Uncharted Territory (The Compass Series Book 3) (4 page)

“Good girl.” He beams at me before resting a hand on my back and urging me toward the stone steps. There’s a man in a suit checking names on a list, but when he sees Rey, he holds out a hand.

“Mr. Walter. Nice to see you again, sir.”

“And you, Ben.” He gives the man a firm shake and that patented Reyes Walter grin.
Oh, Rey, you are a charmer.

“And who do we have here?” Ben’s expression is hungry. He’s blatantly undressing me with his eyes.

“This is Kit. You’ll watch out for her.” Rey’s tone is obsidian-sharp, and Ben is immediately cowed.

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

“You’ll make up for it if you see anyone bothering her.”

“Absolutely, sir. I apologize, miss. Enjoy your evening.”

I blink at him over my shoulder as Rey steers me inside.

“Ben’s harmless. Really sweet guy, actually, but now everyone will hear you’re not to be trifled with.”

The entryway is all black-and-white marble checkerboard floors and dark wood paneling that goes all the way up to the high ceilings. An enormous chandelier sparkles over a round table that’s graced with an understated flower arrangement, and beyond that are half a dozen shallow steps that lead down to a large airy room where the party is in full swing, people milling about and congregating into small circles of conversation.

We move deeper into the house and the people I’ve seen so far all look exceedingly…normal. The dress code isn’t clear to me. There are people all in black and they tend to be more casual, like me and Rey, but there’re also people milling around in suits and cocktail dresses and everything in between. Some people, women and men, have collars on like I do, but it’s not half the crowd. There is one man on a leash being towed by his mistress, a voluptuous woman in red. They’re quite the pair, and I do my best to not gape.

I don’t have to work very hard for very long because we’re accosted by a tall black woman in a dove-grey suit, crisp white shirt, and yellow tie. It’s unexpected, but then I can’t imagine her wearing anything else. She looks beautiful and like the suit was made for her. It probably was.

“Rey,” she drawls. Ah! A Southerner.

“Constance, lovely to see you. I wasn’t sure you’d make it.”

“I’m glad I did.” Constance’s gaze leaves a hot trail as her eyes travel down my body.

“Constance, this is Kit.”

Rey nudges me forward, and though he coached me on the etiquette for this evening, I’m so overwhelmed by it all that my mind has gone blank and I hold my hand out to shake. Constance takes my proffered hand, and the first surge of desire I’ve ever felt for a woman shoots straight to my core as she presses a kiss above my knuckles, not taking her eyes from mine.

“And aren’t you a pretty little thing,” she murmurs, dropping my hand. “Kit as in Kitten?”

“If you like, mistress.”

Her black eyes glint back at me, and I swallow hard, my throat catching around that word. Yes, mistress definitely applies.

“She’s darling,” she says to Rey, and I flush. “What are
you
doing with her?”

“Just keeping her safe.” With Rey’s words, I feel the weight of the collar around my neck. “You’ll do the same?”

“Any pet of yours is a pet of mine. Wouldn’t want to scare this one off, would we? You’re going to turn out beautifully.” She takes my chin between her thumb and forefinger and turns my head to one side and then the other. My heart is racing, my knees are weak, and I struggle not to clench my jaw. She’d feel it. “Beautifully indeed.”

Constance takes a last look into my face before dropping her hand and addressing Rey. “You’ll let me know if you need any help with her.”

“You’ll be my first call.”

Rey replaces his hand on my back and leads me away. “That was Constance Cooper. She’s in my class, so you might run into her at school. Delightful. New to this but still a very good Domme. You’ll let me know if you want to play with a woman. She’ll take you in a heartbeat.”

Rey grabs us a couple of glasses of champagne as we walk around the house, and the server makes subtle dots on our hands with permanent marker. Apparently he wasn’t kidding about guests’ drinking being tracked.

