True North (Compass series Book 4)

by Tamsen Parker

  “Fair,” I mutter under my breath as I survey my choices. There are half a dozen of them altogether, and the doors don’t give anything away. Because they’re doors.

  “One little hint, if I may?”

  Oh, he’s all solicitousness now, is he? “Please.”

  “I might save the one at the end for last. Just a thought.”

  I’m half-tempted to head straight for it to spite him. But he’s probably thought of that too. The Princess Bride was one of Pressly’s favorite movies, and she must have made me watch it a hundred times. I’d like to believe I’m Westley, but I’m pretty sure I’m Vizzini in this scenario and I don’t want to end up dead.

  Instead, I head to the first door on the right and raise my own eyebrow at Rey’s smug face. Yes, yes, you got your way, arrogant bastard. “Do I knock?”

  He shrugs. “Might be polite, but no one’s going to throw you out if you don’t. You’re expected after all.”

  So I take a deep breath and raise my fist to knock on the solid wood door. I’m met by a deep and somehow familiar voice saying, “Come in.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut to try to prepare myself, but give up. And give in. This will all be okay.

  *

  Two hours later, I’m about to knock on the last door. So far I’ve been given private lessons on Florentine flogging (awesome); suspension (too fussy and stressful for me, I’ll leave the fancy stuff to Spider); caning (I was bizarrely flattered Scooter offered his body for me to practice on and, yeah, that was fun); needles (which I appreciated the gesture, but the sight of blood…there’s a reason I never even considered med school); and last but not least, the violet wand (super cool, but I enjoyed it more as a spectacle than something I’d like to regularly do).

  So what’s this going to be? Gags? Clamps? Whips? Pony play? Something I don’t even know that I don’t know about?

  I slide a glance over to Rey, but he’s not giving me any hints, of course. I could be imagining it, but there might be a slight curl at the corner of his mouth. Whether it’s because I’ve adhered to his wishes and saved this door for last or whether because he’s looking forward to what’s behind the door, I couldn’t say. Implacable, self-satisfied, infuriating man.

  As my knuckles hit the wood, I take a deep breath and prepare to be fucked with.

  The voice that answers is muffled, but I could swear…

  I open the door and look around, finding who I’m looking for lounging on a chaise. My mouth opens to say I don’t know what, because Pressly is the last person I thought I’d find in here. Not that I hadn’t hoped, but that’s what it had been: a pipe dream. I hadn’t expected her to talk to me again, never mind participate in my initiation.

  But here she is, dressed in a—for her—relatively conservative outfit and reclining prettily on a silver velvet chaise.

  The whole room’s plastered in rich purple damask wallpaper with huge gilt mirrors hanging on the wall, thick rugs gracing the dark hardwood floors. It’s beautiful, a fairy tale, and all the usual trappings of these private hideaways must be contained in the intimidating armoire in the corner or the massive trunk gracing the foot of the ornate four-poster bed.

  Press looks like she belongs here.

  An impossibly high stiletto dangles from the foot that’s draped over the side of the chaise, and the rest of her is swathed in a black silk robe. It parts in the middle of her chest to reveal a swell of her cleavage and a hint of what I’m hoping is one of those gorgeous corsets she seems to have a fondness for.

  Her hair’s all done up in a way that must require ridiculous amounts of styling product and should feel like a rock, but I know when I touch it—if I’m allowed to touch it—it’ll be soft. Because Press is good at stuff like that.

  Her eyes are surrounded by black and silver, and her mouth is a soft shade of pink. She looks amazing.

  My blatant gawking is interrupted by Rey nudging my shoulder. “She’s been waiting for you.”

  “Waiting?” You know what would be awesome? If I could locate some words in my head he didn’t supply me with first. Get your shit together, Lewis.

  “Yes. Sitting here for hours, waiting for you.”

