Uncharted Territory (The Compass Series Book 3)

by Tamsen Parker

  My eyes shine with tears. No one has ever lavished me with that much praise. His words drip over me, coating my thoughts, making me feel languid and compliant indeed. I want more of that. I’d do anything to hear him say it again. I suspect he knows it, too. “Yes, sir.”

  A benevolent smile broadens his mouth, and he bends down to kiss me.

  “Let’s go greet our public then.”

  My heart stutters at his use of the word “our.” This man has included me, has labeled me as his, and is about to show everyone we know that’s true. The collar, the tag, the plug, even my stockinged feet sinking into the plush carpet, are suddenly imbued with the most intense satisfaction I’ve ever felt. “Yes, sir.”

  Hunter offers me his arm and I notice as we make our way downstairs that my un-shod feet look slim and delicate next to his freshly-shined black leather shoes. Is that part of it? To make me feel small and delicate? Breakable? If so, it’s working.

  I wasn’t sure what I was expecting when Hunter had put the plug in me, if he was just going to demand that I put my ass on display for everyone at the party, but he doesn’t. He waits. And waits. So long that I wonder if he’s going to make me do it at all or if it was just a mind-fuck. An effective one, clearly, because I’ve been thinking about it all night.

  Rey arrives on the later side because he’s coming from dinner with his mom in the city. He’d warned me, knowing I was nervous, knowing I’d be watching the door for him. When he comes in, he scans the room. His face lights up when I offer a minuscule widening of my fingers as a greeting. Hunter is deep in conversation with an older gentleman about something work-related, and I don’t want to disturb them. From what I can gather, they work in the same industry though not at the same firm. Which, despite Hunter’s efforts to shrug off any conversation regarding his livelihood, I’ve figured out has something to do with speculating on foreign currencies.

  Rey makes his way over, his trip across the room interrupted by myriad people who want to speak with him. By the time he reaches us, Hunter and his friend—I think his name is Jerry—have finished their conversation and Jerry is excusing himself to the playroom.

  “Rey. Glad you could make it.”

  “Thank you for the invitation.”

  “Of course. Couldn’t have you missing her debut, could we?”

  Rey’s jaw tightens. I suppose technically my debut was two months ago when Rey brought me here for the first time, but this is my first time out as belonging to Hunter.

  “No, we certainly couldn’t,” Rey murmurs, looking me up and down, his gaze catching on my collar. “May I?”

  “Be my guest.”

  Rey picks up the tag and turns it over, his thumb tracing over the engraving. His expression is unreadable, and I want to ask what he’s thinking. Is he proud of me? Happy for me? Displeased? But when his eyes meet mine, he must be able to tell how thrilled I am.

  “Very nice.” He smiles and gives the tag a tug.

  “Why don’t you present for our guest, baby?”

  Oh, shit. I can’t stop the turn of my head, and Hunter tsks at me. “That’s ten. Do it now or you’ll get ten more.”

  My lips part, and I look to Rey.

  “That’s twenty. Don’t look at him. Look at me. You belong to me.”

  So that’s what this is about. A pissing contest. A power play. Guilt tears at me. Though I know I’m going to get punished for it, my eyes slide to Rey’s again. The set of his expression is hard, but his eyes are not. I want something from him, some sign this is okay, but even if he wanted to, he couldn’t give me anything. Not without making this worse.

  “That’s thirty. You’re going to give our guests quite the show.”

  I turn my back on Rey and clench handfuls of skirt, drawing it over my behind as I bend over to keep the fabric from falling back. Hunter holds out a single finger in front of me. I know his commands well enough by now that I stretch to touch my nose to the tip. When I have, I grasp the sides of my underwear and pull them down, exposing my ass and the plug buried inside to anyone who happens to be looking. And to my ever-loving mortification, I’m sure a lot of people are.

  “Should I administer her punishment, or would you like to? For old times’ sake?”

  I can’t decide how I feel about this. Part of me is pissed that I’m being used as a pawn in their game. But another part of me is ecstatic. I mean enough to both of these men that they’re fighting over me. I’ve never really been made to feel like I was worth much, so this is intoxicating. That could also be the blood rushing into my head from being bent over that’s talking.

