Uncharted Territory (The Compass Series Book 3) (22 page)

Ben greets us
at the door, and his look is one of bewilderment. He’s literally never seen me wearing pants. These jeans fit like I painted them on, and I’m wearing an orange top. Hunter hates orange, but I love it. Rey’s put my old training collar on, too. Unlike the orange shirt, I didn’t do that to make Hunter angry. It’s a rope between the barn and the house to hold onto so I’ll make it through the ice storm that is Hunter Vaughn.

I didn’t have to come. It’s not like our contract is legally enforceable, and even if it were, his actions had to have annihilated any obligations I had to him. But I just couldn’t bring myself to refuse. Even if those words didn’t mean anything to him, they meant something to me, and I’ll honor them no matter how soul-wrenching it is.

There’s a stack of boxes and luggage in the foyer. My shoulders drop an inch. This might be easier than I’d thought.

“Baby.”

Or not.

After all this time, the effect Hunter’s voice and presence have on me hasn’t lessened. You’d think I’d be immune due to increasing doses over time, but I’m not. If anything, I’m more attuned to him. He still makes me melt, my knees weaken in desire to kneel, and I want nothing more than to go back to the first night I felt his strong grip on my arm.

Rey takes my hand, and it recalls me from my early-days-with-Hunter reveries. I give him a glance and a squeeze of thanks. He squeezes me back. I can do this.

“Hunter.”

“Joan’s put out some coffee in the library. Please.” He gestures politely as if we’re here for high fucking tea. Always the consummate host. The consummate host who’s had Joan put out refreshments in the library to make it harder for me to leave.

It’s all I can do to not drop to my knees once we get into the dark wood-paneled room. I don’t remember the last time I was on my feet in here for more than thirty seconds, but Rey clasps my hand harder and I stay upright. When Hunter says, “Come here,” it’s Rey’s grip that stops me from kneeling by Hunter and resting my head on his thigh. It’s only been a few days, but I already miss the mindless ease Hunter’s always given me.

I want to feel my bare knees on the carpet. I ache for his elegant hand to stroke my hair. I yearn to taste the strawberries and scones he’d feed me from his fingers. I long for him to tell me in his silky voice all the depraved things he’s going to do to me later and how much I’m going to like it. I want “yes, sir” to drop from my lips as easily as it always has with the same breathless anticipation it’s always brought.

“Don’t be an ass, Hunter,” Rey admonishes.

Hunter’s sculpted brow shoots up, but it’s quickly marshaled, just like everything else under his purview.

“Isn’t that your rule number one, Rey? She never has to do anything she doesn’t want to do? What if she doesn’t want to be sitting on that couch with you? What if she wants to be kneeling naked with her head in my lap? Would you stop her?”

“Of course not.”

“Well, baby, what do you say?”

I squeeze Rey’s hand so hard his copper skin goes pale. Anyone else would yelp in pain, but he doesn’t say anything. “Please, Hunter.”

“Please what? You’ve always had such nice manners.”

“Please don’t make this any harder. Let’s get this over with and you can find someone who’s going to make you happy.”

Yes, good, appeal to his self-interest. Don’t say it’s because he’s hurting me, trying to tear away the submissive half of me twined into the sinews and muscles and molecules of my body.

“But I want you, India.”

“Not in a way I’m willing to give you.”

Hunter’s cool cracks like an ice cube dropped in hot liquid. “Why are you such a stubborn bitch? Now I know what your mother’s been complaining about all these years. You’re an obdurate little cunt, aren’t you? You’ve always been a half-assed submissive, never given yourself to me completely.”

“Yes, sir.” My sinuses burn, and tears well in my eyes. Not just because he’s so furious that he’s
swearing
at me but because it’s true. I might give myself over to him for large swaths of time, but never completely. There’s always been a rope ladder to climb out of the well, the barest of nets to keep me from dying if I fall from this tightrope. “But you’re just as pig-headed as I am and can’t let me keep a drop of myself. I would’ve been yours every second I was here, but that’s not good enough for you. I’m not good enough for you.”

