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I sighed, a knot in my stomach. In truth, I felt sick.
I took a taxi to my father's place and entered the apartment to the aroma of freshly brewed coffee.
"Hey, sweetie, you’re up and around pretty early."
"I was awake and bored so I thought I'd come for a visit."
"I'm always glad to see you. Where’s Drake?"
"Taking care of business," I said.
"Come on in. I'll get you a cup of Joe."
While he fixed me a cup, I texted Drake.
I'm sorry, Drake. Please don’t be mad at me. I was being a spoiled child. Forgive me? It's just that sometimes, I have so much desire for you, I forget how to submit.
I sent the text and sat with my father at the island in the kitchen, drinking coffee and chatting about nothing in particular. I checked my phone for Drake's response, but there was nothing.
"Let me get you some breakfast," my father said and proceeded to make some silver dollar pancakes, like he used to when Heath and I were kids.
Later, when my father went to his study to take care of his own business, I took a taxi to the studio in Chelsea and worked on my canvas. I checked my cell frequently to see if Drake had texted me, but there was nothing. He was ignoring me or punishing me.
I had lunch of Pho from a nearby Vietnamese restaurant that Keith brought in for the three of us, and when I finished working on the canvas for the day, it was late in the afternoon. I stood back and checked it out, pleased with my progress.
Keith stood beside me, his head tilted, examining the painting that showed a naked Drake with his arm thrown over his eyes, the white bed sheets twisted between his calves. His ample erection laid to one side of his hip, a trail of hair leading down from his navel to his pubes.
"A bit of an exaggeration?" Keith said beside me. I turned to him, noting the way he grinned.
"Not at all," I said, frowning.
"You know that the Greeks deliberately sculpted men with small genitals, viewing men with large penises as more animalistic, less civilized."
"I don't think there's a correlation between penis size and civilization…"
He laughed. "If you want to exhibit this, you'll have a lot of men very jealous."
"This is for a private collection," I said and smiled. "Mine."
"It's very good," he said.
"Thank you."
I said goodbye to Nathaniel and Keith and then took a taxi to Drake's apartment in Chelsea. I walked up the stairs, wondering if Drake would be there, my stomach all butterflies, and a sense of impending doom filling me. The apartment was empty, so I went to the living room, plopping down on the couch, turning on the news to try to distract myself. At about three, Drake finally replied:
Of course I'm not mad at you. There's nothing to forgive. I always want you to be completely honest with me, even when it might be something painful for me to hear. I know submission isn’t easy. If it were too easy, you’d grow bored.
I love you.
That sent a thrill through me, and only intensified the guilt I felt about watching the video. In truth, it made me regret my doubts so much. I texted back right away.
I love you.
I did love him. I wanted to ask him when he'd be back, eager for our time together and maybe some really hot makeup sex, but I resisted pushing him. I had to submit.
About four o'clock, I received another text from Drake.
I'm coming home in an hour, Katherine. I want you naked, wearing your garters and stockings, kneeling by my bed. Use the blindfold in my closet. I want you to think of all the things I'm going to do to you. I want you wet and ready, waiting for me. I'll call and let the phone ring twice before hanging up. That will be the signal that I'm almost there. You should be ready for me, nice and wet and submissive when I arrive.
