“Allie, this is India, Cris, Constance, and Glory.”
He holds out a hand and shakes their hands, dropping nods and mumbling greetings to everyone. His jaw flexes as his eyes flick to meet their gazes. He’s noticeably taller, bigger than anyone else here, even Cris, but his posture is apologetic. I don’t want him to apologize. I want him to be proud because he’s glorious. Wonderful. It’s difficult for him because this is the first time he’s had people look at him and know what he is, because he’s with me. I don’t want him to resent me, and I don’t want him to be ashamed.
Everyone here will recognize how strong he must be and not because of his size. They all know what it is to submit, to hand yourself over to someone else, and though they’ve mostly seen me be benevolent, everyone but Cris has seen what I can demand when I’m in the right mood. It is not for the faint of heart. I lay my hand on the small of his back and urge him a step forward because he doesn’t need to shrink or be afraid. The way his muscles shift under my hand as he obeys my gentle prodding is a thing of beauty.
“They know,” I say low in his ear so he’s the only one privy to my words. “They know, and they have nothing but the utmost respect for what I put you through. Chin up, Hart, because you are nothing short of magnificent.”
He stiffens momentarily, but then the words sink in and he stands taller at the same time his shoulders drop. The glow inside me intensifies because he truly is a gift. One I’ll wrap back up carefully, diligently, when he’s ready to move on, because I’ll make sure he goes to someone who deserves him.
Introductions complete, we find our seats at the table and none too soon. There’s a knock on the door and a waiter comes in bearing a tray of drinks. It was perhaps presumptuous of me, but I’ve ordered ahead. For everyone. Constance indulges me because we’re friends, and I doubt Cris will care as long as the food is good. It’ll be delicious because I wouldn’t bring him somewhere it would be anything but. When the drinks have been passed out and the waiter’s bowed out, I propose a toast.
“To all of us. May the coming year bring your preferred engrossments of pain and pleasure, deprivation and decadence. I’m grateful to have you all in my life.”
The urge to palm Allie’s crotch through his pants strikes, but I resist. There’s a moment for unabashed groping, but this isn’t it. I won’t make him feel cheap, used. Not now. Later is a different matter.
*
A garbled cry rings out in the dungeon, and I smile. It’s a fantastic sound.
Constance has Glory strung up against a post and is drawing her arm back to lay down another whip strike. The cane used to be Constance’s favorite, but in the past couple of years, she’s developed a taste for the singletail and I approve. Glory does, as well. Her fingers are digging into the wood of the post, clutching as she presses her forehead into the vertical beam, her wrists wrapped in lined leather cuffs.
I love to watch the two of them play. It’s enjoyable because I know them so well—their style, their tolerances—so I can dial back the laser focus I can’t shut off normally. Sit back, relax, and enjoy the show.
Another gasping cry as Constance lays a welt across Glory’s back. The pitch is different this time, though not particularly distressed. Constance steps forward, lays a hand on Glory’s hip. “Can you take three more?”
“Yes, mistress.”
“Would you take more than that?”
“For you, mistress, anything.”
They’re pretty words, those. She’d do it, too. She’d let Constance whip her raw, and Constance would work her up so skillfully I bet Glory would beg for more. I’d like to see that. But this kind of play is relatively new for them, and Constance won’t take the chance. She’ll hold herself back, and I like her all the more for it. Glory’s got to get on a plane in a few days, and while some discomfort—knowing she’s suffering for Constance’s pleasure—would please them both, there’s such a thing as restraint.
“Just three, love. I want you to ask for them, though. Beg me.”
“Please, mistress, please. I want your stripes on my back. I would bleed for you. Please, hurt me.”
Glory could medal in pleading, and though it’s not particularly my kink, it’s still damn fun to watch. It’s pretty clear the pain’s passed the point of enjoyment for Glory, and yet she’s still begging for more. For Constance. The sacrifice is absolutely mouthwatering. If I didn’t think Glory was approaching her edge, I’d like to watch it all day. It’s a flavor of pleasure I don’t get to indulge in as often as I’d like, my favorite form of voyeurism. It’s possible I should play more, work less, but the guilt might eat me alive. They need you, Rey. Don’t let them down.
