The Agreement (16 page)

"Drake,
no
…"

He stopped, his breath coming in short harsh
gasps.

"Tell me you don't want me," he said,
his voice low.

I glanced away, for his eyes scared me. I
couldn't say I didn't want him. My body betrayed me. I was wet and swollen and
my heart pounded.

"I thought so," he said and started
kissing me again, roughly, his hand on my thigh, then around between my legs,
his fingers searching me, pressing against me, the pressure firm against my
clit, then lower. "Oh, you're already wet," he whispered, and he made
this sound in his throat like a moan. "
Fuck
, I want you right here,
right now." He pressed his hips against me and I felt his erection against
my groin.

He kissed me again, and I kissed him back,
unable to resist any longer. He tried to get his hand into my pantyhose,
dipping down beneath my panties to find my clit and it was then that I shocked
back to awareness. He had his hand between my thighs, his fingers between my
lips, almost inside of me. I pulled away and pushed against him.

"
Stop!
"

He stopped, pulling his fingers away, his hand
out from between us, but he leaned with his elbows against the wall,
effectively keeping me from escape.

"What?" he said, panting.

"I'm not
ready
," I said, my own
breath coming too fast.

"Yes, you are," he said and licked his
fingers methodically, one at a time, his eyes not leaving mine. "You’re
more than ready."

I shook my head and closed my eyes.
"No," I whispered. "I'm not ready for this. For
you
. Not
yet."

He said nothing, just pressed his forehead
against mine. Soon his breathing and my breathing started to slow. I pulled
down the skirt of my dress, which he hiked above my hips.

"Well, I'm ready for you." He stood up
straight, and adjusted himself, a hand running briefly over his groin. I
couldn't help but look down and saw the faint outline of his erection through
the fabric of his trousers.

"Any time, Kate," he said, his voice
low and husky. "You just have to sign the revised agreement I'm sending to
you when I get home tonight." He turned away from me, his hands on his
hips and took in a few deep breaths as if trying to calm himself. Then, he went
to the door and opened it, pointing inside. "We better go back. Your
father will be starting to worry about us."

I walked past him and back into the building.

 He stopped and picked up my bag, which I
dropped on the ground by the wall.

"Here," he said, and a smile cracked
that mouth. "I really must have affected you if you forgot your bag."

I grabbed it from him, and quickly turned away.
I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of returning his smile of triumph.

 We remained at the rear of the box for the
rest of the performance and standing ovation, not wanting to interrupt, me
leaning against the wall, Drake leaning over me, one hand on the wall beside my
head, his eyes never leaving my face. He caught my eye and passed his fingers
beneath his nose, inhaling deeply.

I glanced away, my cheeks heating at his so
brazen reminder of how he had his fingers almost inside me. I waited for my
father and Elaine to finish clapping. Finally, the applause died and they turned
to us. My father smiled, his face bright.

"There you two are!" he said like a
proud father of the bride, his gravelly voice ebullient. "I'm so glad
Drake went to find you, Katherine. Did he help you calm down a bit? I know that
song always gets to you."

No, father. He did anything
but
help me
calm down. Quite the opposite. He had his tongue down my throat and his fingers
up my pussy…

"I'm fine," I said, my voice low.

"Good good." My father rubbed his
hands together. "Now, weren't you two going out for dinner? The Russian
Tea Room, wasn't it, Drake?"

My father looked from me to Drake and back.

"That's right," Drake said. "We
have reservations for two in about ten minutes. I could really
eat
something right now."

I caught Drake's eye and his half-grin half-smirk
started, his blue eyes twinkling in that way. His words sent a thrill of lust
right to my groin.

I handed him his jacket and he shrugged it on.
Then, he took my coat from the hanger in our private closet and helped me with
it, standing behind me, his hands on my shoulders.

His cologne lingered on my clothes and hair.

CHAPTER EIGHT

We walked to the limo that my father had waiting
outside the hall and the driver took us to Drake's car, which was parked in a
lot down the street.

We said our goodbyes to my father and his wife
and Drake opened the passenger door for me. I got inside with reluctance. I
just didn't want to go out alone with him, despite my frustrating physical
attraction to him as a man.

The car was silent as we drove to the Russian
Tea Room. Drake didn't even try to make light conversation to make me more
comfortable, as if he wanted me off center, vulnerable.

Finally, I couldn't hold back. "You're not
going to talk to me?"

"I'm too busy recovering from our little
kiss."

"Little?"

He glanced at me, smiling. I made a face and
turned away from him.

"For me it was little," he said.
"Maybe for you it wasn't. I don't usually kiss a woman unless I'm in scene
and I'm fucking her, so for me, that was nothing."

"If it was nothing, why are you still
recovering?"

He grinned. "Touché," he said.
"But as I said, I don't usually kiss a woman unless we're fucking, so I'm
still a bit uncomfortable. How about you?" He turned to look at me, his
eyes dark.

I crossed my arms and looked out the window,
avoiding his gaze. "Never better."

"Good. I
knew
you needed some
attention," he said, humor in his voice.

I rolled my eyes, trying to hide my smile. He
was enjoying himself.

"Do you ever take things seriously?"

"Oh, I assure you, Ms. Bennet, that I take
some things
very
seriously. Sex, for instance."

We finally arrived at the restaurant and Drake
found a parking spot a block away. He opened my door, then took my hand, his
arm around my waist.

