Uncharted Territory (The Compass Series Book 3) (15 page)

“Your bed, sir.”

If I get to sleep in Hunter’s bed, it’s because I’ve pleased him very much and that feeling would be reason enough. But with the incredibly fine linens and the hard heat of his body next to mine—it’s one of the few places he doesn’t wear clothes—it’s as close to heaven as I’m ever likely to get.

There’s a brief pulse of tightness at the juncture of his jaw, but he nods, crisp and brief. “Come along, then.”

He takes my hand, and I follow behind him up the elegantly curving staircase. What is going on? When we get into his bedroom, Hunter shuts the door and steers me to the foot of his bed. He starts to take off my clothes, folding each piece and laying them on a bureau. He strips me down to nothing, and I’m as confused as ever. Especially when he takes off his suit coat and his tie, unbuttons the top button of his shirt and climbs onto the bed, sitting against the headboard.

“Up here with me.”

I climb onto the bed, and when he pats his lap, I do as I’m bid and settle over him. He draws my head to his shoulder and strokes my neck.

“We need to talk.”

Those have got to be the four worst words in the English language. I stiffen in response. He grips my neck firmly and shushes me, though I wasn’t making any noise. Maybe the tension radiating off my body was so intense he could hear it.
If you were going to break up with me, you could’ve at least left my hair.

“Despite my best efforts, it turns out that I’m not actually infallible. I knew you’d be upset about your hair, but I thought…”

No
.
Don’t admit that you’re not perfect.
I need him to be perfect. Because if he is, maybe I have a chance in hell of being perfect, too. Especially if he molds me, shapes me, wrecks me before building me back up, better than ever.

“This isn’t what I had in mind. You’ve been distant and absent all week and it’s going to stop now. You can do whatever you need to. Scream or cry or indulge in other hysterics. You can speak with me frankly, within reason, and you won’t be punished for it. This is your opportunity to get it all out because I won’t have a ghost haunting my house anymore. I want my India back, and you know one way or another, I always get what I want.”

“Yes, sir.” I curl up smaller, closer, and press my cheek to his shoulder as he pets me. After a few minutes, I work up the nerve to speak. “Do you at least like it this way?”

“Your hair?” His fingers stroke at my nape, where the vestiges of my hair narrow into a point. My eyes water. “You’re a beautiful creature. I could shave your head, dress you in burlap, smudge you with soot, and you’d still be the prettiest thing in almost any room. Is that what you’re worried about? That I won’t be attracted to you anymore?”

His amorous attentions over the past week should have been enough to convince me that shouldn’t be a concern. If anything, he’s been more ardent, not less. “No, sir. I mean, yes, I want for you to find me attractive, of course I do, but I…I guess I just want to know if it was worth it.”

“You need to explain, baby. I don’t understand.”

“I think it could be worth it, how much it hurts, if I knew…” If I knew what? What could possibly be enough in exchange for how miserable I’ve been for the past week? For how disconnected my head and my body are, like my thoughts are just knocking around some empty shell. But is that really what I need? Something from him? Or does it have to come from inside myself? If that’s true, what the hell am I doing here? Has this whole thing been a lie?

“If my pleasure outweighed your misery?”

His voice is pitched in a way that’s the entitled amusement I love. Like he’s letting me cheat off his test, crib his notes from a class I missed. This is the right answer, and he’s giving it to me.

“Yes, sir.”

“If that’s true, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

He digs the fingers of one hand into my hair, barely makes a fist, and pulls until I’m laying back in his other arm, cradled and restrained. “Nothing’s ever pleased me so much. Do you understand?”

My lips part and my eyes go wide because the sincerity in his expression is so intense. Everything about him is intense, including a growing hardness at my hip. “Yes, sir.”

“I know it was upsetting for you. I know it still is. But every time I look at you, all I can see is the gift you gave me. The gift of obedience, of submission. You look more beautiful to me than you ever have because I know what you gave up. For me. If you want to mourn the loss of your hair, I’d understand. But that’s not where your value lies for me. It lies in this.”

