50 Shades of Drake 1 and 2

Chapter Forty-Seven

    "Upon signing this contract, you will need my permission to do anything. Anything unrelating to your health, education or career." Aubrey stood behind a beautifully carved wooden desk in the loft of his home office. "I want to make sure you understand that once you sign your name on this line, you will belong to me."

    She sat before his desk, still dressed in the black tank top and jeans she'd worn on the flight. She'd pulled her hair back into a ponytail before they went over the contract, which had been a long, drawn out ordeal. There were safe words that needed choosing, sexual acts that needed clarifying, preferences to be made and filled in. She was overwhelmed by all of the information, overwhelmed with the entire setup. Not to mention the red fun room downstairs.

    "You don't have to sign this today," he reminded her.

    She teetered the pen between her fingers, leaning forward over the desk. "I want to sign it," she said stubbornly.

    He smiled. "Okay."

    She took a deep breath and steadied the pen in her hand. Gave the details of the contract one more cursory, brief read-through. She didn't have the energy to read the entire contract again. It was too dense with information regarding the rules and roles, this, that, and the other. She flipped to the last page and pressed the tip of the pen to the dotted line. Her heart thumped in her chest. Before she could really think about what she was doing, which was essentially signing her life over to someone else for a three-month period, she hurriedly signed her name on the dotted line and dropped the pen on the desk. Then, she sat back in the chair, making sure to keep her eyes lowered.

    He slid the contract over to his side of the desk and used the same pen to sign and date the document. He watched her while replacing the cap on the pen. "You can look at me."

    She lifted her eyes.

    He laughed. "We don't have to start with this today. Today, we can just relax. We'll start fresh tomorrow." He walked around the desk. "Come with me." He held his hand out.

    She grabbed his hand and stood up from the chair. He led her down the winding staircase and into the kitchen, where he gestured for her to sit on a stool. He walked around the island counter and started to gather dishes from the cabinets and ingredients from the cabinets and refrigerator. She watched him in fascination. "You cook?"

    He angled a look at her. "Of course."

    She looked impressed.

    "When your tastes are as specific as mine, it helps to know how to cook," he explained. "I can be very..."

    "Picky?" she supplied, resting her elbows on the counter and resting her cheek against her clasped hands.

    He arched an eyebrow at her. "I was going to say selective," he said as he rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt.

    She grinned.

    "Do you cook?" he asked while peeling leaves off of a head of lettuce. "I mean, I know you work in a bakery, but do you really cook?"

    "Yes."

    "You throw down a little bit?" he asked, looking at her with a small smile teasing his lips.

    "I do," she told him confidently. "Chicken - baked, fried, grilled, however you want it. Soul food. Pasta. Indian and a little bit of Thai. I can do a little something in the kitchen."

    "I like that," he said softly, rubbing his hands together.

    "Is there anything I can help with?" she asked after watching him for several moments. "I feel like dead weight."

    He shook his head. "I want you to relax today."

    "But I want to help," she said, not realizing that she was pouting.

    He rubbed his chin. "Okay. Ummm..." He surveyed the vegetables he'd gathered. "All right. Come here."

    She hopped off of the stool and rounded the counter so she could stand beside him.

    "How are you at dicing tomatoes?"

    "I'm good."

    He carried the package of tomatoes to the sink so he could thoroughly rinse them. As an afterthought, he did the same with the lettuce leaves he'd plucked. He set the tomatoes in front of her and provided her with a sharp dicing knife. "Be careful with this," he cautioned. "It's very sharp."

    She went to dicing, standing with one foot raised and resting on the calf of the other leg.

    He watched her work for a minute. "There's a better way to do that," he said.

    She gave him a look.

    He raised his hands, palms outward, in a defensive gesture. "Or you can keep doing it like that," he said, grinning.

    She snuck peeks at him out of the corner of her eye as he went to slicing the carrots he'd just rinsed. "What is the better way?" she finally asked him.

    He wiped his hands off on a towel and went to stand behind her. He settled his hands on top of her shoulders and slid them down her arms until they covered her hands. He repositioned the knife in her hand and made a series of cuts into the top of the tomato. Then, he turned the tomato and made another row of cuts, criss-crossing the first row. "A lot faster," he said into her ear as he turned the tomato on its side and made a similar series of cuts. "A lot more efficient than the other way."

    She nodded, half-listening to what he was saying and half-trying to prevent her knees from turning into jelly at the sound of his voice that close to her ear. "Thank you."

    He resumed his position beside her and finished slicing up the carrots. Then, he turned on the stove. He moved around the kitchen fluidly. As if she needed another quality in him to love. Articulate, intelligent, attractive, sexy, talented, caring, and with the ability to cook.

    "You're like Kryptonite," she muttered as she diced the last of tomato in front of her.

    His brows furrowed. "What?"

    She hadn't realized she'd spoken the words out loud. It was a thought that had popped into her mind, just how irresistible he was. She held her breath, closed her eyes, and cursed under her breath.

    "What was that?" he asked, returning to her side.

    "Just ignore me," she said, wiping her hands on the towel that he'd tossed on the countertop.

    "I want to know what you said," he told her. The expression on his face was pleasant, but the tone of his voice was serious.

    "I said...you're Kryptonite."

    "Meaning what exactly?"

    "Meaning that you're a weakness. For women everywhere."

    He laughed and wrapped his arms around her. "I'm your weakness? Is that what you're telling me?"

    "I said 'all women,'" she said, savoring the feeling of his arms around her.

    "'All women,' including you, correct?"

    "Technically, yes."

    He laughed again and kissed the top of her head. "Good. I'll take that." He held onto her for a few minutes, then released her and continued cooking.

    They moved around the kitchen, and around each other. There was a lot of flirtation and a lot of affection. He would suddenly stop what he was doing and wrap her up in a bear hug. She didn't take those moments for granted. For in those moments, she felt like she'd made the right decision. In those moments, she was grateful for him, grateful that she'd been open-minded enough to sign the contract. Granted, signing that contract had been a subconscious way for her to punish herself for hurting Chad. But it was possible that something good could come from this, something organic. Something real. Something beautiful.