The Agreement (38 page)

He nodded. "You're welcome to stay here as
long as you want. I know Elaine enjoys having you here. I do, too, but I'm
really busy with the campaign."

"Thanks, Daddy. I have to get back to my
life."

Dinner was quiet, but I had to submit to
Elaine's questions about Drake and how I was feeling and my father's pointed stare
as I answered. It was like he didn't believe me and kept frowning when I spoke
about why Drake and I weren't right for each other.

Finally, I yawned about eight o'clock and said I
needed to go.

"Take the service," he said. "Why
spend your money on a cab?"

"If you insist," I said, because he
wouldn't let up. "I can afford cab fare."

"Nonsense," he said, accepting no
refusal. "Why have an old man with money if you can't take advantage of it
now and then?"

He bundled me up in my coat and handed me my
bag. I kissed him on the cheek as was our usual practice. He pulled me into a
hug, which wasn't our usual practice.

"You know what I think?" he said, his
voice soft. "I think you don't really want to end it with Drake. If you
change your mind, I'm sure – in fact I
know
he'd be only too
pleased. So don't do this if you really don't want to. Life is too short.
People come into and go out of your life and sometimes it's only when they're
gone that you realize how you felt about them. How much you cared."

I sighed. "Do you mean Mom?"

"And Liam." He squeezed my shoulders.
"Good night, sweetheart."

I took the limo service back to my apartment and
went inside. I had a quick bath and examined my pussy with a faint growth of
hair emerging. He was going to shave me again tonight and I felt my body
respond to the very thought of it.

I changed my clothes, putting on the garter belt
and a pair of nylons Dawn had brought over that night we went to the bar. I
wore a black cashmere sweater that buttoned up in the front, a lacy black bra
and the black lace garter belt. I wore no underwear, remembering Drake
mentioning that if I became his sub, he would expect me to not wear any
underwear when we were together. It thrilled me to imagine what he'd do when he
found out I was nude under the skirt except for the garter belt and nylons. I
hoped it would please him to know I was thinking about what he'd like.

Then, I stood in the shadows of the entryway,
checking the street to see if there was anyone watching the building. Just to
be safe, I went out the back exit and walked down the alley to the street and
hailed a cab, giving the driver directions to Drake's apartment on 8
th
Avenue. Luckily, the
driver didn't try to make light conversation with me and I was able to focus on
the meeting with him at his old apartment. I sent him a text when I was a few
blocks away.

I'm on my way. Be there
in 2.

He texted back immediately.

I am so ready for you,
Ms. Bennet…

I smiled, hiding my grin behind my hand in case
the driver was watching me in the rearview mirror.

I was so curious to see his place – both
of them. His current apartment I wouldn't get to see, but I could imagine it
was all dark wood and leather furniture and smelled of him.

This old apartment – Drake said his
father, and then he himself, lived in it during their school years at Columbia
Medical School and I wondered why he kept it. Sentimental reasons? That just
added another dimension to the image of Drake Morgan, MD, I was getting to know
– bass player, philanthropist, Dominant. He liked old sixties Brit
Invasion music. He was a certified scuba diver. A vodka aficionado with a taste
for all things Russian. A man who loved his job as a highly specialized
neurosurgeon and did it because he enjoyed it and because it was rewarding. He
didn’t have to work because of his father's wealth and the still-profitable
company Liam founded. A man who made junkets to war-torn parts of Africa to do
delicate surgery, risking his own life to do so.

A man who liked to tie women up and dominate them
sexually, controlling their orgasms, making them look in his eyes and say his
name while they came.

One thing he didn't do was romance. He made that
clear to me in the Bahamas and that night at my apartment. We wouldn't do
Sunday breakfast in bed, or meet for lunch, or do other romantic relationship
things. We'd meet like we were going to tonight. He'd tie me up and fuck me.
I'd come several times. We'd each go our separate ways and I'd sleep like a
baby.

That had to be enough for me.

The thing was, he was so
much
. There was
so much
to
him. I already knew too much about him to think of him as
just a Dominant stud service and I knew I was on dangerous ground. If I let
myself slip just a bit, I could fall.

Hard
.

When I looked at him, I already saw too much inside
of him – that strap on his wrist, the letters he wrote to his subs, his
preferring the tragic Heathcliff and Catherine of
Wuthering Heights
to
Pride
and Prejudice's
Elizabeth and Darcy.  Yet, he playfully called me Ms.
Bennet or Elizabeth.

I swallowed back this nagging sense of something
I didn’t want to think about and exhaled, trying to blank my mind of such
thoughts. I was going to meet with Drake Morgan to be well-fucked and to
explore this fascination with submission that wouldn’t let up. My body
responded to the very thought of what he might do to me. Would he tie me up
tonight? Would he blindfold me?

I signed his contract and had to expect
anything, but I had a feeling he was going to move very slowly with me. So far,
he'd only made me hold my own hands together and close my eyes despite me
wanting more. Would he soon start to use real leather restraints and a
blindfold?

I
hoped
so. I wanted to feel totally
possessed the way I imagined his subs felt when I read his letters.

After the taxi drove up to Drake's building on 8
th
Avenue, I paid the
driver and stood in front on the sidewalk. A corner brownstone walkup with
ornate windows and wrought iron window boxes with faded ivy, the building was
very old. Browning ivy crept up the building's façade so that it looked like it
belonged in London instead of Manhattan. There was a buzzer system and I noted
that the penthouse was listed as
Mr. L. Morgan
. I wondered why it was in
Liam's name, but it was his building so I imagined Liam bought it for Drake when
he was at Columbia and Drake never changed it.