The place is not-quite-palatial and luxe in a way that makes me feel at home, but not in the stomach-clenching way I’m used to. No, with all these people walking around with their freak flags on display, this is pretty far from the Park Avenue cocktail parties I used to get dragged to by my parents. It’s almost as if someone’s waved a magic wand and transformed what should make me uneasy into something I’m desperate to be a part of. Like Rey’s my fairy kink-mother.

Speaking of, it feels like he knows everyone here. We’re approached by countless people, many of whom treat me as Constance did, although plenty of them ignore me. At some point, a middle-aged man in tip-to-toe black leather asks Rey if he might have a word in private.

“Would you mind, kitten?”

“No, sir.”

“Constance is just there and Ben’s in the corner if you need anything. I won’t be long.”

“Yes, sir.”

The corner of his mouth tugs up. I’m having the best time, and he can tell. He kisses my forehead before departing with Tip-to-Toe, and I’m left to my own devices. I decide to take a turn around the well-appointed room to see what and who else there is to see, but I’m stopped before I get very far by a hand gripping my elbow. Hard.

“So you’re Walter’s new prospect,” says a cultured voice. I turn to see a very tall, very broad, very blond man in a navy blazer. I think he’s European, but I can’t quite place the accent. German, maybe?

“You’re very sweet.” He takes my chin in his hand much as Constance had, although not gently. Someone didn’t get the memo I’m not to be messed with. I’m afraid and for the first time feel out of my depth. What have I gotten myself into? “Do you not have anything to say? I’m sure I can think of some other uses for that pretty mouth.”

Said mouth drops open in what I’m sure is a very gratifying way for this creep, but the usual derisive comeback escapes me. My snark switch has been flicked to off and without it…

“Tobias, leave her alone,” admonishes a bored voice from behind me. “You know how Rey gets, and I wouldn’t want to have to ask you to leave.”

Tobias looks down at me and, with a squeeze to my elbow that makes me yelp, lets me go. “Pretty, but no tolerance for pain. Shame. Vaughn, nice party.”

Tobias turns on his heel, and I’m left shaky, trying to catch my breath and blinking too rapidly. That wasn’t any worse than the many subway gropings I’ve endured at home, but this felt different, like I was being violated in a much more intimate way than it appeared. I’m a wreck. A hand comes to rest on my shoulder, and I flinch away.

When I turn to the newest offender, my heart nearly stops. The man I’m looking at—he’s breathtaking. He’s not especially tall, although taller than I am in my heels, and leaner than I usually find appealing. I’m guessing mid-twenties, but his face is boyish so it’s hard to tell. He’s got the lightest dusting of stubble, and his light brown hair is swept across his forehead in the most impossible fashion. Either he spends hours fussing in a mirror to get it to look that way or he just rolls out of bed. I’m not sure which I’d find more offensive.

He’s got on a black, three-piece suit, the jacket undone, with a white shirt and a fashionably thin black tie loose around his neck, making the hollow at the base of his throat visible. His brown eyes are probing, roaming over me. When he speaks, I recognize the jaded voice that rebuked the blond giant, but he doesn’t sound bored anymore.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

My lips part, and I blink a few times. “Okay.”

“Tobias really scared you, didn’t he?”

I purse my lips and, with some embarrassment, admit, “Yes,” and shake my head.
Jesus, Burke, are you going to burst into tears the next time you break a nail? Get it together.

“It’s all right. He’s a scary guy. But he’s just a bully. He wouldn’t have hurt you.”

“Okay.” I’m unable to keep the doubt from my voice, and dammit, where is my vocabulary? This guy—this very handsome, very alluring man—is going to think I’m an idiot. I can’t stand the thought.

“Look.” He leans in, his cheek a hair’s breadth from resting against mine, his hand on my arm. This time I don’t flinch. I like the feel of his long fingers through the lace of my shirt. “Do you know how many people are here tonight?”

“No.” Where’s he headed with this?

“I do. One hundred eighty-three. And do you know how many of them are talking about you?”

“No.”

“Every. Single. Last. One.” He drums a finger on my arm with each word, sending waves of pleasure through my body with every tap. “We covet new toys, and not one of us was going to let Tobias get his hands on you first. You’d never come back.”