Allie’s sitting on the couch next to me, as absorbed in the scene as I’ve been. I doubt he’s ever seen anything like this. Our thighs and shoulders are pressed against each other, so I’ve been able to feel every shift, every squirm while he’s watched. I’ve darted surreptitious glances at him, though he’s been so absorbed I don’t think he would’ve noticed if I’d been staring the whole time.
Constance has finished up the lashes, and as she removes Glory’s bondage, I nudge Allie. “What’d you think?” His pupils are dilated, and he looks dazed. A little high. Smugness wells inside of me. “Envious?”
“Yeah.”
His answer is short, distracted, as his gaze is dragged back to the happy couple.
“Of which one of them?”
“Both.”
I’d been teasing, certain in his answer, and I hate the cold frisson of doubt that runs through me. A switch? And I missed it? Though I guess I haven’t had the opportunity to see him with someone he might top since we’ve only been together. I’d been so confident. Embarrassingly so.
“Why’s that?” My tone is light, but inside I’m scrambling. No, it’s okay. Just something to keep in mind for the future. I’ll have to find him another switch or someone who won’t mind if he plays with other people. I should start coaching him from the top’s perspective too. How could I have—
“I mean, look at them. I didn’t know…it could look like that. Is that what we look like? I mean, I know I’m not as good as Glory. I can’t believe a little thing like her can take so much. Is it, though? At least a little?”
He’s turned back to me, his face arranged in hope. Tell me I please you. I think of the ecstasy on Glory’s face, the excitement and lust on Constance’s, the blatant love and adoration in how they’re looking at each other now that Constance is lifting the limp and replete noodle of her partner into her arms while she coos words of praise.
More than you know, Allie.
“Yes. Aside from the obvious differences. I could show you sometime if you’d like.”
“How?” His eyes are bright with anticipation, and I’d like to grab him by the back of his neck, drag him over to the post, and show him right now.
“A mirror. Video. Do either one of those appeal to you?”
The bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows gets me half-hard. “Mirror. I know you wouldn’t…” Show anyone. I wouldn’t. “But I—”
“I’m not offended.” I’m not the biggest fan of records myself. Though the idea of being able to watch Allie on film whenever the mood struck me… Screw that. I’d never get anything else done. “We can do that sometime. And if you’d like to top someone, say the word. I’ll find you a suitable partner.”
My throat closed around the words, but they come out as though I’d offered him a glass of water. I should. Watching is its own kind of exertion, and if I’d like to play with him after everyone goes, I should keep him hydrated and comfortable.
A wrinkle forms between his brows, and the corners of his wide mouth turn down. “Top someone?”
“You said you envied them both.”
“Oh. No.” He shakes his head, and the frown turns into an abashed smile. “Because they looked happy. But if I could have traded places with one of them?”
He licks his thick lips, and I want to suck t
he sheen of moisture right off of them and not stop there. Devour is not a strong enough word for the way I want to consume him at this moment.
“Constance can hold onto her whip.”
The relief that courses through me might be more disconcerting than the panic I felt earlier. He’s not yours. You can groom him, teach him, but then you’ve got to send him on his way, into someone else’s arms. You don’t get to play for keeps.
“Don’t say that too loudly. She might take you up on it.”
His eyes bug, and I smile so he knows I’m kidding. There’s no way Constance has energy for that right now, nor would she let anyone else handle Glory’s aftercare. Not after a scene that intense. Nor would she whip someone she’s only just met. She’d want to know Allie far better before she tried.
Allie’s response is a short nervous laugh, and he tries to distract me with a lift of his chin. “What about them?”
Cris and India have been occupying themselves in the corner of the dungeon dedicated to rope. He’s had her up in a couple of suspensions on one of the rigs, but mostly it hasn’t been for show. Just practice. Though I’d like to see them play hard, this is good for them. Particularly for Cris, and I’m proud of India.
