperated that she was doing this now.

She stared at the key, her expression one of disbelief, her eyes wide. I could see that her cheeks were red even in the darkness of the room. She didn't really believe I'd break off the relationship, probably hoping that the mere threat of it would push me closer.

"Don’t do that," she said, her voice wavering. She pushed the key back towards me with a trembling hand. "Give me another chance. "

I shook my head. "I already gave you a second and third chance. You crossed the line too many times." I kept my voice firm, although I, too, was upset. I just couldn’t see any way around it. "You know the rules."

"You broke a promise. You
promised
to spend every Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday evenings with me as long as we were together. I think I deserve to be upset."

I held up my hand. "I promised unless circumstances arose that were beyond my control. Mersey got an extra gig, and it was a chance to get more practice in before our big show on Friday. I had no choice."

"You
always
have a choice." Her voice broke and she brushed tears from her cheeks quickly. "You
choose
to put your band ahead of me. You
choose
to be unknowable, as if you can keep things all neat and tidy between us. All you want is a few good orgasms a week so that nothing like real emotion interferes with your perfect little
life
."

"You knew when you signed my contract that we would just be play partners, nothing more," I countered, but her assessment of me stung just a bit. "You told Lara and you told me you didn’t
want
anything more."

"After all this time?" Her tears were flowing now. "You couldn't find it in your heart to let me come and listen to your band play? You
are
heartless."

I shook my head. Other men might give in, try to make things work, but I couldn't have her breaking the terms of our contract that way. If I let her, she'd try to break all the terms, and that wouldn't do.

Three times in the past month, she'd tried to go beyond the careful margins I'd drawn between my life as a Dominant and the rest of my life as a surgeon and musician.

She'd asked me to stay the night once after a very long session where I had tried some new rope tricks with her. I'd refused. I didn't stay with my submissives. It was a Tuesday and I had an early surgery scheduled the next day. Then, she'd asked me to come to her apartment early and have supper with her on a Saturday night. I refused once more, reminding her that I didn't do meals with my subs. The only thing I ate when we were together was her.

Finally, she'd asked earlier that night if she could come and listen to Mersey play at O'Riley's. I told her no. My music and my sex life did
not
mix.

"You know," she said finally, her voice breaking. "I listened to those songs you sang. That one – the one where you say you have a heart of stone?" She stood, pushing her chair back so hard, it fell over. "You don’t even have a heart." Then she grabbed her bag off the table and stormed out without looking back, the key left on the table in front of me.

I stood and righted her chair then turned back to the bar, my friends staring at me, expressions of surprise and interest clear on their faces. Now, I'd have to tell them we broke up.

I checked my watch. Our next set was due to start in a few minutes. Luckily, there wasn't time for them to demand a full debrief.

I sighed and went to the stage, bypassing them so I could avoid even having to discuss what just happened, the key to her apartment left behind on the table.

CHAPTER FOUR

The next week went as usual, except I didn’t go to see Allie on the appointed nights. Each weekday morning, I woke to my alarm at six. Showered, grabbed a coffee and toast. Dressed. Drove to New York Presbyterian where I had a full slate of surgeries booked.

I purposely didn’t think about Allie, immersing myself in my cases, consciously blocking out her words about me. I knew about denial, having studied psychoanalysis briefly during my undergrad. If I kept myself busy enough, I wouldn’t have time to mourn the end of the relationship.

If my personal life had gone to shit, at least my work as a surgeon was going well.

After dictating my surgical reports and checking in on my patients, I left NYP and took my car to meet Lara for lunch at a café near the hospital. I knew she would have heard from Allie about our breakup and would want to interrogate me about it.

I arrived, still wearing my scrubs, and after placing my order at the counter, I went to the table. Lara looked impeccable, as usual, wearing an expensive suit, her hair tidy in a smooth updo. She had her usual salad and espresso. The café was busy at this time of day, so we sat in a corner for added privacy. The noise of patrons talking, the clink of glasses and cutlery, helped mask our discussion.

"Drake," she said before I even sat down, her voice sounding irritated. "I hear you and Allie ended it in a bad way. That's not like you. You should have called me sooner."

I sat across from her, surprised at her tone.

"She wanted more," I said plainly. "I can't give it."

Lara sighed and shook her head. "She told me you broke up with her in public."

"I had no choice," I said, feeling defensive. "She came to O'Riley's."

"So?" Lara said. "I've heard you play before."

"You're my friend."

"Can't you be friends with your subs?"

"I have all the friends I need. I need a fuck partner who likes a bit of kink. Look," I said, impatient with her. "I
told
Allie from the start that our relationship would be strictly sexual. Nothing more. She wanted to be my girlfriend, Lara. I don't do girlfriends. You know that."

"Poor Drake. Still hurting after all this time? Still have mommy issues?"

I frowned. "What are you talking about?"

She shook her head and said nothing but I knew damn well what she meant. She was referring to my divorce from Maureen and the loss of my mother when I was ten.

It was after my divorce that Lara and I became reacquainted after a decade being apart, each pursuing our own lives. We met in an abnormal psychology class when we both studied sexual perversions of the sadomasochistic variety. She took the class because she
was
a sadist and I did because I was fascinated with those who were obsessed with pain, giving it and receiving it.

I didn't want to give pain. I wanted to cure it.