  Normally I don’t think anything of keeping people waiting. Unless it’s someone who outranks me, that’s what they’re supposed to do. I’m a busy and important man, and more junior people have got to respect that. They stand when I tell them to stand, and when I say jump, they ask how high. It’s just how things are, and while I can’t deny that I enjoy the thought of someone like India Burke sitting there, getting all testy because I’m so blatantly disrespecting her, this is different.

  Pressly’s been sitting here. For two hours or more. Waiting. For me. The thought zings straight from my brain to my dick, which starts to stiffen.

  Rey hasn’t bothered keeping his voice down, nor has he addressed Press directly, so I take his cue.

  “Doing what?”

  He looks at me sideways, and this time I know I’m not imagining the gratified smirk on his face. “Nothing.”

  Why is that a thing that makes me harden? I love that Press is smart, that she’s a social butterfly, that she likes to read and watch movies. Hell, I even love all the girly shit she enjoys—facials and manicures and god knows what else she does all day at the spa with Ma Allwyn. But the idea of sacrificing two hours of her life to be at my beck and call is delicious.

  I’m a fucking caveman.

  But Rey doesn’t seem perturbed. Point of fact, he seems to enjoy it too. And sometimes when it comes to this stuff, it’s better to substitute his judgment for my own.

  This doesn’t make me a bad person. I wouldn’t expect her to do this all the time, but even if I did, I wouldn’t force her into it against her will. No, this is a game that, judging by the flush gracing the apples of her cheeks, we both like to play. Has she been sitting on this chaise, squirming and getting wet thinking about what I might do to her when I get here? Every time she heard a door open in the hallway, heard our voices drift under the door, would she get a little bit more turned on? Did she wonder if—hope—she’d be next?

  I don’t want to ruin the game with my uncertainty, so I lean over to Rey and try to pitch my voice so it sounds like I’m plotting instead of wondering what the fuck I’m supposed to do. “Now what?”

  Her wide blue eyes blink and her lips part, and there’s the tiniest shift of her hips rustling the silk. She moistens her lips between her teeth. She feels this too.

  Rey tips his head in the same manner and doesn’t look away from her. “We’ve talked about humiliation, but you haven’t gotten much of a chance to practice. Most of the people I know who’d be willing are men, and I didn’t think that would be as fun for you. Sprite here volunteered as tribute.”

  My heart seizes. She volunteered? “Her idea or yours?”

  “When she heard what we were putting together for you, she suggested it.”

  Fuuuuck.

  She’s regarding us intently, and I can practically see the words gathering in her mouth because she’s a chatterbox and patience isn’t her strong suit. But she’s biting her tongue and waiting. For me.

  “Don’t want to disappoint her, do you?”

  “No.” That is the last thing I want to do. I’ve done it too much already.

  “Then let’s get a move on. I was going to help get things started, if you don’t mind.”

  “Please.” He’s got to know I have no fucking clue what to do with myself, but I appreciate him pretending otherwise. Even more that he’d stand against a wall and let me screw up unless I did something unsafe so I could keep my pride. Fuck pride, I want this to be good and I’m happy to learn from the master.

  I don’t know if humiliation is Rey’s thing. I mean, I saw him with Matthew, but while he was really fucking good, he didn’t seem particularly enflamed by it. Maybe he’s always that composed, but I doubt it. However cool he appears to be most of the time, I’ve seen a few bursts of passion. Mostly when he’
s telling me not to be an asshole. Someone’s got to know how to elicit that level of response, but with pleasure instead of protectiveness.

  Or perhaps it’s part of his professional deportment. Truth be told, he’s never given me any indication whatsoever about what he enjoys or doesn’t. I expect his expertise has little to do with what he actually likes, but more a responsibility to his clients to be able to answer any outlandish questions or desires we might have.

  Actually, I can picture the phone call in my head: “I had this idea involving barbed wire and a toilet brush.” “Cool. Let me get back to you on that.” Because that’s how Rey Walter rolls. And he’s rolling now.

  He takes a step toward her, and with a look at Pressly, she’s on her feet, hands clasped behind her back.

