Page 32 of Drake
“Are you okay?” He’s smiling. Even without looking at him, I know he’s smiling at me. He knows exactly what he’s doing to me. “You’ve gone red, and you’re squirming. Does me being here make you uncomfortable or are you thinking of all the ways I can make you come?” His voice is like thick treacle, rich and heavy and full of temptation. “Do you want me to make you come?”
I’m silent. I daren’t speak in case I say yes without a second thought.
“Perhaps I can give you a choice. You can drive me to the flat then go to yours, back to the quiet of your thoughts, or you can take me to yours and let me do the things you’re desperately trying not to think about. I’ll leave it up to you.”
Christ, why has he done that? The way I feel I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t. This is one of the reasons I submit—so I don’t have to make decisions.
Drake swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing heavily in his throat. He’s really fighting this; I sit back in the incredible leather seats of his swanky BMW. “This is a very nice car.”
“Thank you.” His words sound like sandpaper, gruff, gravelly—yet his eyes flick to mine, conflicting, warring with his thoughts.
I settle back. I don’t know my way around the town, which means I have no clue if he’s driving to my new flat or his. I stay relaxed, settling comfortably while he drives. The tension he’s feeling is coming off him in waves—not to mention all of his physical signs. His jaw is tense, the muscle ticking as he clenches his teeth, the pulse point in his temple that throbs in time with his heartbeat. I’d love to know what’s going through his mind, because there’s a battle in there, for sure. Is he still deliberating, or is he now fixed on our destination without having to make any small talk.
It’s another five minutes before I recognise where I am. And it’s not at the small flat I’m taking over from Memphis.
He pulls into a parking space that has the number of his flat painted on the tarmac and switches off the engine with a push of a button. I turn my head to look at him. He doesn’t move, his hands still wrapped around the leather wheel. His knuckles are white with the force of his grip, his eyes still facing forward. I watch as his tongue flicks out to dampen his lip. My eyes are transfixed as the plump flesh becomes slick. It’s my turnto feel the tightness in my briefs, and I want to fidget to relieve the pressure. I don’t; I can control myself.
I keep silent, waiting for him to sort out whatever is going on in his head. When he takes his hands from the steering wheel, he turns to me. “With one exception, I haven’t done this with anyone for a long time. I’m not going to think or talk about that at this time. Other than that, my last Dom was also my lover. I’ve loved him for a very long time.”
This must be the break-up Royal mentioned. “Do you still love him?”
He’s quiet again. It’s easy to see he’s thinking hard; his expressions are all over his face. “I don’t know. I don’t think it matters. We’re never going to be together.”
Okay, this is not going to be the night I planned, but that doesn’t mean it’s wasted. If I want something with him, I now know it’s not going to be me ordering him to his knees. “Does that hurt, or do you accept that there’s nothing you can do to get him back?”
Drake puts his hands back on the steering wheel, they twist around the leather. “No, there’s no going back. He doesn’t want what I have to offer. Neither of us are prepared to change what we want or do to be together. We’ve settled with friendship.”
“Then he’s a fool. I doubt he can get better than you.”
He scoffs, shakes his head. “You don’t need to say shit like that. You don’t even know who he is.”
“Does it matter?” This is getting stranger and stranger. Instead of opening up because he’s talking about him, he’s shutting down even more. Is this bloke someone around here? Someone still in Drake’s life. “Can we go inside? I think we have things to talk about.”
“Really? Why?” He looks confused.
Does he think I’m not going to be interested because of an ex? “I want to spend time with you. Get to know you.” I speak softly. “Look at me, Drake.” I wait until he lifts his head, turning to face me. “Thank you. Let’s go inside.”
Drake nods, let’s go of the steering wheel, and opens his door. I follow suit and meet him at the front of the car. I gesture for him to go first and then step up next to him. “There’s an apartment for sale in this building,” I say casually.
He doesn’t reply as he presses the call button for the lift. It’s not until we’ve stepped inside the lift that he looks at me again. “It’s a good place to live. It has a gym on the top floor.”
“I don’t think your family would be very pleased with you using a gym somewhere else.” I can imagine the outrage if they thought he was working out elsewhere.
“You’re right, but just because you’re Memphis’ friend, you aren’t committed to using our gym. Then again, you might not want to live here.”
We’re silent again for the last few seconds that take us to Drake’s floor. It seems that any chance of small talk has gone, thanks to Drake’s revelation.
Drake gets out first, and we take the few steps to his front door. There’s only one other door on this floor; it really is very exclusive—and expensive. I wonder how he can afford it at his age, which is twenty-eight, maybe twenty-nine.
Maybe I can lighten the mood a little. “So where does the James Bond joke come from?”
He drops his keys in a glass dish on a narrow console table before looking at me. “The what?”
“Y’know, the whole Drake is a spy story,” I say, keeping my face straight when really, I want to smile. “That’s what Memphis says and Royal too.”
His face turns sombre, and he leans in closer to me. “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.” Then with the sexiest, slow burn smile, he winks and walks towards the kitchen.
I follow him, laughing. Happy that we’re back on track. When I walk in, he’s got the fridge door open. “Do you want a drink?”