We never crossed over into being sexual partners because both of us were too dominant in personality and she felt strange that I was so young, only eighteen when we met while she was a few years older. I knew she was kinky when we were friends before, but at that time, I resisted the notion that I was as well. When I was in trouble after my marriage failed and Maureen obtained a restraining order, I ran into Lara at a café and we caught up once more. It was then she diagnosed me as a sexual Dominant.

She urged me to take training from her so I could do it properly. At that point, broken as I was, confused and wounded, I agreed. For three months, I was her submissive, learning what it felt like to be tied up and helpless, how to be safe when using ropes and restraints, how to flog, whip and administer spankings. She even used a strap-on with me so I’d understand anal sex and how to do it properly.

Once Lara felt I had learned everything there was to learn about being a sub, explaining to me why she was doing everything, I graduated into being a novice Dom, and under her tutelage, had my first subs. It made us especially close, those months after Maureen and I separated and I began to explore the world of BDSM. She felt a certain ownership of me as a result, and I felt very indebted to her. She took me when I was broken and fucked up, and fixed me. Put me on the right path, and helped me learn who and what I was.

Because of that history, she couldn’t help but interfere. If it had been anyone else, I would have not-so-politely told them to fuck off, but it was Lara. Allie was a favorite of Lara’s because she was studying to be a lawyer. I knew she’d have received an earful from Allie about our breakup.

We sat in silence for a moment, the atmosphere chilly between us. I felt her disapproval from across the table.

"So you want me to find you someone new."

I nodded, glad she decided to move on and not belabor things.

"Experienced or novice?"

"A novice. I don't want to get anyone with bad habits or expectations I can't meet. I'd rather mold their expectations."

She raised her eyebrows at that. "Isn't it better to find someone who already knows what they want? You might get someone who needs more than you want to give. Like Allie."

The waitress came and brought my order – tomato soup and a toasted BLT. I waited for her to leave and then shook my head.

"If I do, I'll move on."

"Just like that?  You'll move on."

"Yes. I like exploring with a new sub. I want someone pretty vanilla but with a need for domination. Someone into power exchange, but not pain. You know what I like."

“Yes, I do.” Lara sat back in her chair and watched me dig in to my BLT. "I may have someone for you. Two students I met during a seminar I gave on finding a Dom. Neither of them are very extreme and have no real desire for pain, but both expect to be spanked, hair pulled, and one likes hot wax."

I considered. "Send me links to their photos and profiles on FetLife."

After my last surgery of the day was finished and I'd done rounds to check on how my patients were doing, I went directly to the health club a few blocks from the hospital, where I worked out several times a week.

While in the locker room, I saw Ethan McDermott, Justice of the Supreme Court of New York, and my father's oldest and best friend from Vietnam. After I finished tying my shoes, I went to where he sat with another man.

"Judge McDermott," I said, wanting to show him deference, despite being very familiar with him. "How are you?"

He turned to me and a wide smile broke out on his face.

"Well, young man, how are you?" He stood and held out a hand and we shook. He was shorter than me, greying with heavy jowls and bright blue eyes. He turned to the other man, who looked to be in his fifties as well. "George, this is Drake Morgan –
Doctor
Morgan, the son of my old buddy in the Marines. His dad and I were in 'Nam together at the tail end of the war. Drake, this is Justice George Smart, one of my colleagues."

A round of handshakes took place and then Ethan turned to me, eyeing me carefully.

"What have you been up to since I last saw you? Been keeping busy with surgery? Teaching any classes?"

I nodded. "Robotic surgery," I said. "I'm keeping out of trouble. How's everything with you? Your family doing well, I hope?"

"Just fine. Elaine is planning our vacation over Thanksgiving. I'm busy with campaign business, as you can imagine."

"Where are you going over Thanksgiving? I'm presenting a paper in the Bahamas at a convention."

"Elaine wants something tropical."

"The Bahamas are great. Keep it in mind. And how's Heath?"

Ethan's only son, Heath was a lawyer like his father, but specialized in corporate law. Rather quiet instead of outgoing like Ethan, but obviously on the same career path. "Heath's doing well. Been busy in Haiti on and off. Reconstruction work. That sort of thing."

"How's Katherine?" I said lightly. Katherine was the true apple of Ethan's eye. He always spoke about her with real fondness, but I still hadn't met her. She never attended any of her father's social functions or fundraisers.

Ethan had been adamant about internet security and refused to post pictures of his family online. Even though I had searched for info on Katherine, there was none to be had. Her Facebook page was friends only. I had the feeling she was still too fragile and he was protecting her from public scrutiny. There were no pictures of her online except when she was a small child in the obituary for her mother.

"She's doing well. Very well, in fact. Still working on her Masters."

"I read her work on Mangaize you sent me," I said, remembering the somber articles on Africa she wrote. "Really got me in the gut. Is she feeling better?"

Katherine had volunteered in the camps in West Africa and had been traumatized by her stay there. Her articles were published in a student-run magazine and she had won the Columbia Journalism prize for them. She'd also had a breakdown.

Ethan had spoken about her to me because of my interest in psychology and because I was a physician. I knew her history and had offered advice to him on how to handle his beloved daughter's emotional scars. Not only had her mother died the year before, but Katherine had gone to Africa during the worst days of the famine. It proved to be too soon after her mother’s death and she hadn’t really grieved fully. The two events combined led to her breakdown.