  “I’ve got some good news for you, Sprite,” he says, staring down at her. Even in her stilettos, she’s shorter than he is, and though she’s covered to the knee by her robe, she may as well be naked in the face of our suits. “Hale’s consented to consider allowing you to serve him this evening.”

  Her face brightens, and it’s ridiculously sweet. That gets her excited?

  “However…” Her face falls while Rey’s eyebrow kicks up. “You’ll need to submit to the customary inspection first. And if you don’t meet with his approval…well, there’s an entire hallway of subs waiting to fulfill his needs.”

  A slight movement makes me think she’s wringing her hands behind her back, and she stands straighter. “Of course, sir.”

  I want to tell him to hell with whatever this ridiculous inspection might consist of because there’s no way she’s not going to pass, but there’s a reason he’s doing this and I should let him. I might learn a thing or a million.

  “Then up you get.” He gestures to a slightly raised platform in the corner that’s surrounded by an opulent three-way mirror, the kind you might find in a crazy-upscale bridal shop. Or, you know, a kink club.

  She heads over to where he’s indicated with no hesitation and without releasing her hands from behind her back. Taking a step onto the dais, she turns to face us and then looks at each of us in turn, questioning.

  “Take off your robe.” My voice is more of a croak than I’d like it to be, but Press doesn’t seem to care, just unties the sash at her waist and slips the silk from her shoulders, letting it pool on the floor.

  Her corset’s as lovely as I’d hoped. It’s not as elaborate as some of the concoctions I’m used to seeing her in, but the simplicity is attractive in itself. Light silver clings to her torso, and black lace emphasizes her breasts and her hips. As if they needed any emphasis. The lushness of her body is drool-inducing.

  She’s wearing plain black panties and black garters stretch over her thighs down to matching black lace-topped stockings. I can name the times on one hand that she’s looked more beautiful to me than this.

  “Turn,” Rey says, his tone unimpressed. He’s got one arm crossed over his body and the other one makes a small circle in the air. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was about to yawn. Press must know better too, but she blushes anyway before she turns slowly, giving us her back, the corset strings stretched prettily over the skin above her hips and up to her shoulder blades.

  “Hands in front, please.” Rey’s tone isn’t bored, but sharp with a hint of disappointment.

  “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

  And so it begins.

  “What do you think of her so far?”

  Lovely. Perfection. The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. But that’s not part of this production. I glance at Rey, and he gives me an encouraging lift of his chin.

  “Anything can look good from this far away. We’re going to need a closer look.”

  He nods approvingly. “Then, by all means, let’s take one. That’s what you’re here for, Sprite, correct? Anything we want.”

  Her swallow is visible in the reflection of the mirror. “Yes, sir.”

  Rey grunts, a sound I’d never expect from him but I don’t know why. He’s a master of disguises, and this is nothing but a role.

  We both take a few steps closer, and then we’re within arm’s reach. I don’t dare touch her, not without permission, but Rey reaches out and smacks her butt cheek, drawing a startled whimper.

  “Go on, Hale. How are you supposed to evaluate the merchandise without handling it? Do what you’ve got to do to see if she’s fit to be your fuck-toy for the evening.”

  I have permission. That’s what he’s telling me. He wouldn’t let me touch her if she hadn’t given the green light. And he’s called her a…a fuck-toy, which sends a pulse of blood straight to my cock. Apparently name-calling is on the table and a flood of demeaning words comes into my head: slut, whore, cunt. And though I’d never think those things about Pressly anywhere outside this context, to pin those labels on her here would be exceedingly hot. If I’m reading this right, Rey’s handed me another implement from the How-to-Get-Pressly-Off tool kit. It’s an enormous relief to be doing this side-by-side.

  I take his invitation and cup my palm on the other cheek, squeezing and digging my fingers into her flesh.

  “Don’t be shy,” Rey encourages, taking another whack at her. “I know what you like, and you ought to see how the little bitch colors.”

  Because that’s a thing people look for in a partner. What shade of red her ass will turn when I hit her. And yeah, name-calling is definitely on the table because she closes her eyes and lets out a moan when he does it. I may as well be in fucking Narnia for how weird this all is. My first swat at her is hesitant, and I curse under my breath. Have to do better than that.

