Personal Geography

by Tamsen Parker

  He uses my reaction to push further, creating a sensual spiral inside of me. When he reaches the broadest part of his hand, he adds more lube, slicking it up to his wrist before laying his free hand on my mound and thumbing my clit. I jump at the contact, and my brain nearly short circuits. Between the feeling of fullness, surrender, and that tiny, electric touch, I’m so close.

  “Are you going to come for me, pet?” His brows are raised in a cocky, satisfied smile. It’s maddening. He knows damn well I’m going to, but swearing at him isn’t part of the game.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. You’re going to tell me when you do.”

  As if he wouldn’t know. I’d roll my eyes, but at that moment, I’m distracted by an easy rocking motion and another glance of his thumb over my clit. I can’t help the noises I’m making, nor would I want to with the intent look on his face. More pressure, more stretching, and concentrated attention on my clit tell me he’s nearly there. When the heel of his hand slips inside, his fingers buried deep and grazing some magical spot, I implode. My internal muscles grip tight around his wrist, and the cuffs so carefully strapped around my wrists and ankles dig in hard enough to leave marks as I struggle against the chains that bind me.

  “I—I’m coming, sir. Oh, god. Cris, I’m coming.”

  As soon as I’ve said it, I want to take it back. It’s not only a breach of etiquette, a breaking of the rules he’s set out for me, it’s a stupid idea. This isn’t Cris and India. This is Kit and her Dom, absolutely not to be confused. But it’s hard to remember when a pleasure so intense I see stars is flooding my system and pretty little endorphins trip through me. It’s not just the act, though that had something to do with it. It’s the way he performed it and the feel—

  No, India. You’re not allowed to have feelings about this outside of physical bliss.

  But I can only push the feelings away so far because he’s still inside me, his other hand on my abdomen, warm fingers spread wide. I wonder if he can feel its twin through the layers of muscle and skin.

  He leans over me to kiss and nuzzle around where his hand rests, his breath soft, his curls brushing against me. The tenderness of it slays me, and I’m glad my hands are out of play because I’d do something stupid like thread my fingers through his hair and say all the soppy things racing through my head.

  It’s just sex. Really goddamn good sex, but sex nonetheless. Keep your mouth shut, Burke.

  “I want to feel that again,” he murmurs before he bites me. I shiver at the thought, and the word drops from my mouth before I can stop it.

  “Again?”

  “Are you objecting?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Good. Because when I say again, I mean it.”

  And before I can say, “Yes, sir,” his mouth is on me and I melt. Again.

  It doesn’t take long for me to find another climax, not with his hand still inside me and his tongue working my clit. My orgasm isn’t as powerful as the last, but fits comfortably inside the space carved out by its predecessor, like a nesting doll. After I’ve come down, he works his hand free, soothing me through the hardest part. When he’s done, I expect him to reach for a towel, untether me, and issue more orders: turn over or on your knees.

  Instead, he kneels up between my thighs so our legs cross, unzips his jeans, and takes himself in hand, bracing a hand on my knee. Watching Cris touch himself, pull with rougher strokes than I’d dare and with the hand that was just inside me… I should be piqued. Why hasn’t he asked me to do this? But I’m fascinated. He’s beautiful to watch, and knowing that what he’s done to me, what I allowed him to do, is what’s turned him on so much is a balm to the slight sting of insult.

  His fingers grip my knee tighter, and his stomach muscles contract before he spills his release over his hand, onto my stomach. It lands hot on my skin, marking me in a way that won’t wash off even when the evidence is gone. He drains the last of his climax and hangs his head, shakes it, before looking up at me with a smile.

  “Thought I’d give you a break. We’re not done yet.”

  My heart beats hard, and my fingers curl around the chains that still bind me. If he’s giving me a break, what’s coming is going to be really, really good. “Yes, sir.”

