The Drake Restrained Collection: Part 1 and 2 (The Drake Series Book 3) (16 page)

I had to do everything in my power to focus back on my cases so that I gave each patient my undivided attention. Usually, I compartmentalized exceptionally well. It was my forte. But every so often that afternoon, while I read over patient files or dictated notes, my mind wandered to Kate. Fantasies of her lying naked on my bed, her mouth open as she panted with desire, plagued me. I had return to the present and remind myself that soon enough, if I played my cards perfectly, Kate would be on her knees before me, naked, blindfolded, her hands restrained, her willing mouth pleasuring me.

I called her cell phone several times that afternoon, but as I expected, she wouldn’t answer. Still, I left encouraging text messages in the hopes of assuaging her fears.

Kate, please answer. We have to talk.

It’s okay, Kate. This is between you and me. No one but Lara will know…

Kate, seriously. You have nothing to fear from me. I won’t do anything you don’t want. I won’t get you in any trouble…

When she hadn’t answered one single call or text, I decided to take matters into my own hands and visit her apartment. Inaction was driving me crazy. My office hours could not end soon enough and I was thankful that I had a light surgical load that afternoon so I could leave my office earlier than usual.

“You seem unusually eager to leave early tonight, Dr. D,” Janice said, the joint practice’s administrative assistant. She winked at me as I removed my lab coat and threw on my jacket. An older nurse who had to give up the OR due to bad knees, Janice loved to tease me. “Hot date with a new lady?”

“Not yet, but,” I said and winked back at her, smiling like a child, “I have hope.”

“You don’t need hope,” Janice said and slipped a paper into a file. “Just talk to her in that deep voice you keep for anxious patients. She won’t stand a chance.”

“I have hope,” I repeated, not wanting to sound too sure of myself. I wasn’t sure of myself. Kate was going to be difficult, but I was up for the challenge. Hell, I was a little hard once more even thinking about it.

I grabbed a turkey sandwich from the coffee shop before walking to my car in the staff parking lot, eating on the fly because I intended to stop by her apartment on my way home, see if I couldn’t weasel my way inside and start my seduction of my very reluctant very new submissive.

That’s the way I was going to think of Kate from that point forward – as
my
new submissive. Even though she wasn’t, I had to think like a conqueror or else I wouldn’t display the kind of dominance that attracted her to me. I had to wipe away our shared social life, forget whose daughter she was, and erase all the ties between us in the vanilla world – Doctors Without Borders, Columbia University, and most of all, Ethan. When we were together, we would be Master and submissive, not Drake and Kate.

Ethan could never know what I was and what Kate and I would have together. Maintaining the separation between my professional life and my personal kink was absolutely necessary to keep my practice as a neurosurgeon. Kate would be worried that Ethan would find out about her desire for kink but so was I. It would be a secret that would tie us together even more firmly than if we were two complete strangers. Secrets had a way of making everything more intense, and living this secret life, as Master and submissive, would be all the more meaningful for Kate, if only she would let me in.

I intended to make sure she did – let me in. Into her life. Between her thighs and as deep inside of her as I could get.

My first problem would be getting into her apartment.

Kate’s Harlem neighborhood was pretty standard – street upon street filled with old Brownstones broken only by the occasional apartment block, school, corner store or coffee shop. I arrived as the street lights flickered on and was lucky enough to find a parking spot across from her building. I crossed the narrow road, threaded through double parked cars and climbed the steps to the entry. She’d never let me in willingly, but fortune smiled down on me. A piece of cardboard had been slipped between the door and the jamb so that I could enter without her buzzing me inside. It was a bit sneaky in a slightly stalkerish way, but we knew each other. I reasoned to myself that I was just going to surprise her.

I climbed the creaky old stairs to the third floor and stood outside her door, hesitating before I knocked, wanting to calm down a bit first.

