Of course, my father seated Drake next to me. I was on one side of him with Drake next to me and Heath was on the other, with Christie next to him. My stepmother Elaine sat at the other end of the table. Quite the socialite, she knew how to entertain, always knowing the right thing to say.

Drake smiled as he pulled my chair out for me, the perfect gentleman. I could tell he enjoyed this whole situation, amused that my father was trying to match us up. I didn't know why he was so pleased – my father probably saw Drake as prime Grade A marriage material and I knew Drake was not into that – not from what Lara told me when she and I spoke after the fundraiser. He had his marriage and divorce and wasn't into romance. He wanted his kinky sex and that was it. He had his work and he had his band and he had his subs. No girlfriends. No fiancé and certainly no wife.

My father was so wrong about him it almost made me laugh out loud. Drake must have been chuckling up his sleeve at my clueless father trying to match me up with a Dominant in the BDSM community who only saw women as props for his sexual kinks.

But there was that moment when Drake and I were in the bedroom when I felt something resembling humanity from him. No grin, no leer, no gloating superiority.

Like he understood.

I was probably just projecting. I couldn’t let myself get taken in by his suave exterior. He was a Dom and he wanted his way in all things. He probably figured he could use my father's desire to match me with him to get some kinky sex out of me. I'd have to do everything I could to dissuade him that I was available. I'd have to squelch the stupid physical attraction I had for him and for which I hated myself.

I'd done everything I could to stay away from bad boys since Kurt but I got this crazy idea that I could research this world without getting mixed up in it. Drake was just too damn gorgeous for my own good.

I ate my meal in silence, aware of him next to me, how he turned to me when he spoke with my father, but I refused to engage him. Still, I couldn’t help but notice everything about him – at least, everything about him from the neck down. I refused to look in those eyes of his. I always saw him laughing at me, a twinkle of pleasure or amusement in his eyes, and it infuriated me.

Even his hands were gorgeous. Surgeon's hands. His fingers were long and tapered. Not huge meat hooks and I could imagine how they'd feel if he touched me. He was a doctor and knew the human body like no other and that did something strange to me. There was virtually no hair on his knuckles – maybe he scrubbed them so much, it wore off. He had a school ring on his finger and on the other hand was a large aquamarine. He had a leather strap of some kind on his wrist, with what looked like tooling, but I didn't want to look too closely or ask what it meant. I wondered if it wasn't a symbol of his bondage kink. Why else would a surgeon wear a leather strap on his wrist?

The talk was pleasant enough – about the weather, sports teams, the wine, which Drake took pains to praise. He actually sounded like he knew what he was talking about. Boy, he sure knew how to flatter my father, who loved to show how he had refined taste in everything.

It was like a love-fest between the two of them and I wanted to slam my knife down on the table and expose Drake for what he was just to see the look on my father's face but I swallowed my anger. If Drake even tried to move forward with this stupid agreement, I'd threaten to do just that.

Luckily, Drake didn't try to engage me in a conversation, but my father did several times, trying to get me to tell Drake all about my Master's scholarship, my award for the investigative piece on West Africa, my volunteer work. What he didn't ask me to tell Drake about was what really mattered to me – art, my art. It was never any interest to my father, even when my teachers praised me and encouraged me to go into Fine Arts in college.

I sat and steamed, angry at myself for letting my father rule my life.

He was just so damn powerful, controlling and certain that everything he believed and did was right. He ran our home like a drill sergeant and his court like one as well. I heard talk of him, and I read some of his decisions. I wouldn't ever want to go before him if I was involved in anything slightly morally questionable.

He could accept financial fraud. But moral failings?

No.

It wasn’t that he was truly religious. Far from it. Going to Mass was just for show and to make sure he kept the Roman Catholic community behind him.

How he'd freak if he knew about Drake…

It almost made me want to get involved with Drake just so I could turn to my father and say, "Look at your wonderful saint of a man, Daddy. He likes to tie me up and fuck me, make me crawl on my knees to him, kiss his foot."

Wouldn’t that just about make him explode?

I glanced sideways at Drake and he met my gaze, his expression dark, and it was like this current flowed between us.

I tore my eyes away. I could never do it.

Just. Never.

 

Finally, dinner was over and those of us not part of my dad's 'people' left for the living room while dad escorted the men into the study for his strategy session. As we left the dining room, Drake took my arm and stopped me.