  “It’s your party, Vaughn. And your prize. I’m happy to watch.”

  That’s the second thing Rey’s ceded. Though it must make him want to rip Hunter’s face off, I know he’s doing it for me. A sick sort of bliss swells my chest. Rey loves me enough to back down, and Hunter loves me enough to fight for me, though his animosity toward Rey is somewhat misguided.

  Hunter steps in close and grabs my hip, trapping me against his side. And then my punishment starts. I’m glad he’s only spanking me, not using his belt. This I can stay still for and not embarrass myself or him. I count out loud as the blows rain down and the blood gathers in my face from both gravity and embarrassment. When he’s finished, he replaces my underwear and helps me stand slowly, anchoring me when I sway, and smoothing my skirt over my smarting ass.

  “Nicely done, baby. You may have some time alone with your friend in the library if you’d like.”

  Sometimes I think Hunter forgets that I don’t cease to exist when I’m not with him. I see Rey all the time at school. But I won’t refuse the chance to be with Rey now, especially after that little performance. “Thank you, sir.”

  A few minutes later, I’m sitting on Rey’s lap on the self-same couch from my second visit here.

  “You look lovely, India. Submission suits you. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so radiant. He’s hard on you, yes? But I think you like the challenge.”

  “Yes, sir.” I do. If something’s worth having, it’s worth working for. “But I—”

  “Don’t apologize for him. I know what he’s doing, and frankly I don’t blame him. I’m just glad he hasn’t asked to brand you.”

  The thought makes me gag, and Rey laughs while rubbing my bare back. His broad hand and its confident, consistent strokes are such a comfort.

  “Don’t worry, little one. He’s not going to. That’s too rustic for Hunter’s tastes. But I hope you understand this is his way of saying he’s head-over-heels for you. I’ve never seen him in such a state over anyone. So well done, you. Bet he feels like a big man for snapping you up so quickly. Decisiveness can cut both ways and this time it won him the trophy.”

  Chapter Ten

  ‡

  Year Two

  My hands are shaking with adrenaline so it takes me longer than usual to throw my things into my bag. That was fun, and I’ve got the kind of high particular to a really good argument. I feel good, energized, ready to take on the world. I usually enjoy my welfare state class, but this feeling goes beyond enjoyment. Am I the only one who enjoys these academic throwdowns so much?

  It’s not often that I get to go head-to-head with someone who actually seems capable of besting me. Well, maybe not. But closer than anyone usually gets. I want to thank Jamie because he’s one of the few people here who offers me a decent challenge, but by the time I pack up my notebook and take down the homework assignment from the board, he’s gone. No matter, I’ll see him next class.

  The hall is crowded with students passing between classes, but I barely notice. I can’t wait to tell Hunter about this on Friday. Unlike my mother, he delights in hearing about my academic triumphs. Or is at least entertained by my stories. Maybe I’ll call him later.

  I head toward the back door of the building where it’s quieter and find Jamie standing to the side of it, red-faced with arms crossed. He must just be worked up from our debate so I offer him a smile and a
wave as I walk by.

  “See you Fri—”

  That’s when he grabs my wrist. And twists.

  “How dare you, you fucking cunt.”

  The pain in my arm and the shock of his words are a one-two punch. I try to pull away, but he holds me fast. “What the hell, Jamie? Let go.”

  “Was that fun for you? Embarrassing me like that in front of all those people?”

  The sharp burning in my joint tells me it’s probably not a good idea to admit that, yeah, it had been fun. But not because I’d embarrassed him. Humiliation on either side isn’t my kink. It had been a rush, a thrill. Like mental gymnastics, it had my blood pumping through my veins, spurring my thoughts faster, harder. “We were having a debate. I argued with you.”

  “Well, next time, don’t. Just keep your bitchy face shut.”

  After a last twist to my wrist that makes me yelp, he pushes out the heavy door. My eyes water and I stand there, stupid and sniffling. I haven’t felt that discomfited since Tobias grabbed me on that first night at Hunter’s. The yearning for Hunter overwhelms me. I want him to take me in his lap, kiss me where it hurts, and then beat and fuck me until I forget everything that isn’t him.