He wrenches his hand and the answering yank on my scalp makes me gasp before I go soft and pliant, my breasts and pelvis getting that familiar heavy, needy feeling. My blood beckons him to the places I’d like to be touched. I blink up at him in silence, wanting to leave these horrible feelings behind.

“I’ll have Rey take it out of our contract if you’d like.”

My first thought is that it’s done, what the fuck does it matter? He’s already taken it from me, so what the fuck do I care? He’s marked it off on his checklist of What Else Will She Give Me and taking it back would be a formality. But as always, I’m overwhelmed by my desperate need to please him. “No. Don’t. Please. You can have it.”

His smile, laced with triumph, spreads over his face, and I feel a pulse of power. I have the power to say yes or no. I’ve said yes, and some of my agency is restored. He can’t take that from me.

“Good girl. Are you done or do you need more time?”

“I’m done, sir.”

He pins me to the bed with his fistful of my hair and leans over me, licking, sucking, and biting at my neck. I writhe underneath him, needing something in this exchange. He tsks at me before slapping my face—no, slap is too strong word. It’s a much gentler admonishment, not hard at all. The placement is meant to shock, not the strength of the blow. There’s not even any sting where his fingers connected with my cheek, but I take it to heart and still beneath him.

He releases my hair and straddles my ribcage, putting enough weight onto me that I can’t take full breaths, but not so much that I can’t breathe. I’m left feeling delightfully conquered, even with my hands free. He could crush me if he felt like it, but he doesn’t. Instead, he unzips the fly of his Italian wool trousers and takes himself in hand, stroking a few times.

I rarely get to see Hunter naked. He’s usually partially, if not fully, clothed when we play, even when we have sex. Despite being in his bed, this is proving to be no different. He leans forward and leverages his hand against the headboard, pressing his cock between my breasts.

“You know what to do.”

I push my breasts together until they nearly surround him. I don’t often wish I was better endowed, but I do when he does this. I’d like to surround him this way, too. But he seems untroubled as he starts to thrust. His movements are aggressive and his tone matches. “Bend your knees, spread your legs.”

While he’s still fucking me, I do as I’m told and hate him a little for it. He’s driving into me, but I don’t get the same satisfaction as when he’s inside of me. The pounding I’m taking isn’t filling me up, even as it turns me on. I’m his to use as he sees fit, and he’s chosen to use me this way. It should make me happy that he’s seen fit to use me at all. I’m at least worthy of his attention.

He fucks and fucks me while I mold my flesh for him. At last, his body goes rigid right before he comes, and then his release spurts onto my chest. The warm, sticky fluid slides across my collarbone and over my shoulder. If I still had hair, it would drip into my curls. As it is, I think it drops onto the sheet. Oh, my fastidious lover won’t like that at all. But he’s still distracted by his orgasm, breathing heavily with a lowered head. I want to touch him, run a hand down his face, and trace his bottom lip with the pad of my thumb. Have him bite and then kiss it before lowering his mouth to mine. But I don’t have permission, so I lie still, cupping my breasts around him while he softens.

He holds himself over me until his breath evens out, and then he taps my hand, signaling me to let go. When I do, he rolls to my side and takes a tissue from his bedside table to clean up with before tucking himself back into his pants. He stretches along the length of my body and traces around the splatter he’s left on me. It’s cooled and I’d like to wipe it away, but I don’t dare ask. Instead, I let him remind me with every touch, every skim of his fingertip, what I allow him to do to me. My legs are still spread open, reminding me of what I don’t have. While I’d like to close them to relieve some of this ache, this need, I don’t. I’ll give him that, too.

‡

Year Three

M
y finals are
done. This has been a very long year. I watched most of my classmates go away to study abroad programs while I stayed in Princeton. Hunter hadn’t needed to tell me that I couldn’t go. I looked longingly at the brochures for programs half a world away from my family, but I knew I wouldn’t do it.