"Can we talk later?"

I glanced at his hand on my arm. He didn't let go.

"We have nothing to talk about."

"Please? Just hear me out."

I exhaled. My father stood in the hallway, and he kept glancing back to us, his eyes judging. As usual.

"I was going to leave after we 'ladies' have our tea."

"OK. I'll come by your place. Can we talk inside your apartment instead of through the door this time?"

He grinned, and that smile made him look so sexy.

"I'd rather you didn't come to my apartment."

"Fine," he said. "Why don't you wait for me and I'll give you a ride home when we're done here."

My dad came over, his eyebrows raised.

"Hey, sweetie, you're detaining Drake. We have important business to attend to."

I looked between Drake and my father. Drake nodded like it was OK.

"We'll just speak in the car." His voice dropped to a lower register, sexy and deep and he had the audacity to hold three fingers up. "I won't come in. I promise. Scout's Honor."

I exhaled. "Very well."

He finally let go of my arm and he and my father walked off, my father's arm around Drake's shoulder like they were already father and son-in-law.

If the situation wasn't so upsetting, it would make me laugh so hard at my father for being so out of it.

 

Later, while I sat with Christie and Elaine, and we finished our tea, Elaine leaned over to me and smiled.

"That Drake Morgan is something. Quite the catch."

"Yes, he is, I guess." If you're fishing for sharks…

I laughed to myself. If they only knew…

I hung around until my dad finished meeting with 'his people' about his campaign for the House seat that was going to be vacant, all the while trying to talk myself into leaving before Drake came for me to drive me home. I could use my dad's limo service and go home by myself, but I just knew that Drake would come to my apartment and stand outside my door to say whatever it was he wanted to say.

He wasn’t some college boy. He was a grown man. Divorced. A neurosurgeon. A Dominant. Trouble, like Dawn said that night in the bar. Oh, how right she was.

I did date a 'nice guy' after Kurt and I broke up, but Greg was so nice, so accommodating, so into equality, that he wouldn't even kiss me first. I had to kiss him first, and it made me so insecure, like he wasn't really attracted to me, or didn’t really feel much desire for me.

Stupid girl insecurities, but I was used to the guy making the moves. At least then you knew he wanted you.

With Kurt, I always knew he wanted me. He said so, often. He told me how much he wanted me, and how often and how he wanted to do it. He'd whisper in my ear when we were in public and I'd be so ready when we got back to my apartment that I'd practically melt.

Then, he started increasing the pressure on me, suggesting we role play and that he'd sneak into my apartment one night and be waiting for me to mock-rape me. He wanted to smack my ass while we were having sex. Even though he promised we'd agree to everything before hand, and would only do what I was comfortable with, it scared me. Yielding power.

"Come on, sweet stuff," he said. "Everyone's adding in a bit of kink in their sex after those books."

I said no. I told him I was just an ordinary girl, with ordinary vanilla tastes. I had no interest in getting my ass hit or being scared to death when entering my dark empty apartment late at night. He did it anyway, one night lying in wait for me, and it scared me so much, I screamed and threw something at him, almost hitting him in the head. I cried, and told him to leave.

Then I called him over and over again, apologizing, asking him to come back and for us to work things out because he made me feel something again, for the first time after Mangaize.

Like I was alive and filled with desire. Like I was wanted.

Really wanted.

He never spoke to me again.

I had to look deep inside of myself to understand why I even tried to get him back, considering he didn't accept my 'no' about the mock-rape and spanking. Was I so desperate for male attention that I'd accept abuse?

My mother would be horrified.

Dawn told me to forgive myself, but I had a hard time and for months, I moped around my apartment, dressed in flannel pajamas, watching Seinfeld re-runs and eating Häagen Dazs. Now, here I was, with some other man hanging around me who liked to enforce his will over women, looking at me like I was a piece of steak he couldn’t wait to eat.

 

Finally, the meeting broke up about an hour and a half after dinner finished and the men left, one by one, shaking my dad's hand and thanking us for the hospitality. I noticed that Drake hung back, taking his time, speaking to Christie and Elaine. Finally, he was the last one and I went to get my coat and bag while he shook my father's hand. The two spoke to each other in hushed voices.

"What are you two conspiring about?" I kissed my dad on the cheek.