“What makes you so sure I’ll come back now?”

He leans back and smiles, shrewd. Shit. I am in trouble. There’s something about this man…

“Won’t you?” He cocks an arched brow, and every thought I have in my head stops, every feeling I have making a break for my pelvis. The words spill from my mouth in a way that can’t be stopped.

“Yes, sir.”

His hand tightens around my arm, and something flashes in his eyes. Unlike when Tobias grabbed me, it feels good. I’m startled when he winds an arm around my waist and pulls me flush against him, but I don’t tell him to stop. I don’t want him to stop. He slides his other hand into my hair and pulls. Not hard, but with enough insistence that I give in to the demand and tip my head until I’m looking in his eyes.

“There’s a good girl.”

I do my best not to let him know that my knees have gone weak. I want, more than I’ve ever wanted anything, to hear him say those words again.

“Let’s go find Mr. Walter. I need to speak with him. I’m Hunter, by the way, Hunter Vaughn.”

‡

Year One

“I
’m—”

“I know who you are.”

I close my eyes briefly and sigh, impatient with myself. Of course Hunter knows who I am. He said everyone’s been talking about me.

“I’m a little put out that Mr. Walter didn’t bring you straight to me when you arrived.” He lets go of my hair but runs his fingers through my loose curls instead of merely releasing me. Taking up my hand, he tugs me along with him. He walks with long, sure strides, and I have to scramble to keep up. It’s not easy in these shoes. He leads me to a set of double doors and, without knocking, pushes into the room. Rey and Tip-to-Toe are sitting on far ends of the same couch, deep in conversation, and look up when we enter.

“Rey, Joseph.”

“Hunter,” they reply in unison.

“A word, Rey?”

Tip-to-Toe—or
Joseph,
I suppose, although I like my way better—excuses himself and ducks a nod at Hunter on his way out. Hunter is still clasping my hand, and I stand there awkwardly as Rey surveys us. On the one hand, I never want Hunter to let me go. The cage of his fingers around mine is unyielding, and the proprietariness is a glow that spreads up my arm, licking at my heart before diving south. On the other hand, if I belong to anyone here, it’s not Hunter.

“I believe this belongs to you.”

“She does.”

There’s an edge to Rey’s voice, and I feel like I’m a bone that two dogs are snarling over. Two very well-mannered, tastefully dressed, and impeccably groomed dogs, but dogs nonetheless.

“Next time you bring something this tempting to a party, I suggest you keep it on a tighter leash. Tobias was about to sink his teeth into her, and nobody wants that.”

Hunter’s bored tone has returned. Why is he talking about me like I’m a thing? That’s not how he was talking to me earlier. I know technically I’m Rey’s property as far as people here are concerned, but really?

“Ben was supposed to keep an eye on her.”

“And he’ll suffer the consequences.”

Is it wrong that when Hunter says “consequences,” a delicious chill runs through me? They glare at each other, and my eyes shift between them.

“Don’t let it happen again.”

Hunter releases my hand and nudges me toward Rey with a hand at the small of my back. When I’ve taken a few steps, I stop. We’ve been playing a game, Rey and I. He calls it
Mindreader
. It might look that way to other people, but really it’s just paying attention. If I’m tuned into him, the tiniest signals are like the torches ground crews direct planes with:
come to me, sit here
, and my favorite—
kneel
. From the way he’s looking at me, it’s game on.

Rey tips his chin, and I walk toward him, not breaking eye contact. When I’ve nearly reached him, he looks at the floor in front of where he’s seated before looking back to me. I blink in acknowledgement and come to my knees where he’s indicated, with my hands folded in my lap. He cups my face in his warm hands. “Are you all right, little one?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did he hurt you?”

“No, sir.”

“Were you afraid?”

“Yes, sir.” My voice is quiet and strained with the confession, and I look away. Admitting that is so hard. But being here, with this man and the collar around my neck, compels me, strips away my defensive layers.