The Drake Restrained Compete Collection: Part 1 - 4 (The Drake Series Book 7) (53 page)

She sat on the gurney in the tiny space and I stood between her knees, examining her, brushing her hair back, feeling so bad that my two left feet resulted in harm. The young female physician entered and I stepped aside. She asked who I was and what happened. I related how we were dancing the Jitterbug. I told her that I was clumsy, and Kate fell and hit her head against a wooden table. She seemed upset that I spoke instead of Kate, but how could I explain that I needed to take control in such a situation? Not only was I a Dom, I was a surgeon. It was as natural as breathing to me.

The physician looked at Kate carefully while she repeated the story. Kate watched me and smiled while she told the story of her fall.

"He was a bit out of practice,” she said. “Like twenty
years
out of practice."

"I'll be back in a bit to stitch that up," the attending ER doc said and left us alone.

I continued to examine Kate, cradling my injured hand, a tensor bandage on it. "I'm so
sorry
,” I said. "I'm really not usually so clumsy." I grinned at her, trying to make light of things. "Kind of ruined the mood I was going for…"

Kate laughed and squeezed my good hand. "At least I was in the best hands. I mean, if you’re going to fall and crack your head, who better than a neurosurgeon to look after you?"

The doctor came back in. "Can you excuse us, Dr. Morgan?" she said to me. "I'd like to speak with Kate alone for a moment."

I knew what that meant. She wanted to ensure the wound wasn’t the result of domestic violence.

"Certainly." I leaned over and kissed Kate briefly where she sat on the examining table. "I'll be right back. You'll be fine."

She nodded. I stood outside the room, angry that I was being kicked out, but I had to remind myself that I would do the very same thing if I were confronted with the same scenario. Too many domestic violence incidents were described as the victim falling and hitting their head on a table or doorknob. We were trained to ask questions, however uncomfortable.

I went back a few minutes later and pushed the door open to check on Kate. I stood watching as the doc stitched Kate up, examining each stitch carefully, and holding Kate’s hand on the other side of the gurney.

When she was done, Kate sat back up and the doc gave instructions about aftercare. I felt somewhat insulted. I was a surgeon with a lot more experience than she had, but she was probably just dotting all her i’s and crossing her t’s. Finally, we left the hospital and went back to the apartment.

"You're staying here tonight," I said when we were back inside. I brought Kate a glass of milk instead of Anisovaya and motioned to the couch.

"No bondage tonight?" she said, sounding a bit disappointed. "No Anisovaya?"

"No alcohol for you, just in case. No bondage because of my wrist," I said, holding it up. "I'm useless. Not in fighting form and neither are you."

Kate sighed, and after I shot back my vodka and Kate drank her milk, we nestled on the couch.

I put on some Gordon Lightfoot, something my father played a great deal when I was a kid. There was a song in particular I wanted to play for her, although I felt a little foolish. It was pretty romantic and sentimental at the same time.

"What's this?" Kate asked.

"A Canadian musician, Gordon Lightfoot. One of my dad's favorites. He had every single album. He was a big fan of Canada, raving about their health care system and welfare safety net. He almost wanted to move there after the war, but he was accepted to Columbia and wanted to go study medicine."

"If he was such a socialist, why did he go to war?” Kate asked, frowning. “Couldn't he get an exemption?"

"He volunteered. He said if the poor black kids had to fight, the middle-class white kids should as well."

"That's what my dad said,” Kate replied. “No wonder they were friends…"

I nodded. "He almost loved Canada as much as Mother Russia. We used to go to Northern Alberta every year on vacation and he'd do surgery up in the wilds. We'd fly in to these tiny communities and he'd donate his services. We'd always stop in Montréal and eat this absolutely horrible mess of french fries and gravy and cheese curds called poutine."

Kate smiled and snuggled against me and for a while, we said nothing, listening to the music. "What is this piece?" she asked finally.

"It's very appropriate," I said and went over to a stack of old albums. "This song is called ‘Affair on 8th Avenue.’” I brought some sheet music over and handed it to her.

I sat back down while Kate examined the sheet music, reading the words that spoke of an affair between a couple who met at an apartment on 8
^th
Avenue—just like us.

"It's beautiful. Can you play this?" she asked as she read it over.

"I can, but not with this wrist. I guess my hopes of playing with the band over the weekend are out."

"It's that bad?"

"I think I tore something. My whole arm hurts."

Kate snuggled against me. "So, what are we going to do?"

I shrugged, my good arm around her. "I don’t know."

"I could
do
you," she said, her voice taking on suggestive tone. "You don't want me to just, you know, crawl on top? You wouldn't have to do anything…"

I leaned my head back, looking at her from the corner of my eye. "You're going to try to top me, are you?"

"It's not topping and you wouldn’t be bottoming. It's just having sex. I'm a little aroused. I was really looking forward to tonight."

"Ms. Bennet, you're a horny little thing,” I said, unable to keep a grin off my face, “but I just can't be safe with only one working hand and arm…"

"You don't have to restrain me."

She climbed onto my lap without me requesting it, but I didn't fight. She leaned down and kissed me. I let her. Since that first night in Kate’s apartment, I always signaled when our scene would start by embracing her, then kissing her. She had never made the first move.

At first, I didn’t kiss her back, wanting to see what she would do and how far she would take it. When I didn’t respond by taking over, she pulled away and looked in my eyes.

"You don't want me to fuck you?" she said, her voice a little hurt.

