The Drake Restrained Compete Collection: Part 1 - 4 (The Drake Series Book 7) (48 page)

"I should go home now," she said, yawning. "I'll call a taxi."

"You're not going home drunk," I said, shaking my head. "You'll stay here with me."

"I really shouldn't," she said, frowning. "What if…" She hesitated for a moment. "What if this
person
tries to come by my place and I'm not there?"

"Shh," I said and squeezed her. "No arguments. I bought some eggs and spinach and some nice feta cheese. We'll have what my dad called a 'hangover omelet' in the morning, to fight the one I know you're going to have."

She sighed and gave in. I kissed her cheek and then got up and put another album on the old turntable. One of my favorites, by a British artist who had acclaim among the critics but had never really won popular acclaim.

"Who is this?" she asked, tilting her head to the side.

"Nick Drake," I said. "This one's called “River Man.” I like it because the guitar's in 5/4 time and in standard tuning. I play it with the band. My dad named me after him."

She listened for a moment and I realized that I was lucky in having Kate for a sub. She loved music. Maybe not my music in particular, but she appreciated it more than your average person.

"What's it about?"

"Can't say for sure," I said, examining the album cover. "He's dead and didn't say. From what I read, it's supposedly about Wordsworth's poem, 'The Idiot Boy,' which is about a mother with a mentally disabled son, but I think it's about Hesse's book,
Siddhartha
. It's really just the feel of the piece and the guitar I like."

"There are scratches," she said. "You don’t mind? Don't they have re-mastered versions?"

I listened. It was impossible to avoid hearing the odd scratch or occasional hiss.

"Sure," I said but shook my head. "Real vinyl enthusiasts like the sound better. It has a certain quality that can't be caught in digital. I don’t mind a few scratches to hear the original. This is a really rare album. I paid a lot for it."

"You don’t like any modern music?"

I sat beside her, my arm around her shoulders. "I like some," I said. "But you’re one to talk about liking old music. How old's Gorecki's piece?"

"Seventies."

"Touché,” I said and smiled. "What do you like? Anything modern?"

She lifted one shoulder in a shrug, taking a small sip of wine. "Some. Mostly classical. Don't ask me why."

"Your absolute favorite piece of music ever? Besides Gorecki?"

She took in a deep breath. "Barber's ‘Adagio.’"

"That sounds familiar. Where have I heard that?"

"It was in the movie
Platoon
. I saw it with my dad and it upset him so much. One of the few times I saw him with tears in his eyes."

"Oh, yes." I frowned for a moment, remembering that movie. Very realistic, according to one of my father’s war buddies who went and then left before the end because he found it too upsetting. "I remember that movie. My father wouldn’t go. Said the Hollywood capitalists were glorifying war or something." I said nothing for a moment, running my hand over her hair. "What else? What's next?"

"After Barber?" she said and frowned. "Not much better, I'm afraid. Music from
Master and Commander
. “Fantasia on a Theme by Thomas Tallis” by Vaughn Williams."

"I saw that. What piece?"

"The one that played during the scene when they have to cut the young man loose and let him drown."

I nodded. "I remember that." I said nothing for a moment, thinking of the music she loved. It was all sad, morose, funereal. "Gorecki. Barber. Williams. Awfully depressing music you like."

"It makes me actually
feel
something."

"Yes, but incredible sadness…"

"It's better to feel sadness than nothing at all."

I turned to her, surprised at this admission. "You don't feel anything unless it's sad?"

"Not for a long time. Not after my mother died."

I stared at her, taking her in, this woman beside me who was Kate, Katherine, so affected by her experiences. She was so sensitive. Part of my mind felt caution for someone with such a sensitive nature could be easily damaged by a careless word or deed. The other part of me relished her sensitive nature and guilelessness. She couldn’t lie well. Her emotions were right there on her face and in her body. I could get so much out of her…

"You were ill after you returned from Africa."

She nodded, and I could tell she didn’t want to talk about it by the way she avoided my eyes.

"Tell me."

She shook her head, forcing a smile I knew she didn't feel because it didn’t reach her eyes, which remained haunted. "I didn't cry when she died," she said. "I felt nothing. It was like everything just shut off and I couldn't feel anything. My doctor said everyone grieves differently, but how could I not cry? I just went through the motions, day in and day out."

I squeezed her hand, trying to imagine a Kate who had shut down completely, turning off her emotions so she didn’t have to feel anything at all.

"Then you went to Africa?"

She took a sip of wine as if trying to give herself courage. "Yes, I tried to keep busy. I think I was in denial. So I went to Africa even though I probably shouldn’t have. I didn't cry until Mangaize. Then it was like I couldn't stop." She turned to me. "Why could I cry for complete strangers and not my mother?"

"You were crying for yourself."

That was it. She saw herself in those who were dying, who had lost children or parents, sisters or brothers.

She nodded and a look of recognition came over her face. "I was,” she said, frowning. “I didn't think I deserved to feel sorry for myself. But those people in the camps? They deserved it."

We sat in silence for a while and I could feel the mood shift from happy drunk to sad and sober. "Sorry to be such a downer."

I shook my head quickly. "No," I said and smiled softly. "
Don't
be. I asked. Never apologize for your emotions."

She sighed and snuggled into my arms, finding comfort there, and in that moment, I knew I was in big trouble.

That Thursday night, as we lay in bed afterwards and I wiped Kate off with a warm, wet cloth, she asked about going to a fetish night.

"You want to go?" I asked, surprised and happy at the same time.

"Yes," she said, watching me as I cared for her. "When I read about them, I always wanted to go."