The restaurant was still full with late-evening
customers, but Drake had a reservation and so the hostess escorted us in to the
main dining room, with its dark green walls, gilded fixtures, red leather
banquette seating and white tablecloths. We sat at a table with a curved
banquette, which meant Drake could sit right beside me. As soon as the hostess
left us alone, Drake moved closer to me – closer than I wanted.

"I love these tables," he said, his
voice a bit smoky. "If you were already my submissive, I'd have made you
wear garters and black fishnet nylons instead of pantyhose. With no underwear
on, I'd be able to sit real close and have my way with your pussy while we ate.
Your mind would be occupied with what else I was going to eat when we were
finally alone."

A thrill of lust went right to my groin at that.
I tried to keep a straight face, but my cheeks heated at his words. What
possible response could I give to that? Luckily, a waitress arrived and asked
for our drink order, and I was spared having to say anything. Drake ordered
some blini with caviar to start and then, to my surprise and shock, a shot of
Anisovaya for us both. When he said the word, a chill ran through me.

Anisovaya
…

"I'm sorry, but we don’t have Anisovaya on
the menu."

"Tell the bartender that Dr. Morgan is
here. He keeps some especially for me."

The waitress nodded. "Certainly."

I turned to him, my mouth open. "You drink
Anisovaya?"

"Yes," Drake said and folded his hands
on the crisp white linen of the tablecloth. "I love Russian vodka,
especially infused with anise."

I sat in silence for a moment, my face hot.
"
You
wrote those letters."

He frowned, and then smiled briefly as if
recovering, his eyes hooded. "I take it that Lara gave you the link and
password."

I nodded and glanced away, not knowing what to
say.

He
was the Dominant who wrote those letters…

"You weren't supposed to read those,"
Drake said, moving cutlery around on the table. "They're for my subs to
read after we sign contracts so they know what to expect. I feel somewhat at a
disadvantage because usually I know what my subs like before they know what I
like."

"You read my profile on FetLife," I
said, a little too petulantly.

Crap. Drake was
him
.

"Yes, but I want the narrative, not just a
list. I want your fantasies so I can fulfill them. Most couples are too afraid
to be honest about fantasies, sexual kinks, Kate. The great thing about a
relationship like we'll have," he said, leaning closer, "is that you
can be totally honest with me. I won't be offended or shocked or jealous or
worried about them the way a normal boyfriend would. I'm only here for the sex
so I want to make it incredibly good and rewarding. There'll be none of those
messy emotions to get in the way of pure pleasure."

I thought about that for a moment when the
cocktail waitress brought us our drinks and the caviar, placing them in front
of Drake.

"How can you keep emotions out of a
relationship? They're bound of leak in."

"Not if you don't let them," he said,
as if it was the easiest thing in the world. "I won't let them. Now, down
it fast," he instructed, pointing to the shot of vodka. "The
Anisovaya goes down smoothly."

"I shouldn't drink," I said, but in
truth, I needed something at that moment.

"Oh, you most
definitely
should. I
want you to loosen up a bit, Kate. Enjoy yourself. Relax. We need to talk and I
want you to be completely honest with me. For a change. Here." He pointed
to the shot again. "Pick it up and we'll do it at the same time."

I took the shot and looked at him, reluctant, my
hands shaking.

"
Za vas,
" he said in Russian.
"To you."

"
Za vas
," I replied and
together, we shot back the vodka. I grimaced. Despite the hint of anise, it was
still vodka, straight.

Drake smacked his lips. "
Vashee
zda-ró-vye!
" he said. "To your health."

I smiled just a bit, licking my lips. He seemed
in such a good mood, now that he had me alone on his own turf. He took one of
the blini and smeared sour cream and caviar, then added a few bits of onion to
it.

"Here," he said, holding it up to my
mouth. "You never drink vodka without eating."

"I don't
know
…"

"A rich kid like you never had
caviar?"

"I had a huge aquarium when I was a kid and
bred guppies. I couldn’t never get used to the idea of eating fish eggs."

He laughed but pressed it on me. "Trust me,
Kate. This is so
good
. You'll love it."

I took a bite and chewed, a bit hesitant. Then I
raised my eyebrows. The smooth creaminess of the sour cream was punctuated by
the sharp little bites of salty caviar and the savory onion. "It's good. I
didn't think I'd like it."

"Like I said, you have to trust me. I know
what's good. The more I know you, the more intimate we are, the more you can
just let go and I'll lead the way."

"You're so sure of yourself," I said.
I picked up the menu and examined it. "What's good to eat?"

"I'll order my favorites," Drake said.
"Can you trust me?"

I nodded. "Russians don't eat eyeballs do
they?"

"No, at least, none that I know."

Drake ate the rest of the blini and then fixed
another, which we shared, him feeding me.

The waiter arrived and Drake ordered for us in
Russian, requesting the Pelmeni, which were stuffed dumplings, the Blinchik,
which were crepes with white truffle, and to start, the famous Tea Room borscht
soup.

When the waiter left, Drake turned to me,
resting his arm on the back of the seat behind me.

"So, Kate," he said, moving just a bit
closer. "You read my letters. How did they make you feel?"

I shrugged. There was no way I was going to tell
him. "I don't know what to think..."

"Don't tell me what you
think
. Tell
me how you
felt
."