  *

  The rest of the weekend is a disconcerting mix of the same: unparalleled, uncomfortable, unfamiliar intimacy on the one hand and customary, mind-numbing, delicious sex on the other. I’d describe it as purgatory, but it’s more like jarring swings between heaven and hell. Though the play is impeccable, as per usual, I’m still a bundle of exposed nerves when I go home. It’s better than I expected, given the state I arrived in, but I miss the blissed-out feeling I’ve become accustomed to leaving with. Maybe it’ll come back next time. Next time.

  “Are you okay, Kit?”

  I’m standing on the sidewalk outside of the airport with Cris, and he’s taken my weekend bag out of the back of the Jeep. I drop a brusque nod and hold out my hand for it. He doesn’t give it to me, but regards me with slate-blue eyes. If I have to abandon the bag, if a sacrifice play becomes necessary, I’ll only lament the loss of the red sundress I arrived in. The rest of what’s in there is disposable.

  Cris isn’t buying my nod. “Don’t tell me that if it’s not true. I’m not sending you home a mess.”

  My heart starts thudding against its cage of muscle and bone and skin, trying to escape before I can say or do something too stupid.

  “I am okay. This was…stressful.”

  A frown darkens his face. “I’m sorry. I was trying to make things better—”

  “You did. This is… It’s hard. For me.”

  “I know. Would you tell me, sometime, why?”

  My heart is playing Red Rover with my ribcage. “Sometime. Can I have my bag?”

  “Yeah, Kit, of course. I’m not trying to hold you hostage.”

  When it’s safely in my hand, I take a deep breath, pull it over my shoulder, and hesitate. I’ve brought something for Cris, but now it’s game time and I’m unsure if I can go through with it. I look at him—his browned-from-the-sun skin, the achingly perfect amount of stubble on his cheeks, the laugh lines around his eyes and mouth. I think of everything he’s given me. I told myself if I decided to come back after this weekend, I would give it to him. He’s given me anything I’ve asked and a lot I didn’t have to. I’d like to tell him what that meant to me—without having to actually, you know, say it.

  I reach into my purse, slip out a small photograph, and thrust it at him. He takes it before I can snatch it back.

  “If you’re going to have a picture of me, I’d like it to be a good one. Not that grainy, unflattering newsprint thing I know you haven’t thrown away.” I affect prissiness so I don’t choke. Or faint.

  He colors. Did he think I wouldn’t know he kept it? I’ve met you, Cris. I’ve seen your sentimental streak. It’s a fricking mile wide. The photo is of me at a charity event, and I look amazing. Pictures of me are hard to come by. I avoid cameras like the plague, and this is the only one I keep in my house besides ID.

  He’s staring at it. He’s never seen me dolled up like this and he never will, but I hope he likes it. His eyes flicker to mine. He does. I eke out a smile and turn on my heel to go.

  “I like this side better.”

  I turn, and he’s holding it up so I can see the message I wrote on the back. I was hoping he wouldn’t notice until I was safely in the airport or, better still, on the plane.

  Cris,

  For the next time you can’t not.

  Below that is my personal cell number.

  “Okay,” I mutter as I flush and stalk off.

  I picture him trying to curb his laugh so he won’t make me mad, but it’s clear as the water in his little cove when he calls, “Bye, Kit.”

  I raise a hand, not turning around, and head single-mindedly toward the door.

  Chapter Fourteen

  ‡

  I get a customary �
�Call me” text from Rey the next morning, but I wait until I get home from work to respond. He picks up on the first ring.

  “Hello, lovah.”

  “What’s up?”

  “Your standard second-you-leave call from Cris, that’s all.”

  He called Rey and not me? Not that I’ve been checking my cell to make sure I didn’t miss a message or anything…

  “He wanted to know if he could see you again. I’m assuming yes? When do you have time?”

  “Three weeks.”

  “Spill.”

  How does Rey have a hotline into my grey matter? “I gave him my number.”

  Rey’s eyes must be the size of dessert plates, but he manages a cool, “I see.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And you’re mad he called me and not you.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You do remember the contract says he’s only allowed to contact you through me?”