"Voyeuristic, are you?"

"Maybe. I don't really know yet. I
don’t
think I'm an exhibitionist. The thought of people watching me makes me a bit queasy."

"I'll keep that in mind,” I said, “but you have to know that people who host these events sometimes host play only parties where you have to do something."

"Like what? I don't want to have sex in front of people."

"We'd have to do
something
,” I said and considered. “I might tie you up, blindfold you and demonstrate some bondage, or that kind of thing just so no one complained."

She cringed a bit, her shoulders hunching. "I don't
know
…"

"Let's play it by ear. There's a very private and exclusive pre-Christmas dungeon party in Yonkers I thought we could go to. Would you like to go? It's the Saturday before Christmas."

"Okay," she said but I sensed that as excited as she was to go, she was really reluctant about doing any kind of demonstration.

I kissed her. "Thank you. I want to take you. I have something special in mind for that night."

"What?"

I just smiled and shook my head. Then I finished wiping her off. After she finished her nightly tooth brushing and face washing, she came back to the bed. I pulled the covers over us, snuggling down against her from behind.

"What about you?" she asked. "Do you like to watch other people or have other people watch you?"

"I like to watch, yes. I can go either way when it comes to exhibitionism. I’ve done some tutorials and demonstrations of bondage and I can perform if I have to. I tend to like my sex private. I'll expect you to be dressed appropriately and I'll have to put a collar on you. We can do whatever you feel comfortable with."

"A collar?" She reached for her neck and then turned around in my arms so that she was facing me. I could barely see her face in the darkness, except for the contours of her cheeks and lips highlighted by the light from the window.

"Would you like that?" I said. "I'd have to make sure no one else tried to touch you or even approached you. I'm very possessive like that. I don't share my subs."

"I wouldn't want to have sex in front of people, though," she said, her hands on my chest, my arms wrapped around her. "I'm not into the whole poly scene. I'd like to watch what other people do, but I'm too shy to have people watch me fuck or have an orgasm. And I can't easily just fuck anyone."

"I
know
," I said and nuzzled her neck, playfully biting her shoulder. "I like that."

"You
do?
I thought you saw it as a failing in me." She glanced up at me, a confused expression on her face.

I felt a bit sheepish because I knew it was wholly self-serving. I wanted her to be eager to get in bed with me, but no one else. "I did, when I wanted you to fuck me that first time, but now, I see it as a definite plus. I don’t want to think of you with anyone else…"

She smiled and kissed me, seemingly amused instead of insulted.

"But when we
do
go," I said, my voice chiding, "I'd expect you to remember to use the proper form of
address
…" I could barely hold back my grin. "If you don't in front of other Doms, I'd have no choice but to punish you."

Then she realized what I meant. "Oh. Sorry, Master. I've been very bad."

"That's all right," I said, biting my lip so I didn’t smile. "I'll let it go tonight but I won't always be so tolerant."

"What
would
you do, Master?” she asked, tilting her head to the side. “If you had to punish me?"

"I'd bend you over my lap and spank you with my bare hand,” I replied, imagining her over my knee, her nice round ass exposed. “And then I would have to fuck you, but it would be in private."

I knew she was curious about spanking, but at the same time, she was afraid to try it.

"I want to go, Master," she said, whispering. "I want you to have to spank me."

I pulled her against me, nuzzling her neck. "You are such a bad girl to tempt me like that, Katherine. You've been very good. Except for the occasional lapse in your use of terminology, I've found no good reason to spank you. I like it that way. We have so little time together, I don’t want to
have
to punish you, no matter how you might enjoy it."

She wrapped her arms around me, seemingly satisfied. Then, from out of the blue, she spoke. "You never told me much about the restraining order."

That surprised me. We hadn’t spoken of it since the night we got back together after Nassau.

"For a reason, Kate. I don't like to talk about it. It was a mess."

She nodded and turned away, but I could tell she wasn’t happy with the lack of discussion. I didn’t like to think about that period of my life because it was very dark and I was a mess. However, she probably needed to know more, so I took in a deep breath and prepared myself to tell her more.

"Have I once hurt you in any way, intentionally? Or done something that scared you or made you upset?"

"No," she said, not meeting my eyes.

"Then please trust me that it had nothing to do with any kind of abuse."

She sighed and then, to my surprise, said nothing more about it. I was glad. Dwelling on the huge mistakes in my life was not something I tried to do too often.

We went to bed and she didn’t push for more information, but I felt certain that it wasn’t the last time she’d ask about it.

CHAPTER FIVE

I was waiting for her when she arrived at the apartment on 8th Avenue on Saturday night, anticipating the fetish party. We didn’t usually do Saturdays but Kate made an exception and so we had the night to ourselves without fear of her meddling friend.

She ran up the stairs, excitement on her face as she rounded the corner and I couldn’t help but smile when I saw her so eager to go to the fetish club. I was in the middle of getting dressed when she arrived and was only in my leather jeans and belt, my feet and chest bare.

"There you are," I said, pulling her into my arms once I took her coat and hung it up. I rubbed my face in her hair, which smelled of Kate, her shampoo and perfume so familiar to me now that I craved the scent. "You smell so good."

She wrapped her arms around my waist, her hands sliding up my back and then down to cup my ass. I usually wasn’t affectionate with my subs, and this was breaking the rules for her to be so forward, but in truth it was another thing about Kate that I craved. I loved it when she spontaneously showed me affection. I loved that she felt had rights to my body and considered it hers to touch and to enjoy.

"I think I really
really
like the pants,” she said and ran her hands over my butt. “What are you wearing underneath?"