It’s possible he might’ve given me leave to study in the UK—he loves London—but I didn’t bother to ask. Partly because he’s made a few noises about there not being a need for me to finish school at all and I don’t want to give him another opening to suggest it.

Now I’m staring into a summer working at a law firm where one of my dad’s friends is a founding partner and then my senior year. The days have seemed so slow, particularly the ones without Hunter, but the years have been short. I can’t believe I’m almost done with college.

I’d hoped to have time to let my mind decompress, but when Ben picks me up, he hands me a note, written on the luxe monogrammed stationery I love so well:

We’re having dinner with Mistress Imogen and ian tomorrow evening. Please read the new Zadie Smith. You know ian isn’t bright like you, and Mistress wishes to discuss it. Don’t disappoint me.

Yours,

Hunter

I sigh and dig into my bag for my Kindle on which I’ll undoubtedly find the book already purchased and waiting. No rest for the wicked. And I suspect with my classes being over and no homework to occupy me in the evenings, things will be very wicked this vacation indeed.

I’m proven right over dinner when Hunter requests to amend our contract for the summer.

“I’d like you with me every evening, as well as on the weekends.”

A thrill runs through me. He wants me. All the time. But a twinge of reluctance follows. I can’t be Hunter’s all the time. Though I need his guidance and his firm hand, I need the time out from under his thumb just as badly. While I could get most of that during my work hours, I need some time just for me.

“Thank you, sir. But I…”

“But you what?”

“I’m so flattered, sir, really. But I’d like to keep one evening to myself.” I bite back the please. I don’t have to ask permission for this. This is a contract negotiation, and I’m allowed to have wants and needs. Honestly, I’m peeved he’s brought this up without warning and without Rey being here. I don’t usually handle this by myself. When Hunter’s face darkens, I remember why. It’s because I’m aching to give in to him. I hate the look of disapproval on his face.

“And what are you going to do with this one evening?” One of his sculpted brows arches ever-so-slightly, and I can feel his condescension yanking at the leash he’s keeping it on.

Does it matter? I should be allowed to do as I please on the days I’m not with him. That’s the whole point. But I’m his now, so a snippy answer isn’t permitted.

“Probably see Rey.” I see him at least once a week these days, usually more like two or three times. And I was hoping it would be more since we’ll both be in Manhattan for the summer. “Maybe go to a movie. I don’t know, exactly.”

Hunter’s gaze sears into me, and I want to take it back.

“You’d rather do ‘you don’t know, exactly’ than be here?”

The acid in my stomach roils. Why does he have to make it sound like that? I press my lips together and look down into the delicate weave of the tablecloth as if the answers might be contained between the threads. “Hunter, please. It’s not like that. And I would prefer that if we’re going to discuss the terms of our contract that we do it with Rey here. I don’t feel comfortable negotiating with you when I’m here in this capacity.”

My voice nearly cracks on the last word, and my eyes swim with tears. Why is this so hard? A sob hitches in my throat when there’s no answer from the head of table. He’s going to send me away. Why would it have been so bad to give in on this? It would’ve only been for the summer. I could’ve done it for the summer. But I couldn’t because I’m a stupid, stubborn girl. Now I’m going to lose everything.

I wring my hands in the napkin on my lap, and there’s the sound of a chair being pushed back from the table. A few footfalls sound and I hope with all my heart that I’m right about them coming closer instead of heading away. A half-formed cloud of relief billows around me when he says, “Take my hand. Come with me.”

I push back my chair and slip my hand into his, not looking up as he leads me from the dining room down the hall, stopping to give Ben instructions in a low voice. I suppose he could be telling him to pack up my things, that I’ll be going now, but I don’t think he’d be holding my hand if that were true. I take comfort in his cool, dry fingers entwined with mine.