  “The contract he ignored?”

  “For which you were going to stop seeing him?”

  Dammit, Rey.

  “Wouldn’t you stick to the letter of the law if you were him? And don’t pout those lovely lips and tell me you wouldn’t have broken it in the first place. That’s beside the point, you pretty little teacher’s pet.”

  “But I gave it to him.”

  “Might not be enough.”

  Men.

  “When he sends the contract, I could send it back with an amendment, make it official.”

  Rey may be a pain in the ass, but only because he knows me far too well.

  “Okay,” I grant, and we hash out the details.

  *

  “Tell me again why you can’t go to Chicago?”

  Jack’s in full-on, flip-out mode, and this time there’s nothing I can do about it. I’m going to make it worse.

  “I’m overdue to go up to LA. If we don’t get those vacancy numbers up, Cooper’s going to have Janis’s head and your balls.”

  This is true. I’ve been punting my trip because of other fires I’ve had to put out. It also sounds more reasonable than, “There’s an imaginary line I can’t cross, and Chicago’s on the other side of it.”

  “And what about you? I know you two are like fucking Laverne and Shirley or Lucy and Ethel or whatever—”

  “You’re dating yourself, Jack. How old are you?”

  He glares at me. Oops. But I know we’re okay when he rejoins, “Brenda and Kelly? Is that any better?”

  I mouth no as I shake my head.

  “My point is you aren’t going to be getting off with just a spanking, either.”

  Jack’s choice of words is unfortunate. I can’t imagine what he’d do if he knew Constance has taken me over her knee and I wasn’t the only one getting off. I may prefer men, but my skills at pleasing a woman aren’t for nothing. If Jack had a clue, Leo wouldn’t be the only one recovering from a heart attack.

  “You’re right,” I concede. Not a spanking. For breaking a promise? Maybe a whipping, but probably the cane from Constance. It’s her favorite. “And you’re making my argument for me. Send Julie. She’s been looking bored.”

  “Julie’s looking bored because I’m going to fire her, and today might be the day. She’s not getting any new projects. You think Chow’s ready?”

  “Yes. She’ll be fine. More than fine,” I amend at Jack’s glower. “Send Rodriguez to help her. They work well together.”

  “You want anyone else in LA?”

  “You know I’m a lone wolf.”

  “Good. I can’t afford to give you anybody, anyway. Get it done this time, India. You’re not going back for a while.”

  I stand to head back to my office. “Aye aye, cap’n.”

  “Oprah and Gayle?” he calls after me.

  “Better.”

  *

  Cris calls me on Saturday. Seeing his number come up on my screen stems the tide of frustration over the newest vacancy numbers Janis has sent. The way things are going, I am going to have to lease those tenants up myself. I don’t understand how we’ve managed to mop up so many messes, but this one is still spilled all over the floor. Call me the janitor because it’s cleaning day.

  But first, I am absolutely going to take this call. Even though I know it’s him, I answer with a coy, “Hello?”

  “Hey.”

  He sounds nervous. It’s cute.

  “What took you so long? Playing hard to get?”

  “I plan to use this judiciously. I don’t want my phone privileges revoked.”

  I snicker and cringe at the same time. “Fair enough. I was surprised you called Rey.”

  “I thought he’d still be brokering the contracts. Should I call you instead?”

  “No, that’s fine.”

  “Also, I didn’t want…”

  “For me to go postal on you for breaking our contract again?”

  “I wasn’t going to put it like that, but yeah.”

  Score yet another one for Rey. Would it kill him to be wrong every once in a while? “Now you’ve got yourself a permission slip.”

  “I do. I promise not to abuse it.”

  We chat on, and it’s nice. It feels…normal. I haven’t had a boy call me on the phone in years. It’s been ten minutes when he says he’ll let me go. “I hear you’re very important and extremely busy.”

  “You heard right. I’m getting ready for another trip up to LA. Check the Times on Thursday.”

