"Oh, God," he said, gasping. "That was so good…"
He crawled around and lay facing me, pulling me into his arms, one thigh thrown over me possessively. He kissed me, his kiss deep and passionate.
"I love you, Kate," he said when he pulled away, brushing the hair from my face, his eyes warm and holding mine. "I love you."
"I love you," I said, warmth for him filling me. I crawled more closely into his arms and closed my eyes, the euphoria from my orgasms and the happiness I felt being so close to him almost unbearable.
After we had both recovered, we lay in each other's arms. He stroked his hands over my body affectionately, cupping my breasts, threading his fingers in mine.
"That was delicious." He nestled his head in the crook of my neck and kissed me. "I think I'd like to do that at least once a week."
"It wasn't too vanilla for you?"
"In case you didn't realize it, I like vanilla ice cream, too. Besides, my kink is control, with a bit of leather thrown in for good measure."
"You can't let me come only once, can you?"
"Sacrilege!" he said and laughed. "My evil plot is to keep you so thoroughly aroused and then satiated that you can't imagine looking at another man."
I wrapped my hands around his arms. "Other men don't even exist."
He squeezed me in response and we lay in the warmth of the bed in silence.
Then, he sighed heavily. He rose up on his elbow and ran a finger down my body from my chest to my hip. "As much as I'd love to lie here all morning, I have work to do."
"You're leaving?"
"Foundation work to wrap up." He leaned down and kissed me. "I'll be home later this afternoon. I'm going to play one last game of racquetball after lunch with a colleague. We'll have a nice dinner and spend the evening together."
"Sounds good."
"I love you," he said and kissed me again.
"I love you."
Although I would have loved to spend the day with Drake, I was eager to work on my drawing. After he left, I had breakfast, then made myself a cup of coffee and sat and read news headlines on my iPhone. Elaine was out with a friend for lunch and my dad was at his club for lunch and a meeting, so I was completely on my own.
I decided to go to 8th Avenue and spend the day there drawing. It was a hideaway for Drake. I loved the old apartment so much, I decided that if Drake was going to keep himself busy all day, I'd spend the remaining time before we left for Africa at 8th Avenue, working on my sketch. I'd been in the Chelsea apartment for two solid days drawing and needed some air. I had my key and so I packed up my backpack, taking my pencils and sketchpad with me, and began the hike from Drake's apartment in Chelsea to the 8th Avenue apartment. I walked for half an hour and then caught a taxi for the rest of the journey, arriving at the apartment a little before ten o'clock.
I entered the apartment, and took in a deep breath. It smelled so familiar – of Drake, of his cologne, of old books and leather. The front of the apartment was dim and quiet. I took off my coat and boots, and threw my bag on one of the couches. Then, I walked around the rooms. Soon, Drake and I would leave for Nairobi and leave this place behind for half a year. I'd miss it, for it was here that our relationship really developed.
Such a short a time had passed since we met in October. I went to the back of the apartment to the bedroom and opened the closet, looking at the old leather tie he'd used on my wrists that first time. He could have done anything to me at that point. Anything. Yet, all he did was give me pleasure. He gave me what I wanted and needed, in a way that didn't frighten me. He was extremely careful and extremely concerned that I was never hurt or frightened or upset.
Why couldn't Dawn understand?
Was she jealous? Was it as simple as that? She'd been like me – only a few relationships that were not really meant to be. We were both pretty unlucky in love up till I met Drake. I couldn't imagine that she was jealous that I had someone and she didn't, but it was a possibility.
She was pretty with those wild blonde curls and brown eyes, a nice body. But she was so damn demanding and exacting in her expectations of people. They had to be so morally solid. No one seemed to live up to her standards.
Maybe that's why she was alone.
I sighed and left the bedroom, walking out through the dim apartment to the living room and the table where Yelena Kuznetsova's crystal shot glasses usually stood. They were now at my father's apartment in his bar. I touched the side of the table where I'd hit my brow that night before Christmas when all this came to a head. Then, I went to Drake's collection of old guitars and to the acoustic guitar he'd played that night when I first came over. I picked up the picture of my father and his father as young men over in Vietnam.
So much had happened in such a short time. I felt like a different person from that young woman who went to the fundraiser that night, reluctantly, doing it only to please my father.
I spent the rest of the day drawing, music on the sound system, my playlist set to shuffle, the music selection eclectic, ranging from classical to alternative. When the light started to fade, I looked out the window at the street. Then, my cell chimed, indicating a text. I took it out and it was from Drake.
Where are you? I'm home and you're not here.