  But I’ve got a big paper due for my mid-term on Friday and I don’t have time to go to him. Also, I’m a big girl and I shouldn’t let some smarmy dickless fuck scare me. So I try to shake it off. I put my shoulder into the same door, pushing it open to the bright sunshine of the day.

  I’m still buzzing, half-exhilarated and half-terrified. I can’t call Hunter, though; he’ll flip his shit. So I pull my phone out of my bag and find my other favorite contact. He picks up after the first ring.

  “Hey, Rapunzel.”

  “What?”

  “You’re done for the day, right? Time to let down your hair?”

  I roll my eyes but laugh, too. Calling Rey was a good idea. Maybe better than calling Hunter would’ve been. “Yeah.”

  “That yeah isn’t fooling me. What’s going on?”

  *

  My boots tromp heavily down the carpeted hallway. I didn’t sleep well last night. I’d tossed and turned, rubbed my wrist where it was swollen and red. It hadn’t been that big of a deal, but thinking of it now, the shakiness remains.

  My wrist still hurts, so I use my other hand to turn the knob of my dorm room. When I step over the threshold, I stop in my tracks.

  “Baby.”

  Hunter is standing by my desk, elegant fingers tracing the spine of my Complete Works of Shakespeare.

  I close the door quickly and try to figure out what to do. Hunter never comes to school, though he’s had a key to my room since we signed our contract. If I forget something at his house, Ben drops it off. Ben is the one who comes to pick me up. Hunter’s never been in my room before, and the collision of my worlds sends my brain sloshing around my skull as if there’s been a physical impact. It’s that uncertainty that makes me drop to my knees. I need him to give me direction.

  “Is this what you look like when you’re not with me?”

  Though my eyes are focused on the ground, I can imagine the look on his face: the arch of his brow, the slight disapproving purse of his lips. Shame burns in my chest.

  “Yes, sir.”

  There’s a low noise of displeasure in his throat. “Perhaps we should do something about that.”

  I close my eyes tight and try to wish that vaguely nauseated feeling away. “Yes, sir.”

  I’ll miss my jeans and hoodies, but not more than I’ll feel good anytime I slip into a pretty dress or tug a skirt up my legs. It will remind me that I’m pleasing Hunter, and that’s the best feeling in the world. Maybe he’ll order me to send him pictures of what I’m wearing every day. The thought makes blood pool in my core, making my breasts feel confined in my bra and my pelvis heavy.

  Maybe he’s thinking about it, too, because he’s silent for a couple of minutes, leaving me uncertain and grasping at straws. Tell me how to please you and I’ll do it. But finally he clears his throat.

  “That’s not why I came here.”

  I hadn’t thought so.

  “Come here, sweetheart. On your feet.”

  I spend so much time on my knees with Hunter that I’m like a baby giraffe when I walk to him. I want to be back on my knees where I know how to move sinuously, provocatively, in a way that pleases him, but that’s not what he’s asked for. When I reach him, I stand with my hands clasped behind my back and my gaze still cast down.

  “Give me your hand.”

  I hold one out to him, and he takes it, turning it over so my palm faces up. Before I can react, the wooden ruler I keep on my desk is coming down across my palm. The sensation startles me, but it doesn’t hurt. Much. Not compared to other things I’ve become intimately familiar with over the past two years.

  “The other one. Stop thwarting me.”

  Thwarting him? Not on purpose. I would never—

  My dropped hand stings from the strike of the ruler, but he’s cradling the other like a baby bird with a broken wing.

  “Look what he did to you,” he murmurs, stroking thumbs along the pale bruises Jamie left. I know I shouldn’t because I don’t have permission, but I can’t help looking up. Hunter’s expression is two parts pained, one part livid. The ferocious protectiveness slays me. Never mind he leaves worse marks almost every time I see him. Disregard the fact that I suspect that ruler is going to be landing somewhere other than my palm before this is over.

  “I’m okay, sir.”

  “You’re not.” Hunter’s eyes meet mine and they shine with wrath. “He hurt you and he’ll be dealt with accordingly. In the meantime, you’re coming with me.”