Suspension’s not her favorite and she’s somewhat lacking in patience, but she’s been beautifully obedient all night long as Cris has arranged her in pose after pose, tie after tie. Sure, she finds pleasure in being bound, but not enough to last through the hours they’ve been at this. She’s being generous and giving him what he needs without a struggle. With serenity and grace, actually.
I’m so fucking proud of her. I’ve never seen her be so unstinting with anyone except me. Hunter too, of course.
There’s that unnerving guilt. After all these years. The extent to which I failed her—
Shake it off. She’s with someone safe now, someone who’d never do that to her, and you helped her find that too.
“What about them?”
“They look happy too.”
“They are.” I’d thought the baby thing would’ve turned their world upside down, but they’ve handled it beautifully. Agreed to table the idea for six months and then have a serious discussion. I suspect Cris would be an exceptional father and they’d have beautiful babies, but India… We’ll have to wait and see.
“And you’re not mad?”
“Why would I be mad?” I lay a hand on his thigh and stroke.
“Because you’d rather be playing than sitting here? Wouldn’t you?”
“If we played whenever I wanted to, I’d never do anything else. It’s good for my self-control to not always get what I want. If you said you’d changed your mind and you’d desperately like me to strap you to the St. Andrew’s cross and take a paddle to your ass, I’d happily oblige, but I’m perfectly content sitting here with you. You’re a delight to watch, and I’ll have my fun some other time.”
What I don’t say is this is a pleasure I’m afforded far less often than the gratification kink brings, and I want to soak in it for a bit longer.
Chapter Eighteen
‡
I’ve been awfully busy for the past several weeks, including a visit from my mother during which I kept her busy enough she didn’t demand to meet Hart. Small miracle, that, because the woman’s a barracuda. Between that and work, I haven’t been paying enough attention to Hart, so tonight I’ve decided to treat him. And to be honest, myself. Elouisa throws the best damn parties.
The valet opens my door and takes the key. As he drives the Tesla off, I take Hart’s hand and lead him up the steps to the house. I haven’t told him a damn thing about this party, aside from that he should wear whatever he feels most comfortable in. I was pleased when I picked him up at Kendra’s and he’d taken me at my word, opening the door in sneakers, jeans, a T-shirt that clings deliciously to his pecs and his biceps, and a trilby. Goddamn, can that man wear a hat. Will seeing him ever cease to give my system a jolt? Like, Hey, this is why you’re alive. This is what you were built for.
That is so completely unhealthy.
Regardless, we’re here and I intend to show him a good time. A very, very good time.
There’s a woman at the door in a retro dress that shows off her substantial curves, her hair carefully arranged into a fifties confection. She’s taking names, and she smiles as I give her mine. “Welcome, Mr. Walter. Have a lovely evening.”
“Thank you, Ashleigh. I intend to.”
I tug Hart over the threshold, and as soon as we enter, I take a deep breath and look around. Elouisa’s outdone herself. The caterers are moving about in fifties and sixties clothing, and her palatial house is done out in Las Vegas Rat Pack glory.
I like that she does these themes. I like even better that she doesn’t impose them on her guests.
A woman in a fifties housewife’s dress—fitted bodice, cap sleeves, full skirt—comes by, bearing a tray heavy with Tom Collinses, and I notice Allie dart a glance my way.
“Drink whatever you like. We’re not playing hard tonight, if at all. I promise not to take advantage of you.”
Disappointment dulls his face for a moment, but he takes a drink off the tray and sips, as do I. Delicious.
“So if this isn’t a play party, what is it?”
“It’s a different kind of play party. You’ll like it.”
“Yes, sir,” he murmurs in between sips.
“Elouisa’s what I’d call a sensualist. Nothing delights her more than pleasure. Of all sorts. She’s dedicated herself to hedonism in a pretty serious way. If there’s a way to enjoy yourself, she’s tried it.”