"Us? Conspire?" My dad laughed. "Just how to take over the world." He smiled and glanced at Drake. I said my goodbyes to Elaine and Christie, and then Drake escorted me out of the apartment. Once the door to the suite closed, he put his hand on the small of my back and guided me gently towards the elevator.

"I didn't think you'd actually wait for me." He pressed the button. "I thought you'd be long gone, so I'm pleasantly surprised."

"I said I'd wait."

The door to the elevator opened and I entered, Drake behind me. We stood side by side, with him just a bit behind me. He leaned over to press the floor button, and just happened to lean in close to me while he did, brushing against me. Was that a smirk on his face?

"Why are you smiling?"

"Oh, let's just said that I have a hard time riding alone in elevators with pretty women and keeping a straight face these days."

I glanced away, my face heating. Oh. Right. The elevator scene…

"Don't get any ideas."

"Kate, I've already had so many ideas. And that's what I wanted to talk to you about."

Oh, God… How do you handle a man telling you he's had ideas about being with you? A wave of something swept through me, leaving my knees just a bit weak.

The elevator arrived in the basement and we went to the guest parking area and his car. He helped me in, then closed the door for me.

What a gentleman. Opened the door for me, so chivalrous, but wanted to tie me up and make me kneel to him like a vassal to some feudal Lord.

Of course, then I couldn’t get the image of me kneeling at his feet, naked, him fully dressed out of my mind. I thought of the movie 9 ½ Weeks and how the woman crawled on her hands and knees to her lover. I couldn’t stop the way my body responded to those images, even as I told myself it would be humiliating.

"Well, talk away," I said, trying to get that image out of my mind.

We drove out of the parking garage and through the streets towards my apartment. A light snow fell, huge flakes drifting down lazily.

"I know it really upset you that I'm the one Lara was trying to match you with for your 'research'. You wanted anonymity and are embarrassed that I know who you are. I think we should still go through with the agreement you wanted – for one reason. Who could be safer than me?"

I frowned. He wasn’t safe. He was a slippery slope.

"How are you safe?"

"I know and admire your father, so there's no way I'd want to screw things up with him. I admire you and don't want you to think less of me than you probably already do. I understand your need for anonymity, at least, for no one to find out what you're doing. You understand my need for secrecy, too. We're not going to expose each other."

I watched out the window, not sure what I thought about what he said. Part of me thought he was right. He would be very careful. He understood.

"Look, I know you're worried about your father finding out about your interest in BDSM," he said, his voice low. "But I'm well-respected in my field and I don’t want to screw that up. If people found out I frequent fetish nights and have submissives, it would hurt my reputation. You want to learn about the lifestyle and understand female submissives and male Dominants? I can help you. We can pretend to be dating, and that way there'd be no reason that we couldn’t be seen together. We wouldn’t have to make up excuses in case anyone found us together. I won't do anything you don't want me to do. We can write it all out, formally in an agreement, and I'll stick to it. The only way anything will happen is if you want it to and specifically negotiate for the agreement to change. I am an honorable man in that respect. You can talk to Lara if you want verification."

We drove along, and I said nothing. He was right, of course. The cat was now out of the bag with us. Both of us knew each other's inclinations, even if mine were purely for research purposes.

Lara said he was absolutely trustworthy.

"Drake, it's just…" I shook my head, my cheeks hot. "I'm so embarrassed."

"I know." He reached out to take my hand and squeezed it before I could pull it away. "How do you think I feel? Your father actually likes me. You don't know how much that means to me." Finally, he let go of my hand and glanced quickly at me.

I really didn’t know what to say.

"I know you and he don't really get along well," Drake said softly. "But he's like the father I wish I’d had. My own father was so self-absorbed and away from home so much that I always felt as if I was just not important enough. He was always, 'Hey, I love you man,' but I never felt it. If he had loved me, why was he always away?"

He said nothing for a moment as we sat at a stoplight. "Your father is maybe too involved in your life but as someone who felt neglected, I envy you that. When I met your father at my dad's funeral, he took me under his wing immediately because he and my dad were such good friends. So, if he found out about me…" He shook his head. "I've read some of his judgments. I know what he's like."

"And yet you like him."

"He's like a second father to me. He's smart and competent and powerful and has so much history with my dad. And he likes me, Kate."

We arrived at my apartment and when the car stopped I got out and started walking up the steps. He followed me quickly to the door.

