The Agreement (Unrestrained 1)

"Really soft leather is also nice for restraints, but you have to know how to tie them carefully." He glanced at me and his eyes were intense under those dark arched brows. "But this?" He looked back at the strap. "This was a gift from a patient."

"What does it say?"

"It's French. Here," he said and held his wrist closer. "Do you read French?"

"Just a bit." I took his wrist in my hand and examined the carving.

He cleared his throat. "It's from Fern Hill."

I frowned. "I know that poem. Dylan Thomas." I could make out a single line – the last line about singing in his chains like the sea.

"You know it?" he said, his tone surprised. "It's my favorite poem. The end especially."

Then he recited the end of the poem.

I stood there in silence for a moment, a bit shocked that he knew poetry well enough to be able to quote it. I cleared my throat, which felt just a bit choky.

"My favorite line was something about being easy under the apple boughs."

He smiled. "That's the first line." Then, to my surprise, he recited it and I just stared at him, not knowing what to say.

"Do you know the whole poem by heart?"

He shook his head. "I can only remember the first and last stanzas. I memorized the whole thing once, back in college. I loved it because it made me think of my childhood. How happy I was and how unaware that soon, it would all come crashing down."

"How did it come crashing down?" I asked.

He shook his head. "Oh, you know. Life in general." He said nothing for a moment. "I had a patient, a young boy of thirteen from South Africa." He returned his gaze to the leather strap on his wrist. "He suffered from inherited dystonia. A muscle contraction that makes the body contort. He had it all his life. It's hell, but he had such a great attitude. The Foundation brought him here a few years ago to do the operation and we became friends. He made this after he recovered from surgery and went back home. You know – touristy 'native' jewelry sold in the gift shops. I wear it because it reminds me why I became a doctor, and a surgeon."

"Oh, that's…" I said, taken aback by this side of him and a bit embarrassed that I automatically assumed it was about his bondage kink. "That's so… nice."

An awkward silence passed between us.

"But the quote? How did he know to include that?"

"He was here for six months and we arranged for him to have tutors. He liked poetry the most of all his classes. He asked me what my favorite line of poetry was and I told him."

He looked at me, his expression thoughtful. Then, he dropped his hand and his face changed. That grin started and the more human moment passed.

"So about our agreement. You can include sex if you want, but remember I'm only so kinky. I have limits…"

There. He had to ruin such a nice human moment by turning it back to sex.

I hesitated, considering. I could write a really great paper on the issue. I had Lara and now I had Drake. Both were ways into this world for me as a researcher and journalist. Plus it would satisfy my own curiosity.

"Give me your phone," he said, motioning to my bag.

"Why?"

"Just give it to me."

I reached into my bag without thinking, handing him my iPhone. He opened my contacts, entering his information.

"There," he said. "At least consider what I've suggested. Draw up an agreement with whatever you want included and send it to me in an email."

I took back my phone and started up the stairs since he was no longer blocking me. He called up after me when I reached the top.

"Remember, send me an email. I'll sign anything you want."