“No, you’re not. And good luck finding someone who’ll put up with your crap the way I have, you schizo slut.”

I usually savor making Hunter lose control, but not like this. No, never like this. The name-calling, the insults, the disdain—they make me sick to my stomach.

“Enough with the name-calling, Hunter.” Rey’s affecting boredom, but underneath he’s seething. “Are we about done here? I’ve got a client in the city in a couple of hours.”

“Give me a minute alone with her and we’ll be finished.”

Rey opens his mouth to protest, but I cut him off. “It’s okay, Rey. Tell Ben to put my things in the car. I’ll be right out.”

He looks dubious but leans in. “Did I ever tell you rule number forty-seven?”

I shake my head, my brows knitting. I remember all of Rey’s rules; we never got to forty-seven.

“It’s totally permissible to kick your Dom in the nuts if he’s being a big enough douchebag. Hunter’s made the grade a thousand times over, so if he gets fresh with you…”

I stifle a giggle behind my hand. That’s not what I thought Rey was going to say. Hunter’s eyes widen in surprise. That’s not the reaction he was expecting from me, either. A hint of the jealousy I remember from before I’d signed my contract flashes in his eyes.

Hunter’s done a lot of things for me. I’m a stronger, more sophisticated person because of him, and—much to his chagrin I’m sure—more true to myself than I was when I met him. A lot of it is Rey, of course, but I’ll give Hunter credit where credit is due. Hunter’s never had much of a sense of humor, though, and that’s what the spark of envy is about. Make me smile with charm or flattery, make me forget there’s a world outside the two of us by beating or sexing me stupid, make my stomach flutter and get me horny as hell with a few words, sure. But giggle? Not his strong suit.

Rey kisses the top of my head and gives a tug at the lock on my collar on his way out, saying without words,
I’ll always be thinking of you, you’re my responsibility
.

When the door’s latched, Hunter beckons to me. “Come here, baby.”

This time, I go to him. I kneel beside him with my hands folded in my lap, almost like old times. But it’s not the same with my knees encased in denim, my hair tied up, and another man’s collar around my throat. It’s not supposed to be.

“I should say I’m sorry.”

I lay my head against the wool of his impeccably pressed trousers and gaze at his immaculately shined shoes. I’ll never see this again. I try to memorize the fine weave of the fabric, the gleam of the muted lights off the leather, the thick pile of the carpet, the smell of the books.

“No, you shouldn’t. You wouldn’t mean it. You’d do the same thing tomorrow if you thought it would get you what you wanted.”

He doesn’t argue, can’t, but lays a hand on the back of my neck. I sigh and the tears rise. Even though I’d like to rip his fucking face off, I’d also like him to take me in his lap and then in hand and make me forget all this fucked-up shit. How I’ve lost everything. He’d be able to do it, too.

“I didn’t mean for it to end like this.”

I don’t reply because my throat’s choked with unshed tears.
I know, Hunter, I know. Me either. We just fit together wrong, wanted such different things, and it took us far too long to figure it out.

Looking back at our relationship, it seems inevitable that we would end this way. If only we would’ve realized it before we’d become so entwined with each other, maybe it could’ve ended with a clean, swift cut instead of this soul-shredding amputation. I give myself another five minutes of this strangely comfortable purgatory before I step straight into hell. I stand, not asking permission for the first time in over five years, and walk out the door.

‡

Year Seven

I
’m sitting in
the terminal with Rey, waiting for our flight to board. I’ve got my earbuds in, and I’m reading some hippy-dippy book everyone went gaga over. I just want to punch the protagonist in the face.

Rey squeezes my arm and stands, slinging his messenger bag over his shoulder. I smile to see it lay against his grey suit. Normally I prefer Rey in black—navy, a close second—but the black leather contrasts nicely with the summer weight wool. Rey is so goddamn handsome. And I’m glad he likes his present. Such a small, stupid way to say thank you for everything he’s done for me, but he’s impossible to shop for. The man wants for nothing.

