Drake Restrained(11)

She stared at the key, her expression one of disbelief, her eyes wide. I could see that her cheeks were red even in the darkness of the room. She didn't really believe I'd break off the relationship, probably hoping that the mere threat of it would push me closer.

"Don’t do that," she said, her voice wavering. She pushed the key back towards me with a trembling hand. "Give me another chance. "

I shook my head. "I already gave you a second and third chance. You crossed the line too many times." I kept my voice firm, although I, too, was upset. I just couldn’t see any way around it. "You know the rules."

"You broke a promise. You promised to spend every Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday evenings with me as long as we were together. I think I deserve to be upset."

I held up my hand. "I promised unless circumstances arose that were beyond my control. Mersey got an extra gig, and it was a chance to get more practice in before our big show on Friday. I had no choice."

"You always have a choice." Her voice broke and she brushed tears from her cheeks quickly. "You choose to put your band ahead of me. You choose to be unknowable, as if you can keep things all neat and tidy between us. All you want is a few good orgasms a week so that nothing like real emotion interferes with your perfect little life."

"You knew when you signed my contract that we would just be play partners, nothing more," I countered, but her assessment of me stung just a bit. "You told Lara and you told me you didn’t want anything more."

"After all this time?" Her tears were flowing now. "You couldn't find it in your heart to let me come and listen to your band play? You are heartless."

I shook my head. Other men might give in, try to make things work, but I couldn't have her breaking the terms of our contract that way. If I let her, she'd try to break all the terms, and that wouldn't do.

Three times in the past month, she'd tried to go beyond the careful margins I'd drawn between my life as a Dominant and the rest of my life as a surgeon and musician.

She'd asked me to stay the night once after a very long session where I had tried some new rope tricks with her. I'd refused. I didn't stay with my submissives. It was a Tuesday and I had an early surgery scheduled the next day. Then, she'd asked me to come to her apartment early and have supper with her on a Saturday night. I refused once more, reminding her that I didn't do meals with my subs. The only thing I ate when we were together was her.

Finally, she'd asked earlier that night if she could come and listen to Mersey play at O'Riley's. I told her no. My music and my sex life did not mix.

"You know," she said finally, her voice breaking. "I listened to those songs you sang. That one – the one where you say you have a heart of stone?" She stood, pushing her chair back so hard, it fell over. "You don’t even have a heart." Then she grabbed her bag off the table and stormed out without looking back, the key left on the table in front of me.

I stood and righted her chair then turned back to the bar, my friends staring at me, expressions of surprise and interest clear on their faces. Now, I'd have to tell them we broke up.

I checked my watch. Our next set was due to start in a few minutes. Luckily, there wasn't time for them to demand a full debrief.

I sighed and went to the stage, bypassing them so I could avoid even having to discuss what just happened, the key to her apartment left behind on the table.





CHAPTER FOUR





The next week went as usual, except I didn’t go to see Allie on the appointed nights. Each weekday morning, I woke to my alarm at six. Showered, grabbed a coffee and toast. Dressed. Drove to New York Presbyterian where I had a full slate of surgeries booked.

I purposely didn’t think about Allie, immersing myself in my cases, consciously blocking out her words about me. I knew about denial, having studied psychoanalysis briefly during my undergrad. If I kept myself busy enough, I wouldn’t have time to mourn the end of the relationship.

If my personal life had gone to shit, at least my work as a surgeon was going well.

After dictating my surgical reports and checking in on my patients, I left NYP and took my car to meet Lara for lunch at a café near the hospital. I knew she would have heard from Allie about our breakup and would want to interrogate me about it.

I arrived, still wearing my scrubs, and after placing my order at the counter, I went to the table. Lara looked impeccable, as usual, wearing an expensive suit, her hair tidy in a smooth updo. She had her usual salad and espresso. The café was busy at this time of day, so we sat in a corner for added privacy. The noise of patrons talking, the clink of glasses and cutlery, helped mask our discussion.