"Kate." He took my arm and tried to turn me to face him. "Don't run away. I want to talk. Straighten this out between us."

"There's nothing to straighten out. We're square, OK? Let's just go our separate ways."

As usual, someone had propped open the door to the building so their cousin or uncle or homey could come in. I opened the door and kicked the piece of cardboard aside that was holding it open, my hands shaking just a bit. I went inside and of course, he followed me before the door closed.

I glared at his chin. "You said you wouldn't come in."

"You said you'd talk to me."

"I did."

"Kate…" He put his arm out and stopped me before I reached the stairs, his hand on the wall. I stood there and stared at the leather strap on his wrist.

I waited. He kept his arm like that.

"Are you really going to try to stop me from going upstairs?"

"I want to keep talking."

"Is this what Dominants do? Always try to control things?"

"Yes." He exhaled heavily. "I like control Kate. I'm a Dom. It's what I do."

I stood there staring at his arm, at that darned leather strap with ornate carving in it.

"I'm listening."

"Write up an agreement, include anything you want in it, any terms, and I'll sign."

I considered, stalling for time so I didn’t have to answer. "What is that?" I pointed to the strap. "Is it some kind of kinky bondage thing?"

He let his arm drop and fingered the leather strap.

"This?" He twisted it on his wrist so that the carving was on top. "No, it's not some kinky bondage thing, although I do have a real leather fetish." He smiled as he stared at the strap, running his finger over the carving. "I love leather, how it feels and smells, and how really fine hide warms when it's against naked skin. I make my subs wear leather corset dresses, naked underneath, but I'm thinking of adding in a garter belt and black stockings with a seam in the back." He grinned at me. "And thigh high leather stiletto boots when we go to fetish parties, but maybe in your case, I'd settle for shorter heels..."

I couldn't hold back a grin and turned my head away. "Not fair," I said, trying desperately not to like him.

"What?"

"You trying to make me like you."

He laughed out loud. "See? You do like me."

I said nothing for a moment, trying to get my face under control. Beside me, Drake cleared his throat and continued.

"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."

"Goodbye, Dr. Morgan."

"Good night, Ms. Bennet."

I rolled my eyes and suppressed a smile.

 

He texted me before I barely even had a chance to get my coat off.

 

You seem surprised that I like poetry. What you must think of me… I'm not a Neanderthal, Kate. Write up an agreement between us. Whatever you want. Include as much detail as you feel is necessary. I'll honor it to the letter. Your father would be only too pleased if we were to date and that can be our cover.

 

At least he thinks I'm a decent sort…

 

I texted him back a single line.

 

Imagine how surprised he'd be to find out how wrong he is…

 

That would hurt and I knew I was being a bitch, but I couldn't help but respond that way to his faux injured tone…

 

Ouch…

 

I smiled, but a part of me felt bad. He seemed to really like my father.

 

After I got into my pajamas, I called Lara to ask her for more details about Drake.

"You won't believe it. Drake was at my father's fundraising dinner tonight."

"He told me he's friends with your father."

"Still, you'd think he could just let this drop, considering how much it upset me. He didn't. He pushed things."

"He's a natural Dom, Kate. He knows what he wants and he does what it takes to get it."

I sighed. "Should I do this?"

"You have to be the one to decide. But know this. Dominants, even the ones into pain, are serious about recognizing and respecting their sub's limits. It's a source of pride for us to know what a sub needs and how far to push to enhance their experience. It's what drives us – having that control and responsibility and giving a sub what they need through satisfying our own needs."

I said nothing, letting that sink in a bit.

"Kate, a vanilla man will never give you what you really need and you'll end up feeling unloved and insecure, unable to respond the way you could with a Dom. A vanilla woman can't give a Dom what he needs. He feels as if he can't be himself during sex, frustrated that he can't take control, make things right – better. Doms and subs. We need each other. It's beautiful when it works out."

"It all sounds so nice but can I trust him?"

"You can trust him. Kate, I've known him for years."

 

Much later, as I sat at my desk revising the document I was drafting, I composed an email with the agreement as an attachment.  I'd just had a warm bath and was still wet, wrapped in a towel.

I held my finger over the mouse, the little hand hovering over the send button. Then, I pressed send. Immediately, I checked my sent folder and re-read it, biting my nail as I worried I had just made a huge mistake.