But he’s complained more than once about finding a carry-on that would fit all of the things he’d like to keep with him during the flights he takes far more frequently now. I try to tell myself he relocated to the West Coast for his own reasons, but I suspect one of the reasons at the top of that list would be me.

He’s been flying back and forth from New York to San Francisco just about weekly for the past three months. His stockpiling of frequent flyer miles is ostensibly to close up shop and tie up loose ends here, but again, I have my suspicions that his spotty presence has really had to do with keeping an eye on yours truly.

I’m better now, after over a year. I get through days at a time without crying, some days without calling him at all, but he’s still my backstop. My first call when things go wrong, when life starts to be too much for me. It’s when I’m with Rey that I can relax, let go, like I am now.

I’d paid the barest amount of attention checking our bags, going through security, making our way through the bustling terminal. Rey’s got everything under control. After the stress of finishing up classes and before the disquiet of heading into the unknown, I have a week that I have no control over. I can’t wait. I’ve been looking forward to this since Rey informed me it would be happening a few months ago.

Rey reaches out a hand, and I take it, not bothering to unplug from my headphones. He steers me to the jetway and leads me down the narrow hall, nudging me when we reach our first-class seats. He spoils me so.

I settle into the leather and go back to my book until Rey’s hand is on my shoulder. A displeased flight attendant is scowling at me, pointing to her ears. Right, safety nonsense.

My surroundings come alive again with the absence of the music that had been drowning them out, and my nose wrinkles. Air travel does not bring out the finest in humanity. A low voice crackles over the PA system and I’m suddenly more interested. Pilots are sexy. You’ve got to be some level of arrogant to believe you’re worthy of guiding a tin can thousands of miles above the earth through the clouds.

I’m tempted to haul up to the cockpit and see if he has any needs he’d like serviced, but I refrain. My urge is a good sign, though. For so long after that awful day with Hunter, I couldn’t think about sex. Couldn’t even consider kink. I still can’t think about getting into another relationship without my insides quaking. But I wouldn’t say no to hands clenching in my hair as I sucked the guy off, kneeling in front of that complex instrument panel. Between the uniform and the arrogance and the competence? I’d be such a goner. As it is, I shift in my seat, and Rey looks over at me, rolls his eyes, and shakes his head.

“Shut up,” I mouth and he leans over to kiss my cheek.

“I’m just glad you’re back, little one.”

Rey’s prodded me gently to get back in the game for the past six months, but I’m not ready. Once I get to California, maybe. But I don’t want to be in the scene in San Diego. Too much information disclosed to too many people. That’s a risk I won’t take ever again. Starting over is hard enough. I’ll figure something out. I have to. My desire not just for sex, but to be dominated, is a fire inside. If I’m not careful, it’s going to burn right through me. Would that it would burn the coil wound tight around my ribs. Rey does his best, but—

“Our ETA in lovely St. Louis is four-thirty, folks.”

My head whips around to the man whose hands I’ve placed myself in. I figured we were going to someplace warm where I could lounge on the beach. Not Missouri. What the hell?

“Why the fuck are you taking me to St. Louis?”

Rey looks at me in that thoughtful way he has, the way that makes me feel like he’s analyzing the very synapses in my brain. After a few seconds, he reaches out a hand to cup my jaw and drags a thumb across my cheek.

“Do you trust me?”

His voice is soft and earnest, touching someplace deep inside me.
Do I trust him?
Rey’s shepherded me through the darkest time in my life. Though I wouldn’t say he’s fixed me, I’m a thousand times better off than I would’ve been without him. So, as I’ve known since the day I met him, “Yes. I trust you.” And because I’m me, I add, “Further than I can throw you.”

He laughs. “Then don’t worry your pretty little head. Now be quiet, I need to know what kind of aircraft I’m dealing with here.”