"You know very well what books."
"The first one. I think pretty much every Dom I know read some, to see what the public might learn about the lifestyle."
"And?"
"I claim the Fifth," he said. "Romance isn't my thing. But I will say I have several things in common with the hero."
"Such as?"
"Well, for starters," he said. "One very inquisitive sub who asks a lot of questions and who makes him lose control of scenes because of her impertinence..."
"Impertinence."
"But I'm an old man compared to him, and not a self-made boy genius billionaire so you must be disappointed."
"Oh, terribly," I said and kissed him, not at all disappointed and he knew it. The kiss was warm and soft, his arms squeezing me, pulling me closer. When he ran his hands up my back, he ended the kiss and pulled away, frowning.
"What's with the shirt? I thought I made it clear that I wanted you to always be naked when we were alone here."
I laughed. "In case you didn't notice, what with your incredible hotness and all, it's cold in your apartment. But you'll keep me warm," I said and pulled him against me firmly.
"You'll make me late if you keep that up," he said playfully.
"That's the idea…"
"If I had time, I'd say yes," he said. "You all hot and bothered is my greatest desire. But I can't this morning."
"How long will you be?"
He rocked me in his arms for a moment. "It should take about an hour. Then I have to go to the Foundation and do some paperwork, and then I have to drop in at the business office to sign some papers. If the meeting this morning doesn't take too long, I should be back for dinner. Then I want us to meet back here."
He left me standing in the kitchen.
Later, while I fixed a second cup of coffee, my cell rang. It was my father. I was glad he called as I had meant to call him and let him know the news.
"Hey, sweetie," he said, using Facetime. He was at his desk as usual. "What's up?"
I told him about Liam, recounting the call Drake had received and the events of the previous evening.
"Oh, that's terrible," his voice betraying genuine concern. "How's Drake taking it?"
I sighed, remembering Drake's response.
"As well as could be expected," I said, a catch in my throat. "He's shaken. He's going to be tested this morning to see if he's a tissue match and can donate his stem cells. He's willing to do anything to help Liam."
"Of course he is."
I told him what Drake had told me about the whole transplant preparation.
"Tell Drake I'll be thinking about Liam. My prayers will be for success."
"Thanks Daddy," I said, emotion filling me. "I'm sure he'll appreciate the sentiment."
I spent the day working on my sketch, getting lost in the study of different parts of his body. When Drake returned late that night, he wasn't all that interested in doing any kind of scene. Instead, we sat on the couch and ate some takeout Thai food he picked up on the way home.
He was subdued, laying on the couch with his head on my lap, watching news while I ran my hand affectionately through his hair. He turned onto his back about ten o'clock and looked up into my eyes, one hand going to my cheek.
"I'm sorry I'm not up to too much," he said. "I'm a bit exhausted for some reason."
I leaned down and kissed him. "You've had a huge shock. It's understandable."
"Do you mind if we just go to bed to sleep tonight?"
I shook my head. "Of course not."
I forced a smile, understanding completely that he was a bit down after the news of the previous day.
We went to bed soon after, lying in each other's arms, but Drake took a long time to fall asleep, unlike his usual practice of sleeping almost as soon as his eyes closed.
I lay awake in the darkness, my heart heavy for him, determined to be whatever he needed me to be through this ordeal.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The next morning, I crept out of bed early, went to the kitchen and sat at the table, examining my work. I liked sketching, but I really wanted to paint Drake rather than just use pencils. His skin was so perfect and his coloring so attractive, I itched to try out some acrylics.
I decided to text an old friend of mine I met in a art class I'd taken in my junior year. He was a real artist, and was currently in the Master of Fine Arts program. He had a studio of his own in Chelsea and had offered to let me work there if I ever needed space and resources. From a really wealthy Texas family, he had everything he could ever need and despite his wealth, he was absolutely the least materialistic person I'd ever met.
I took out my iPhone and searched my contacts for his number, then sent off a text.