  He glances at my outfit again, his expression dulled by censure. “We’ll get you dressed in something acceptable first, and then we’ll go. Ben’s waiting with the car.”

  “But—”

  “There aren’t any buts about this, India. Do as you’re told.”

  Part of me takes affront. Back it up, yo. But sass and stubbornness aren’t the way to handle this. They never are with Hunter.

  “I have class, sir.”

  “Then make your excuses to your professor. You’ll have a doctor’s note.”

  Now that is just too far. “Hunter—”

  “Don’t you dare ‘Hunter’ me right now. That little shit hurt you. Your wrist could be sprained or broken, and I know you haven’t done anything about it. You’re coming with me. I take care of what’s mine. I protect what’s mine. You are mine. So unless you’re prepared to safe out, you’re getting changed into something that reflects that and you’re coming with me. I will be the judge of whether you’re fine.”

  I could argue with him or say the word, but there’s a part of me clawing at my rational mind, begging to please let Hunter take care of me. He was the first person I’d wanted when I was hurt, and now he’s here, a wish come true. I want to surrender to his overprotective impulses, let him coddle me, and revel in his indulgence. Please. So I give in.

  “Yes, sir. But I have a midterm due tomorrow.”

  “You’ll dictate it to Ben when we get home.” He lifts my hand to his mouth and lays an open-mouthed kiss on the underside of my wrist, his tongue stroking the bruises. “Now let’s get you dressed.”

  He strips me, careful to hold my sweatshirt’s elastic wristband open as he guides my sleeve off. When I’m completely naked, he orders me to bend over the bed.

  I’m not surprised by the first crack of the ruler and the subsequent strikes that set fire to my ass. “In the future, you will tell me immediately if you’re injured or if someone is harassing you. I shouldn’t find out from Rey. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I will. I want him to punish me for being vulnerable, for making him worry. Beat the imperfection out of me. Make me smooth, strong, and fierce. Impenetrable to anything but him.

  But I don’t just want him to hit me, make me hurt. I deserve it and I’ll take it, but I also w
ant him to promise I can be better, that he’ll help make me better. That he won’t make demands and leave me alone to figure out how to please him. I want his hands to guide me, and I pledge to be malleable like clay. For him. Only for him. Otherwise, I’ll be untouchable and face the world as he does: like I own the damn place and whatever I want is my due. Like I’m not a mere mortal.

  Teach me how, Hunter.

  He continues to berate me and beat me, the wood of the ruler making contact with every inch of my behind. When it’s red hot and glowing and he’s still not satisfied, he starts on my thighs. Those blows hurt more and my eyes water with tears of pain at the same time my heart swells. This is how upset he is. Someone hurting me made him this crazy. I can’t say I’m wild about the form his protectiveness is taking, but the sentiment is making me gooey and supple inside. I would do anything for him.

  So when he orders me onto my back on the bed with my knees bent and my feet spread as wide as the twin mattress will allow, I don’t hesitate. I only whimper and clench my hands in my duvet when he takes the ruler to the inside of my thighs. When my whole bottom half is throbbing, he touches me. The contact of his skin with mine makes my back arch and I sigh. He presses my knees further out from where they’d drifted together and holds up the ruler. “This will stop when you come.”

  And then he hits me—a sharp, stinging swat right over my clit. I barely have time to react when he hits me again. And again. I want to tell him to stop, that it hurts, that I’m never going to be able to get off from this. But the gathering heat inside swamps the thought. How does he know?

  It’s half a dozen more spanks before I’m begging and pleading to please, please, be allowed to come. But he says no and keeps at me, knowing I can’t hold out forever. Inevitably, my body betrays me. All my muscles contract and my orgasm rips through me on next contact.

  My head is flooded by emotion: shame at disappointing him, lightness from my climax, pleasure from how focused he’s been on me, guilt that he must have left work for this. He’s scattered me like leaves in the wind, a swirl of brightly colored feelings I need him to take a rake to. Scrape and sort them into piles and then shove them into bags to be hauled away, leaving my head orderly.