The Commitment (Unrestrained 2)

When I entered the living room, Drake had the television on, tuned to the news network and was watching some report on political unrest in the Middle East. I set the tray down on the coffee table and sat on the couch beside Drake. He moved his hip out of the way so I had room. I fixed him a scone and poured the sugar in his tea the way he liked and then I handed him the plate with the scone on it. He sat up a little and bit into it hungrily.

"Mmm," he said. "These are so good."

I smiled and put his cup of tea next to him, then fixed my own scone. It felt nice to be caring for Drake for a change, feeding him. It made our relationship more real for me, as if I was also responsible for him and not just the other way around.

He finished his scone then took a big slurp of his tea, sighing in contentment.

"I'm sorry I'm not much good today. I know I promised you a scene and that it never happened. It will."

"No worries," I said, shrugging. "We have time for that. Considering your noble deed, you deserve to be waited on. I'm happy to do it."

He put his cup down and nestled back into the pillows and under the cover. "I'm exhausted. I hope you don't mind if I sleep for a while."

"Of course not." I smiled, understanding completely.

He closed his eyes and turned his head to the side.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Liam received the transplant almost immediately. Drake received news from Liam's oncologist the next day and so all we had to do was wait to see how he responded to the transplant. Although we had originally planned on staying with my parents before we left for Africa, for most of the time, Drake and I stayed at his apartment in Chelsea so we could be alone.

Since the fight with Chris, Drake had been away all day every day, only to return late in the afternoon. He kept himself busy with the foundation and corporation, his health club and discussions with colleagues on collaborations that were underway. I was pleased to have the time to work on the canvas, but part of me wondered if he wasn't trying to stay away. I worked on my painting, but then waited for him to return in the late afternoon. Drake returned to the apartment in Chelsea for a late supper, and I wondered if he'd want to play out a scene.

We sat on the couch, his arm around me, and we watched television, but he made no move to touch me. We went to bed with nothing said about the dry spell, and I tried to chalk it up to the stress of the whole transplant and donation. Whatever the cause, Drake made no move that was the least bit sexual. As for me, having his body in bed next to mine, naked, made me uncomfortable, once my period was completely over. I did my best to grit my teeth and wait.

I lay in bed the next morning, missing the spontaneity of our early time together. I relished those first weeks after New Year's when we were together before the whole Liam development. Something changed in Drake after Maureen showed up with his son. He was still warm and affectionate for the brief hour or so we were together before sleep, but that early abandon he displayed when we were first seeing each other at 8th Avenue was gone.

I longed for him to just push me down on the bed and make love to me the way he had before. I was ready for more kink, but to be truthful, at that point, I'd take anything from him – kinky or vanilla. I missed his desire. I felt incredibly guilty, as if I was being a bad submissive, impatient for him to initiate sex.

My fear was that Maureen resurfacing reminded him of his previous heartbreak. She would dredge up all those old feelings of rejection and betrayal. His fight with Chris, his loss of personal control over his emotions seemed to drive him to exercise even more control over me, keeping me at a distance.

Was Maureen right? Did Drake have a lot of anger bottled up, carefully controlled by his D/s? Perhaps he realized how deeply involved he was with me and that scared him. Whatever the cause, I sensed him pull back a bit, and I feared he was once more using sex – or the lack of it – to control his emotions, keeping his life under control.

That morning, I got up first and went to the bathroom, brushing my teeth, determined to wake him up and try to seduce him. I was going to test my theory that he was afraid of losing control over himself, get too close to me and be hurt once more.

I crept back into bed with him and slipped my arms around his body. I kissed his shoulder and lay there, my hand resting on his abdomen, just inches from his groin. I didn’t make a directly sexual move, for that would be beyond the terms of our agreement stipulating that Drake was the one to initiate sex. But any normal red-blooded heterosexual male with a functioning libido would respond to being woken by his lover with her hand touching his bare abdomen inches from his cock.

I heard his sharp intake of breath, felt him squirm a bit beside me. He lay still as if waiting to see if I would remain like that or would make some kind of more direct move. I didn't. I wanted to see how he would handle things. I hadn't really thought of it until that morning. Now, this morning, my groin was aching as I thought about sex with Drake and I wanted it, but of course, couldn't directly initiate.

Would he put me off? Would he find an excuse why he couldn't have sex with me?

He moved my arm from his waist and slipped out of bed without responding. I turned and watched him walk to the bathroom, catching a glimpse of his morning erection. He was semi-erect and I wanted him inside of me but of course, it wasn't my decision. I sighed and lay on my back, feeling that I needed to masturbate to get rid of the uncomfortable ache in my body. That, too, was out of the question. He'd said and I'd agreed that every one of my orgasms would be his. Unless he asked me to, I couldn't masturbate.

I turned over and sighed when I heard the shower start. He'd have a shower, as was his normal routine, brush his teeth and then make coffee for us. We'd sit at the kitchen island and discuss the day, what we had planned.

I wanted him right then. He had a functioning erection. The only excuse was that he was avoiding intimacy.

I went to the bathroom and removed my nightgown, then pulled open the shower door and stepped inside. Drake was standing with his face in the stream of hot water, his hands cupped beneath his chin, eyes closed. He turned to me as I entered the shower and frowned briefly, his beautiful blue eyes wary, the bruise on his cheek a faint yellow-green. Then he seemed to get control over himself and smiled but it was forced.

"Ms. Bennet, why are you up so early?"

"I'm all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed this morning for some reason," I said and stepped a bit closer to him, letting the water wash over me, my face and hair, then down over my body. He glanced down at me, his eyes roving down my torso, over my breasts, and to my groin. I tried not to look at his cock, but it was terribly hard not to. One look at Drake and I could tell that my proximity had the desired effect and his penis was beginning to thicken again and rise quite nicely.

"Excuse me," I sa

id and leaned in front of him to get to the soap dispenser. I lathered my hair, the suds slipping down my body, over my breasts and between my thighs. After rinsing my hair and applying conditioner, I began to wash my body off with shower gel, lathering up my hands, then washing every part of me, my body angled a bit away from Drake's, so that I wasn't exactly forcing him to watch.

But he was watching. I bent down to wash my feet and I heard him make a sound in his throat, like a small moan.