I glanced left and right down the hallway. There were apartments on either side of the hall and a fire hose and alarm on the wall outside the stairwell. The building smelled musty and old. The flooring was faded, the once plush Oriental carpet now a muddy brown.

Kate came from a wealthy family with old money. Why did she live this way?

Finally impatient with my own indecision, I took in a deep breath and knocked on her door. I listened to see if she was in, and heard the creak of the floor behind the door. At the same time, the door to the apartment across the hall opened and I turned to see a pair of very old blue eyes with thick wiry gray eyebrows staring back at me. I turned back and leaned in to the eyehole but could make out nothing on the other side except a subtle dimming of the light as if someone – Kate – were peering out at me.

I smiled to myself. Was she debating whether to speak with me?

"I don't want to talk to you, Dr. Morgan," came Kate’s voice through the door.

A surge of adrenaline went through me. She didn’t try to pretend she wasn’t home.  That was a good sign. Now, if only I could convince her to let me inside, I felt certain that I could get her to at least consider being my submissive.

"Kate,
please
, considering everything, call me Drake. And
trust
me. I have no interest in revealing anything about this to anyone. You, Lara and I are the only people who will ever know anything about this."

"Good," she said. "Thank you. Let's just forget this ever happened.
All
of it."

"No,
no
…" I said, unwilling to give in just yet. Not by a long shot. "No need for that.” I frowned, trying to think of something to stall her. Then I remembered she was doing a paper on the lifestyle. If I could convince her to interview me, I felt confident I could convince her – eventually – to go out on a date. And then, she’d be mine. “We can still do the interviews. You want to research the lifestyle and I'm happy to help in any way I can."

"No
way
," came her voice and I could hear the hint of regret in it. "I can't. Just forget about it."

"Seriously, Kate," I said, trying to keep her talking. I remembered what Janice said and lowered my voice. "There's no need to call this off. I'm quite happy to teach you anything you want to know about," I said and lowered it even more, conscious of the pair of old eyes watching me from across the hall. "About submission. I'll even take you to a fetish night. Lara said you wanted to go. You could wear a mask, and no one would know who you are. I teach at Columbia in the department of medicine. I
love
teaching…"

"No. It's completely out of the question. It's totally embarrassing."

"
Kate
…" I said, my voice trailing off. "I understand your interest in this completely. I have a
lot
of experience. You don't have to be embarrassed with me."

"You're kidding, right? You don't think this is mortifying?"

I smiled. Every extra word she said was a victory. Every extra moment I spoke to her meant I was one more moment closer to her giving in and inviting me inside. If she did that, game over. I’d try my best to calm her, reduce her fear. She had to know that it was a risk for me that she knew I was a Dominant. I tried self-deprecating humor in the hopes of making her smile.

"For me,
yes
. For you,
no
. I'm the one who should be mortified, not you. Here I was, hoping to impress you enough that you'd go out with me for a drink some night and you discover I'm a Dom. You're just doing this for a research paper, after all…"

"I'm changing topics," she said, her voice sounding unconvincing, as if she had just made that up on the fly.

There was a pause.

I decided to play along. "What are you going to write about instead?"

"I don't know. Maybe the Administration's failure to act on climate change."

I couldn’t help but smile at that. I had no doubt that Kate was interested in climate change. It was one of those liberal causes that someone like Kate would support without thinking, but it would pale next to sexual politics. "Sounds pretty boring in comparison to exploring why women are so excited by the prospect of submitting to a dominant man who knows how to release their inhibitions…"

She answered far too quickly. "I should never have even considered it."

I shook my head on the assumption she was watching out the peephole. "It's topical,” I said, my voice purposely serious. “It's controversial."

"My father would
kill
me,” she said, a small bit of panic still in her voice. “I don't know what I was thinking."

I
did
know what she was thinking. She was curious about submission, about BDSM, but was afraid to explore it on her own without an excuse.

I could feel her giving in but there was still a resistance to the idea this was going to happen.

