Free The Commitment (The Unrestrained #2) by S. E. Lund

seep into all the different parts.
    I smiled to myself and breathed in deeply. I'd miss Manhattan, but I looked forward to seeing a real night sky when I went on safari. I expected Nairobi had as much light pollution as Manhattan so it wouldn't be until I went outside of the city that I'd see the magnificent night skies I remembered from when I was in Africa before.
    By the time I got to the apartment on Park Avenue, I was a bit chilled and was glad to be inside the warmth. After I hung up my coat and removed my snowy boots, I searched the apartment for my father. He was in his office, as usual, his reading glasses perched on the end of his nose, a cordless phone to his ear. His iMac screen showed an open video conference window and the face of several people in small boxes. He was in the middle of a videoconference. I covered my mouth and ducked out, but he didn't care.
    "There you are, sweetie. Come give your old man a kiss," he said, apparently indifferent to what those on the call would think of his daughter barging in on their meeting.
    "Sorry, Daddy," I said and obeyed, kissing his cheek. I smiled at the screen and then ducked out of the view of the webcam. "I'll leave you to your call."
    He smiled at me and turned back to the screen.
    I tiptoed out and went to the kitchen to fix a cup of hot tea. I was feeling a bit under the weather from the Malarone, the anti-malaria med I was taking, a bit achy and cold. A nice cup of tea would do me wonders. After the kettle boiled, I poured the water over the loose tea leaves and waited for the tea to steep. As I did, I glanced out the kitchen window at the streets below the apartment.
    Of course, my mind went back to Dawn and her warning about Drake. Being alone with Drake in Africa had never made me nervous. I'd seen him at work, I'd seen him at play, I'd seen him in social situations and I had been alone with him, tied up and helpless in his apartment on 8 th Avenue. I trusted him completely.
    It was Dawn I couldn't trust. What she witnessed as a child made her so obsessed with my relationship with Drake, so unwilling to see my point of view. Why couldn't she understand that there was a difference between real abuse and sexual role-playing that was consensual?
    I had to get to the bottom of it so I took out my phone and texted her.
     
Dawn, please meet with me for coffee so we can try to hash out this disagreement between us before I go. We've been friends for so long, you're like the sister I never had. I can't stand that this has come between us.
     
    I sent the text and put my phone in the pocket of my hoodie. I took my tea to the den, where I lay on my favorite overstuffed sofa with a fuzzy throw covering me. The gas fireplace gave off warmth that helped take away the chill that had descended over me.
    I switched on the television and flipped between channels searching for something to watch beside the news, waiting for her response. I started watching a movie on PBS – a British period piece on Keats – when my iPhone dinged, indicating I had an incoming text. It was from Dawn.
     
Let's meet at the coffee shop in Harlem General. I'm on shift all evening, but I can meet you for half an hour before work. But I'm warning you - there's nothing you can say that will make me OK with this thing between you and Morgan. I've been talking with people on FetLife and Kate, these people are sick. Drake's dangerous. I told you that in the pub, and I'll keep saying it. Don't let his pretty exterior and suave ways fool you. He's got a mean streak, as Sunita could tell you.
     
    What? I texted her right back.
     
It was precisely because Drake didn’t have a 'mean streak' that they broke up. She wanted edge play and for Drake to flog her and cane her and he's not into pain. Dawn, why can't you understand? He's not into pain. Period .
     
    I waited, sitting up straight, my back stiff. Just texting her made me upset. I wasn't looking forward to actually meeting with her.
     
Whatever he