I buzzed and the door clicked open when I
pulled. I stepped over the threshold into the dim entryway with three mailbox
slots and a recycling box beneath it. There was a plaid rug to wipe your feet
on and someone had chained a bicycle to a metal pole of some description beside
the stairs to the basement. I heard a door open up the staircase and footsteps
coming down, the wooden stairs creaking.

Drake – he must be coming to meet me. I
smiled and started up the stairs, butterflies in my stomach. When I got to the
second floor landing he was there, barefoot, dressed in some faded jeans and a
white linen shirt unbuttoned and untucked to reveal his washboard abs and the
thin black trail of hair leading down from his navel. He looked so…
desirable
,
his black hair a bit mussed and a growth of whiskers on his jaw and chin. He
smiled when our eyes met and a jolt of something went through me when I
realized this was
it
– I was going to be completely in his world.
Under his control. I'd signed his contract, giving him almost total license
with me. All I had were safe words and trust that he'd respect them.

"There you
are
," he said and
came to me, pulling me into his arms. I rested my head on his shoulder and
inhaled, enjoying the familiar scent of Drake – his cologne and a hint of
soap as if he'd just bathed.

He tilted my face up and kissed me and I felt
weak, desire flooding my body when our tongues touched, my flesh already
aching.

"You may have to carry me up the rest of
the way," I said, my voice a quivery from excitement. "I feel a bit
weak-kneed."

"Ms. Bennet, are you nervous to be alone
with me?"

"Yes," I said. "But the good kind
of nervous."

"Good. I want you a little nervous."
Then he bent down and picked me up, one arm under mine, the other under my
legs.

"Oh, no,
don't
," I said when he
started up the stairs. "I was just kidding! Put me down, please! Let me
walk."

"I don't
think
so,
Katherine
.
I think I
want
to carry you up and into my
lair
."

He grinned at that, his eyes twinkling with a
look that promised so much…

I gave in and buried my face in his neck,
smiling, a thrill going through me at the thought of being in
his lair
.
His place.

We went through the doorway and it was like a
loft instead of a typical apartment with separate rooms. The unit was open
concept and bookshelves covered all the walls, filled with thousands of books.
Because it was a corner unit, it had windows on three walls and would be bright
during the day. Now, it was dark outside, and only a single table lamp provided
light. The floors were hardwood planks with antique-looking Persian carpets of
various sizes scattered here and there. In the front was a combination living
room / den and in the center of the apartment, the kitchen was on one wall and
open to a dining room. In the back, through the only door, I could just make
out a bed.

The windows were huge and ornate with
multi-paned windows looking out over the street. In the living room six old
guitars stood on stands, acoustic and electric. Posters of old bands covered
the walls without bookshelves – the Beatles, Led Zeppelin, Deep Purple,
The Who. I took it all in while he held me in his arms.

"Are you going to put me down?"

He smiled. "I don't know
what
I'm
going to do with you, Ms. Bennet. I haven’t decided yet. One thing I
might
have to do, if memory serves me, is kiss you to keep you from talking."

He did kiss me as he stood there with me still
in his arms. A soft kiss, just lips on lips. Then he pulled back and his eyes
were so intense that I felt my breath hitch.

What that look promised…

"I
must
be getting heavy…" I
said softly, for I didn't like being held.

"You're light as a feather."

I sighed and gave in to him. "You have so
many
books
. And all these guitars…" I glanced around. "I want
to explore your apartment."

"I want to explore
you
."

That sent a jolt of lust through me. "You
do, do you? I think you already did after lunch…"

"Ms. Bennet, there's so much more of you to
explore. So much more of your body. So much more of your mind."

I swallowed at that, my mind immediately going
to the clauses in the agreement, but he did put me down. He removed my coat and
I took off my boots, leaving them on the mat by the front door.

"Take a look around. I'll get us a
drink."

I put my bag down on the table and walked around
while Drake went to a small sideboard in the living room. Dark wood paneling
gave it a masculine feel. More bookshelves lined the walls, an ancient leather
couch and wing chair sat beside a small fireplace, and leaded glass windows
faced the street. I wandered around, looking at the posters on the walls, the
guitars, the piles and piles of magazines on every flat surface with titles
like
Guitar
,
Rolling Stone
,
Bass Player
, and then
scientific journals –
Annals of Internal Medicine, Lancet, JAMA
and others.

I peeked into the bedroom at the rear of the
apartment to see a huge four-poster bed covered in a thick coverlet. The room
was light, with white walls and sheer curtains at the windows. There was a
small bathroom off the bedroom with an old claw-foot bathtub and pedestal sink.
When I returned to the living room, Drake was there with two tiny crystal
glasses etched with a delicate filigree design. Inside was a clear liquid.

"Here," he said, handing me one.
"These are my father's glasses that he got from an old woman named Yelena
Kuznetzova, who was rumored to be Stalin's housekeeper at his dacha in Soviet
Georgia. This is Anisovaya. Drink up."

"I should have
known
," I said,
smiling. "Stalin's housekeeper?"

"It was one of my father's favorite
stories. Probably just his bullshit wishful thinking."

"He was a Stalinist? I thought he was a
Trotskyite."

"He was a Sovietophile. Anything Russian,
especially Soviet. He was sad to see the Soviet Union fall. Said it was their
folly in Afghanistan."

I nodded. "It was probably
Afghanistan."

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