"Listen," I said, my voice conspiratorial. "We could stand here all night and talk through the door but I'm getting really hot standing here in my coat. Besides,” I said, glancing back at the old woman who was unabashedly staring at me, her face pressed through the crack in the doorway. “It would be far more private if you just invited me in. Then your neighbor across the hall wouldn't keep peeking through the crack in her door and try to find out what we're talking about."

"That's Mrs. Kropotkin. I think her son's with the Russian Mafia."

I waved at the old woman. "
Zdrastvooyte
.”

She closed her door a little more tightly but not completely for I could still see one eye.

I unbuttoned my coat and loosened my tie, feeling too hot in the warmth of the hallway.

"Why do you live in a place like this?" I said, noting the fading and chipped paint. "You come from a wealthy family."

"I don't want my father's money."

"Oh, yes, that's
right
," I said, smiling. "Your father said something about you being a
socialist
…"

"I'm
not
a socialist,” she said through the door, sounding insulted. “I studied political theory. There is a difference. I'm a liberal."

"Of
course
." I didn’t really care if she leaned to the left – slightly or heavily. I was forbidden, politically and sexually. It would add a dimension to our relationship that would make her submission all the more exciting.

"My father would totally disown me if I joined the Socialist Party. As it is, I'm already a thorn in his side for my political positions and the fact I vote Democrat."

"
My
father was a socialist," I said, rubbing my jaw, in bad need of a shave. "A Trotskyite. I vote Republican. My father loved the Anonymous Group. He ate up WikiLeaks stuff. Probably would have stayed in Tent City if he was alive."

"I thought he – that
you
– are really rich."

"I am. He was. His company made a lot of money, but he started it for purely scientific purposes. He was what he called 'an accidental capitalist'. He saw the future in robotic surgery and wanted to help develop it. He was never in it for money. He drove one of those old Soviet cars. A really crappy, shit-brown
Lada
, but he liked the thought it was made in the Soviet Union. One of my favorite memories is of him tinkering with the engine, which was always breaking down. He spent so much trying to keep that piece of crap running."

I heard her laugh at that and saw movement under the door, as if she was leaning in to check the peephole again.

Now that he was dead, my memories of my father were mostly fond despite his foibles. I missed him.

"He was a wild man, full of life. Really gregarious." Sadness for his accidental death passed through me in a wave. His death was senseless—due to mechanical failure of his plane—but I’m sure he’d be happy that he died in his beloved Africa. "I miss him."

She said nothing for a moment and I could imagine her feeling bad for me, maybe softening towards me a bit.

"What about your mother?" she said in a soft voice as if she too wanted to prolong our conversation in spite of her fear.

"She left us when I was ten." I said it without emotion, for I’d turned off any feelings that I had for her long ago. I preferred not to feel sorry for myself. Self-pity was such a useless emotion that sapped you of drive.

"I'm
sorry
…"

"No, it's all right.” I swallowed past the constriction in my throat. “I'm over it."

"How do you get over a mother leaving? Did your father remarry?"

"No, he never did. He travelled so much, kept the proverbial woman in every port. I had a succession of nannies and housekeepers to look after me."

Another pregnant pause ensued while neither of us said anything. I wanted to push, to use my voice on her, try to coerce her a bit but I held back. I wanted her to ask me to come in. I wanted her to pick me.

To choose me.

"You shouldn't have come here," she said finally. "It's very forward."

I smiled at that. "I didn’t want any misunderstanding between us, Kate, and I don't want your father to find out about me. I admire your father and value his friendship. He's like a second father to me. I admire
you
. I…" Now it was my turn to hesitate. "I heard so much about you from your father and others. I'd like to get to know you better."

"You think I would
ever
tell my father about you? I'd have to tell him how I found out about your, you know.
Kink
. No way."

I opened my jacket farther for I was starting to overheat, a thin bead of sweat trickling down my temple. "Kate, why don't you let me in and we can talk? I'm sweltering out here and need some water."