"Kate, I am never fucked,” I said softly. “
I
fuck."

"But you're injured and can't manage,” she said in protest. “I could do all the work. If it would make you feel better, you could always
order
me to."

"
Katherine
…" I eyed her, trying to decide whether to go with this or change direction. "Remember, we're always in scene at my place."

She sighed. "Drake, do I have to go home and resort to Big? I
need
you…" She kissed me now, and I could tell she was upset from the force of the kiss.

"I don't want you going home by yourself," I said when she pulled away. "I want you to stay here tonight."

"I want to lick you, and suck you, then I want to get on top and ride you. That wouldn't please you?"

"I thought you were uncomfortable taking the lead in sex, Kate,” I said, wanting her to tell me how she felt. “That’s why submission appeals to you."

She looked in my eyes. "I feel like I could do
anything
with you."

I smiled at that and ran my good hand up her back, my gaze moving over her body then back into her eyes. Usually, the idea of being passive didn’t do anything for me, but Kate was so eager to please me…

"Convince me," I said, my body responding to the image of her riding me.

"I
need
you," she said. "I may see you only two or three times over a week but I want you
every
day and—"

I placed a finger over her lips. "I didn’t mean with
words
…"

Then she understood and smiled. She crawled up a little bit closer to me, her arms around my neck, her groin pressed against mine. Her kiss started off soft and then deepened, her tongue finding mine. I tried to remain totally passive while she ground herself against me, pressing her breasts against my chest. When she pulled her sweater off, leaving her in only her lace bra and skirt, she pressed her beautiful breasts against my face and that did it. My dick had definitely overcome the fact that I wasn’t in control. She pulled the fabric of her bra down to expose her breasts and squeezed them, tweaking her own nipples until they were hard. She closed her eyes and continued to touch herself, her lips parted.

It was a revelation to me. Watching her touch herself, trying to arouse me, wanting to take the lead, was delicious. I waited as long as I could and finally, I reached behind her with my good hand.

"Let me help you with that." I pulled her closer, my mouth covering one nipple. I took control, despite my injured hand. When she tried to initiate something, I took over. When she climbed on top of me as I lay naked on the bed, I directed her, telling her where to put her hands, how fast to move, when to kiss me. But she succeeded in getting me interested in the first place. I didn't tie her up, I didn't blindfold her, and I definitely didn’t make her come four times before
I
did.

Kate came once and then I did, fucking her from behind, which didn’t rely on my hand for anything.

She didn't call me Master once.

Afterwards, as we lay with our limbs entwined, the sheets wrapped up around us, Kate turned to me.

"You survived vanilla sex yet again."

I grinned. "It's all I ever used to do."

She said nothing for a moment and I knew her curious mind was working. "How did you start doing BDSM?"

I rubbed her back with my good hand, but didn’t say anything.

"You don’t want to talk about it?"

"Not really,” I said. “Let's just say I recognized my Dominant side, then got some instruction—"

"From Lara," she offered.

"From Lara," I said.

"This was after your divorce?"

"Kate," I said, not really wanting to get into it at that moment. "I'm tired. I have to sleep…"

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice quiet. "This is hard for you. We're mixing up the food on your plate too much, right?"

"Shh," I said and shut the light off. Then I pulled closer, spooning against her the way I always did when it was time to sleep. I knew she wanted to talk, and I knew she wanted more from me, but at that moment, I was far too sleepy to comply. I closed my eyes and barely even thought about the night’s events before drifting off to sleep.

CHAPTER EIGHT

I woke in the middle of the night to find I was alone in bed. I frowned, for Kate was usually a deep sleeper and almost never got up for any reason. I felt the bed and it was cold—she’d been up for a while. I quickly left the bed and went to check out the bathroom, but the light was out and it was empty. With a bad feeling building in me, I went to the living room. She wasn’t there either.

She’d left the apartment in the middle of the night.

I checked my watch. It was almost 5:30 and I’d be getting up for work soon anyway, so I sat down and sent her a text.

Why did you leave?

It took a while for her to respond.

I couldn't sleep. You were sleeping like a baby. I didn't want to wake you up so I just left.

I didn’t accept her answer, of course. There was no reason to leave in the middle of the night. She was upset about something and I was going to find out what.

You can always wake me up. I wanted you to stay with me so I could watch over you, make sure you're all right. Kate, I'm a neurosurgeon. We get concerned with any kind of head injury. You should have stayed until I said you were okay to go home. Do you have a headache? Nausea?

She responded right away.

I'm fine. My mind just won't slow down. I have a deadline and am working on my article.

That still didn’t satisfy me. There had to be something wrong. She was the woman who wanted a real relationship, and just when I think we’re on the road in that direction, she leaves in the middle of the night. It didn’t make sense.

You think too much. When you're with me, you don't have to think. That's what I'm for. But I suspect something's bothering you for you to leave without saying anything. Tell me what's the matter…

There was a pause before she responded.

Damn. If she had to think about it, it meant she wasn’t happy.

Drake, I still have to think, even when I'm with you. I still have to think when I'm not with you.

You want the truth?

I didn't respond for some time.
Did
I want the truth? Instead of all the texts, I had to hear her voice so I could tell what her emotions were so I called her number. In truth, I wanted her there with me so I could touch her. She didn’t answer my call, letting it go to voice mail.

Instead, she sent another text.

Drake, I don't like being shoved into a small box in the corner of your life.

I called again and again, but she continued to ignore me. Finally, I gave up and replied to her text.