  There’s a pause, and I regret it. I cover my eyes with my hand, although I don’t know who I’m hiding from. There’s no one else in the office, and Cris can’t see me. But when he says, “Will do,” with what I can tell is his crooked smile halfway across the Pacific, I feel the pleasant burn I get whenever he says anything that distills to I like you.

  *

  When I get up to LA, I give the cabbie the address of a building Janis has been telling me is waiting on maintenance before we can put more families in. The guy eyes me suspiciously in the rearview mirror.

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “I wouldn’t wear those pearls in that neighborhood,” he advises, putting the cab into gear and locking the doors.

  “I work for the housing authority.” Same thing, every time.

  When we pull up to the complex, I’m surprised to see cars in the parking lot. This whole building is listed as unoccupied for major repairs, but these aren’t maintenance trucks. There are kids playing in the yard, music drifting from windows. I check the Post-it in my purse to make sure I haven’t gotten the wrong address, but I haven’t. I verify the property listings on my Blackberry to make triple-sure, but no. It’s there.

  Anger rips through me. How dare you misuse public funds and keep families from getting housed? It’s followed by a pang of sheer insult. You honestly thought you could hide this from me? After that, I’m flooded with cold, hard satisfaction. You’re going down, Janis. Hard.

  I give the driver another address before getting on my phone.

  “Jack, we’ve got a problem.”

  While we’re strategizing, I go on a tour of all the buildings we’ve been told are vacant for repairs. Half of them are filled. There’s no sign of work being done on the others. I’ll have to pore over every cent on the books, but I suspect the maintenance funds are being diverted and Janis and several accomplices are collecting rent from the occupied properties under the table. Do the families living there think they’re legit housing authority tenants? This is a fucking disaster. I’m pissed it’s taken me so long to figure it out, but it could’ve taken a lot longer. Nothing in the receivership protocols indicates site visits for all properties.

  After I’ve done my survey, I have a conference call with Cooper and Jack, and we make a plan. We’ll do some more digging before we confront Janis to try to figure out how far this goes and who else might be involved. Cooper’s livid, but not primarily at me. She’s done the same calculus I have—it could’ve been worse.

  A few hours later
, the cab drops me off at LAHA’s main offices, and I play dumb for the rest of the day. I hole up in an office left empty by one of the people who was fired when the agency first went into receivership. From there, I dive down the rabbit hole. My email outbox gets stacked with virtual reams of data, stuff I’ll need to have associates scour to work out who’s involved in this.

  Janis, as friendly as she ever is, stops by on her way out and tells me not to burn the midnight oil. I tell her not to worry, even though I’ll be here through the night and possibly the next night, too. But the only thing on fire around here is going to be her. Janis is going to be a pile of ashes by the time I leave LA. Which may be never, based on what I’m finding. For seeming so dumb, Janis and her compatriots have been clever in their cover-up—but not cleverer than me.

  I work through the night, my only company some stale vending machine crackers and more phone calls with Jack and Cooper. Jack announces he’ll be flying up later in the morning to deal with this. That’s why his name’s on the letterhead and not mine.

  As the sun rises, I do a quick scrub-down with paper towels in the employee bathroom and change my clothes before making myself a cup of coffee. For the first time ever, I miss Lucy. This stuff is egregiously disgusting. I shrug it off and put on my bitch face. Today is going to be ugly.

  *

  Saturday rolls around. I’m still in LA. I’ve had to buy new clothes; I was expecting to stay a couple of days, but it looks like I’ll be here a couple of weeks at the least. Janis has been fired, as have a dozen other people who were involved in the cover up. Some of them will be arrested for fraud. It’s a nightmare through and through, and the only bright side is that Constance has flown out to manage some of this shitshow herself, including handling the press.

  My phone rings in the afternoon as I’m plowing through some numbers with half a dozen associates Jack’s sent up, and I excuse myself. I deserve to take five.

  “Hello?”

  “How are you holding up?”