  So I draw my hand back and try again, my palm landing against the sweet curve of her ass with a resounding thwack. I’m rewarded by a startled squeal. Better. Much better.

  We go at her for a few minutes, working her over with blow after blow, covering her skin with our big hands, turning her skin first rosy and then pink. Rey’s participation drops off after a bit, and I take over the whole enterprise, covering her ass with spanks, varying the speed and pressure, keeping her off-balance at the same time as I try to work her up steadily. There’s a science to these things.

  When her whole butt is a satisfying shade of almost-red, I stop because this isn’t the main event. It’s a sampling, a tease of what’s to come.

  “What do you think, Hale? Satisfied?”

  “Not yet.” Skimming my hand over the hot-to-the-touch skin, I pinch in a few places and it makes her squirm.

  Press can’t see Rey’s face, but I can. He gives me an encouraging nod, as if to say, What else do you want from her? Take it.

  Chapter Twelve

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  “On your knees.”

  She sinks gracefully to the floor, sits back on her heels, and spreads her knees, laying her hands on her thighs. So pretty. Jealousy flares at the back of my brain because someone taught her to do that. Maybe it was Rey. That would be fine. And if it wasn’t, that’s not my business.

  Rey turns away and heads to the armoire for god-knows-what, and while he does, I skim my fingertips over Pressly’s shoulders, making her shiver with the light, intimate touch. Back and forth I drag my fingertips, enjoying the smooth, silky feel of her. I could touch her like this for hours, but Rey’s got other plans.

  He clears his throat, and when I look up, he hands me a crop. Fun.

  “Thought you might find this of use.”

  Huh. I can definitely think of some uses for it, and if he’s giving it to me, he must know something I don’t. Maybe she likes this. I take the braided leather handle, slipping my wrist through the loop at the end and weighing it in my hand, making sure Press can see me handling it in the mirror.

  Her blue eyes get gratifyingly wide as she stares at me finding its balance and getting a comfortable grip. Giving myself some time to make a plan and torment her at the same time.

  I trace the same plane of skin I’d been caressing, and when I do, she tips her head, offering me her
neck. Whether her movement was conscious or not, I take advantage, stroking the tip over the delicate skin. She shivers, and goose bumps rise on her arms, the downy hair standing on end as a tremor runs through her whole body.

  Her eyes close and her pink lips part. While it’s sexy as fuck, I want her watching this, aware of being evaluated. So I take away the gentle touch and snap at her. “Head up, eyes open. I want you to see what I’m doing to you.”

  Her body, which had gone soft and pliant, stiffens immediately, head jerking upright and eyes flying open, meeting my gaze in the mirror. I try to make my face form the hard lines of calculation, though I’m finding her anything but lacking.

  I trace the crop around her collarbone and her throat, using it to nudge her chin higher, her neck forming a graceful arc. “Better. Stay there.”

  She swallows in acknowledgement, and I continue my tour with the crop, drawing the keeper along the line of the corset and over the swell of her breasts. They’re heaving with accentuated breath, and I suddenly want to see them quite badly.

  And since I’ve been given permission—That’s what you’re here for, Sprite, correct? Anything we want—I don’t ask but just do. I push the silk and lace down until first one and then the other breast spill out and then get pushed up by the fabric bunching underneath them. Her nipples are pink and already hard, tempting points I’d like to take into my mouth, but I use the crop instead, that maddeningly light touch making her shiver again as I trace the areolae and then draw back for two flicks of my wrist, landing a strike against each stiff peak. She bites her lip to keep from crying out even as her back arches forward, offering herself up for more.

  I give it to her, and this time the teeth sinking into her bottom lip do nothing to contain the gasps and yelps. I stop the blows without warning, returning to a gentle stroking, but her hips continue to rock forward.

  “Horny little thing, isn’t she? Getting all slutty from a little bit of spanking and nipple play?”