 

From:                 McDermott, Katherine M. 

Sent:                     November 07, 11:31 PM

To:                        Morgan, D. L.

Subject:              The Agreement

Attachments:  The Agreement.doc (50 KB)

 

Drake: I've attached the agreement for you to review and agree to.

 

Please don't push any of my limits. I know it’s in your nature to do just that.

 

If you do, I'm gone.

 

Seriously.

 

Kate

 

I open the documented and re-read the terms, worried he was going to try to seduce me. I had my father to thank that I knew my way around a legal document.

I printed off the agreement and held it in my hand. After imagining what he'd tell me about his practices and preferences, I realized I was really afraid. It wasn’t him I feared. It was fear of myself and how I might just respond to him and to the lifestyle.

 

* * *

 

I received an email the next morning from him.

 

From:                 Morgan, D. L.

Sent:                     November 08, 5:31 PM

To:                        McDermott, Katherine M.

Subject:              The Agreement

Attachments:  The Agreement.doc (50 KB)

 

Katherine, I received your agreement and will read it over. We can discuss when we meet.

 

Drake

 

That Friday, I sent him a text, deciding I might as well set up a few dates for the interviews.

 

Why don't you send me your schedule so we can set up some dates to meet next week and discuss the lifestyle. We can discuss the agreement at that time.  I'm pretty free for the next couple of weeks with the exception of Monday and so I'd like to get started with the interviews.

 

He responded within a few minutes.

 

I'm pretty busy all week with my surgical slate and personal commitments… What are you doing on Monday night? What time are you done? I could make a late meal at a restaurant, if you're free after 10 PM.

 

I frowned. Monday night was not a good night. I was going to Carnegie Hall with my father and his wife to hear Gorecki's Symphony Number 3. It was very meaningful to me because my mother and I used to go each year.

 

I'm going to Carnegie Hall with my father and his wife.

 

A special Veteran's Day performance featuring Dawn Upshaw at the Stern Auditorium, on the Perleman Stage, the concert was part of the Great Singers program. He texted me back in a few moments.

 

I want to take you.

 

What? No freakin' way. I always cried during the performance, unable to hold my emotions in check and there was no way in hell I wanted to be anywhere near Drake Morgan when I was an emotional wreck.

 

We could meet after. I don't know if I'm ready to start the whole 'dating' ruse yet…

 

I chewed my bottom lip, wondering if he'd accept my alternate arrangement but he had his own ideas.

 

We could meet there by accident during intermission. I could invite you out for a late meal. I'm sure your father would be pleased. We could start the whole interview process.

 

I didn’t respond, trying to find a way to say no. As if he sensed it, he texted back right away.

 

I'll have you home by midnight as I have surgery early in the morning. No funny business. Scout's Honor…

 

Damn him. I couldn't really find an excuse to say no quickly enough.

 

I'll go for coffee and dessert with you but this is a special family event. We always have a family dinner before the concert.

 

He wouldn't take no for an answer.

 

Can you hold off eating and join me at The Russian Tea Room? I feel like some Pelmeni and blini. Have you been and tried their blini? To die for. I would love company.

 

I sighed and dialed my father's number.

"Hi, Dad," I said, resigned to this. "Drake Morgan asked if I could go for dinner with him after the concert on Monday."

"That's great," he said, sounding so enthusiastic. "No problem."

"We usually have a special family dinner before…"

"I know you'd rather be with Drake, so go right ahead, dear. You know, you're old enough to date now," he said, laughing. "Why don't you invite him to come sit with us? I know you'd enjoy having some company."

Crap. No help from him, of course.

"I don't think so, Dad. He's probably busy with his band."

I texted Drake back.

 

My father is very rigid about these things but I told him you invited me to go for a meal after the concert and he said I could miss our usual family dinner. Boy, does he like you… If he only knew…

 

He texted right back.

 

He doesn’t know and I want things to stay that way. I don't want him finding out about my… pastimes. Just keep that in mind when you worry that I'll push your boundaries. I won't.

 

I responded immediately.

 

I'll hold you to that. Good afternoon.

 

Of course, his response was almost getting predictable.

 

I'll meet you in the lobby during intermission. Until then, Ms. Bennet…

 

I couldn’t help but smile at that, despite hating him just a bit for it. I could almost see the twinkle in his oh-so-blue eyes…