"Good girl," he said and then came to me, pulling me upright, turning me around and embracing me, his mouth finding mine in a passionate kiss. I didn't think I could be any happier.
CHAPTER THREE
Drake's inner sanctum – his apartment in Chelsea.
Since the start of our affair, I'd spent weeks at his apartment on 8th Avenue where Drake kept his father's belongings and where he went to practice guitar. We played his game of dominance and submission there. It was where he first tied my hands to the bed frame and where I experienced more pleasure than I thought was possible.
Now that we were leaving at the end of the month, Drake was wrapping up things at the hospital and so we agreed he'd stay with me at my father's. My father was only too glad to oblige. I suspect my dad had visions of my wedding in his mind's eye, already planning it, but that was something I couldn't imagine.
I didn't let myself imagine it. I wasn't so sure Drake was the marrying type, despite his claim that he never wanted us to be parted again.
I knew he was the collaring type after his gift on New Year's Eve. I fingered it on my neck, playing with the single teardrop diamond pendant. I was starting to wonder if Drake was the commitment type. But I suspected that he was so sour on marriage that it was out of the question. Honestly, at that point, I didn't know how I felt, except I was in love with Drake and wanted to be with him more than anything, whatever that meant.
Still, I was curious about his apartment in Chelsea. He'd never taken me there and I longed to see Drake when he was just himself – neurosurgeon, bass player, philanthropist. So, a few nights after our meal at the Russian Tea Room, as we drove through the streets of Manhattan after a trip to my apartment to pick up an extra charger for my laptop that I'd forgotten to pack. I was feeling a bit adventurous so I took a chance. He was going to drop me off at 8th Avenue and then after a brief run to the hospital to check in on the last of his surgical patients, he would join me there and we'd do our scene.
"Will you take me to your apartment in Chelsea instead?"
He quirked an eyebrow. "Curious, are you?"
"I showed you mine. I think it's only fair to show me yours." I turned to him, smiling, watching
for his response.
He finally turned to me, a grin curving his very delicious mouth. "Trying to figure me out are you, Ms. Bennet? Sometimes a little mystery is a good thing. You might be disappointed when you see it."
"Why?"
"It's not really all that interesting." Despite his smile, I could hear a hint of reluctance in his voice. "Just a nice old apartment in a nice old apartment block. My broker recommended it and I bought it sight unseen. It was decorated professionally so there's not much of my personality in it."
"Still, I'd love to see it – the Sanctum Sanctorum."
He laughed. "It's not the holiest of holies. It's just an apartment."
"If you really don't want to take me, we don't have to go but I will feel slighted."
"No, no," he said, shaking his head. He glanced at me as we stopped at a stoplight, his smile a bit forced. "If you really want to see it, we can drop by there now. In fact, if you want, we can do our scene there. I have quite a few toys…"
"I'm sorry. It's just that I'd like to see how you lived before you met me."
"No, it's fine. As to how I lived before I met you," he said and cracked a grin. "I lived like a monk most of the time. I worked at the hospital. I gave lectures at Columbia. I attended fundraisers. I played racquetball at my club. And, when I had a submissive, I went to her apartment and tied her up and fucked her. Sometimes, I went to a dungeon party or one of the local munches. That was pretty much it. I lived a bachelor's life, Kate. The Chelsea apartment is where I eat and sleep. 8th Avenue is my place. My refuge. When I think of us, I see us there."
I smiled, glad that he thought of us at 8th Avenue. It was so personal for him and we started our relationship there. I felt like he really let me in there, letting down his guard a bit when we were together despite his best efforts to keep me under his control.
The mention of his past Dom activity with other submissives both aroused me and made me jealous. I'd considered going to a munch – a monthly meet-up with other BDSM practitioners over a meal – but had been too shy to go on my own. If I had gone, would I have met Drake there? I imagined it while we drove through the city, wondering what would have happened if I'd met him completely outside of my father's realm, anonymously. Would we have found each other if it hadn't been for Lara and my father's fundraiser? Life was so filled with accidents and chance.
"How many submissives have you had?" I said, trying to sound casual.
He pursed his lips for a moment. "Eight with signed contracts."
"Eight?" I said, turning to him, unable to stop frowning.
He gave me a guilty smile. "That doesn't include the subs I topped at play parties. I don't know how many there were. Maybe another six or so. You have to remember," he said, sounding a bit flustered. "Lara trained me and introduced me to a number of different subs. She was helping me learn what kind of Dom I was, so I went through quite a few in the first couple of years. It’s not easy to find compatible people."
I nodded, but still… He'd had fourteen or more submissives in five years? I'd been with three men during that same period, and two of them were really barely out of their teens.
He reached over and took my hand in his, lifting it to his lips to kiss my knuckles.
"You don't have to be jealous. I never felt anything for them other than a desire for bondage and to dominate them sexually. They were a more rewarding way of having an orgasm than jerking off. You're completely different."