Elouisa and I have a great deal in common. We’re both connoisseurs of pleasure, though for our own reasons. She was in a joyless, sexless, and frankly, abusive marriage for too long before her husband died and left her with piles of money. She figured she’d paid her dues in terms of misery, and it was time to enjoy. So she does. Food, drink, sex, exposure to and consumption of all kinds of art. She may be the world’s foremost expert on how to enjoy one’s self.
For a while, I’d binged on hedonism, stuffing myself as full as I thought I could get while at the same time stretching myself too thin with drinking, drugs, sex, kink. Anything I could get my hands on that would make me feel something. That might have been the worst year of my life. Living in a more tightly controlled way is so much more satisfying. Sure, I take my pleasure where I can, but I mete it out, not gorging on it like some glutton hell-bent on destroying myself with vice.
There are heaps of food spread out on tables, well-stocked bars. Out by the pool and the biggest hot tub I’ve ever seen, many guests have stripped down and are cavorting naked. It’s a modern-day orgy, and it’s fun to watch. Beside me, Hart seems a bit bewildered by the couples and ménages taking place on lounge chairs, in cabanas, pretty much everywhere.
I nudge him with an elbow and lean in so he’ll be able to hear me over the music. “Don’t worry, they’re using protection.”
When he turns, a quizzical expression imprinted on his face that says clearly as if that’s what I was worried about, I gesture with my chin to a giant bowl of condoms and other sexual favors gracing a low coffee table that people are grabbing by the handful before finding the nearest surface to fuck against.
“That’s crazy,” he mutters, shaking his head.
“You don’t approve?” My Allie can be a bit of a prude. That’s part of what makes him so much fun when I can loosen him up. It’s what made me so thrilled when he started to be brave enough to ask me to try things.
Since his first flogging, he’s asked about more impact toys, things he’s picked during trips to my dungeon. A paddle, a tawse. He’d shied away from the dragon tongues, delrin birches, and carpet beater loops, but had fingered the leather belts in a way that made my breath catch. Possibly made me get hard when I’d asked if he’d like to try one sometime and he said yes.
A prize isn’t any fun if it didn’t take any effort to earn it but I have. And my prize em
barrasses beautifully.
I used to be disappointed I couldn’t readily see him blush, but as I’ve gotten to know him better, I’ve realized he blushes with his whole body: awkward smile, angled duck of his head, a slight purse of his lips, tightening of his shoulders. That’s how he blushes for those who can coax it out of him.
“I know you do this every weekend, but you’ve got to give me a chance to get used to it, okay?”
I rest my hand at precisely the point where his ass starts to curve out, enjoying the flex of it as I steer him back into the house. “You think I go out without you?”
Truth is, I spend most of my weekends working because that’s when a lot of my clients are free. I suppose he wouldn’t know that.
“Don’t you?”
“Some,” I hedge, not wanting to say rarely. Almost never these days, come to think of it. It’s more fun going out with Allie. “Don’t you go out without me?”
“Of course.”
I assumed he did, though it’s easier for me, knowing he’s likely not getting what he gets from me from other people. I mean, what do I care if he’s out at clubs, flirting with other guys, maybe bringing them home? Would he suck them off? Or is he still keeping up the pretense he doesn’t enjoy bottoming? That such a virile, masculine man prefers to suck cock and get fucked as opposed to being on the other side? Bring on the eye roll if I haven’t made him believe that’s ridiculous. If he’s at ease enough with himself to get that from someone else, I should be pleased. It means I’ve done my job, and that should make me happy.
We’ll ignore the part of me that’s experiencing jealousy. Maybe a smidgeon of resentfulness. Mostly it’s protectiveness. He’s not ready yet. Because if he were, I wouldn’t be feeling this way.
I wouldn’t.
We wend our way through the house, Allie trying to keep the walking-through-Wonderland look off his face, although he’s not successful. The man’s been around live ammunition and a sickening amount of violence, and I bet he didn’t flinch. Take him on a tour of debauchery? He gets all jumpy. Lucky for him and his puritanical little heart, though, I know one of Elouisa’s favorite hobbies and he’s going to like this one too.
The Cartographer (The Compass series Book 6) Page 17
