Personal Geography (31 page)

He sinks to his knees in front of me, laying kisses all over my face, my neck, and my shoulders before he takes a long stroke with his tongue from my collarbone to my ear that makes me shiver. I press myself against him shamelessly, and he takes me in his arms and hauls me onto the edge of the bed. He deposits me face up, directing me to lean back on my elbows and spread my legs with my feet braced against the frame. It’s awkward in my bonds, but I forget all that when he settles himself on his knees between my thighs.

“I know you like this, but don’t you come,” he warns, and then he dips his head to the juncture of my thighs.

My head falls back with a groan of lust as he licks, sucks, and gently bites. If he doesn’t want me to come, this is not advisable. But he’s the consummate tease, leading me up to the precipice with his ministrations only to back off when I’m about to tip into an orgasm. He edges me for half an hour, driving me insane with his mouth and fingers, mocking me gently and threatening to strap me down when I can’t keep my hips still. There’s no way he’ll restrain me more, though, knowing how hot it makes me. I’m surprised the suggestion alone doesn’t make me lose control.

He finishes his teasing, releases my wrists, and I collapse, enjoying his touch as he massages my sore arms. My whole body is alive and desperate for him, and I writhe against him when he lays the length of his body along mine. I take his curly hair in my hands and drag him toward me for a kiss, but he avoids me, clucking.

“Oh, no, I’m not through with you. You’ve had your Greek, and now I’d like mine.”

He pulls away, stacks a few pillows in the middle of the bed, and playfully pushes me over them, binding my hands to the headboard. He pushes and tugs at the plug that’s been resting devilishly inside of me all this time and commands, “Let go.”

I will myself to relax enough for him to remove it, and seconds later, he presses into the empty space left in its wake. I love it when Crispin has me this way. He’s skilled and considerate, making it feel incredible. He eases into me, groaning when he sinks to the hilt. He strokes in and out slowly, teasing, and I mewl.

“Not yet.”

I thrust my hips against him petulantly, and he grabs them. “Is that how you want to play?”

“Yes, sir,” I plead.

Before the last syllable is out of my mouth, he’s thrusting hard into me.
Oh, fuck yes.
But he’s still tormenting me. This is enough to make me burn for him but not get me off. He slows his pace long enough to drop the grip on my hips and slide a finger into me where he can feel himself through the thin membrane.

“Is this what you need, pet?”

“No, sir.” Evil genius. He’s going to tease me so hard I’ll forget my name when I come.

“How about this?” He punctuates the last word with a hard tug on my hair.

“No, sir!” But I am damn close. Just, just, just…
Crispin
,
please
.

He slips his finger out of me, finds my clit and strokes me, and I’m close. “That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir!” I’m dangling over the abyss with only a fingertip-hold on the edge.

“Then come for me. Show me what a good girl you are and come for me.”

I hold out for him to finish his sentence, and then my body implodes. My wrists snap my bonds taut, my torso clenches convulsively, and my muscles contract around him. My climax urges his release, and his thrusts become uneven, desperate, as he spends himself inside of me. He collapses over my back, his breath coming hard before it evens out and he withdraws, leaving me briefly to clean up. When he comes back, he untethers my wrists, takes me into his arms, and pulls me close.

“That’s my good girl. My good, sweet girl.”

I nuzzle into him and fall asleep, all thoughts of Slade Lewis banished from my brain by the warm, glowy cloud of Crispin’s praise and the strength and warmth of his body wrapped around mine.

‡

C
rispin’s thorough treatment
gets me through the next several weeks. I barely think of Slade Lewis at all. I’ve been in LA for three months, but I’m confident we’re nearing a tipping point that will allow me to go back to San Diego. Still, to get there I’ve had to buckle down and work through weekends for the past month. I’ve muddled my way through enough financial records to blind a lesser soul, and I’ve untangled the last of the money trail with the help of some forensic accountants. Janis and her compatriots managed to sack a combined 1.3 million dollars from the operating fund, and the housing authority will press charges. People will be going to jail.

We haven’t fixed everything by a long shot—there’s still a ton of work to do—but I don’t hear another peep out of Slade Lewis. When Jack’s number pops up on my Blackberry, I’m almost certain it’s going to be good news.

“I need you back. Chow, Rodriguez, and Evans are coming up tomorrow morning. You’ll show them what’s what and then get on a plane. I just got a call from Greg Wu in Phoenix. We made the short list for the contract. If you want it, it’s yours.”

I’m surprised he’s offered this to me in the wake of Slade-gate, but it’s not for HUD. Maybe this is his way of apologizing. I’ll have to work non-stop for the next several weeks to keep on top of LAHA while preparing for this, which means cancelling my next trip to Kona, but for this, Crispin will understand.

“I want it.”

*

It’s four o’clock.
Half an hour until the biggest proposal of my career. Jack and I will be talking to Greg Wu about a technical assistance gig for the City of Phoenix. It’s fricking huge, and it’s mine. I’ve been busting my ass for weeks getting prepped for it, and today’s the day. I’m ready.

Rey texted me earlier:

You’re going to hit it out of the court today! Call me when you’re through for a virtual victory toast. ILYK

Oh, Rey and his hopelessly mixed sports metaphors. It’s one of the few things that make me giggle. Crispin had sent one, too:

You’ll be perfect. We’ll celebrate when I see you next week. Miss you.

I’d shoved my phone deep in my purse after receiving them, knowing nothing else would show up on my cell for the rest of the day. I check it now—a tic, a formality—and I’m surprised to see half a dozen texts, three missed calls, and a voicemail from Crispin.
What the hell?

To open or not to open? It could be important. I should call him back. But if it’s important, then I shouldn’t distract myself from the call I have in…twenty minutes. I don’t usually get nervous about work stuff, but this has got me jittery. I need to focus. I’ll check when we’re through.

I take up my tablet to look over my talking points one more time when Lucy chirps through my speaker.

“Ms. Burke?”

“Yes, Lucy.”

“There’s a Mr. Cris Ardmore on the phone for you? He says it’s important?”

What?
Panic and fury flood me in equal measure as my tablet clatters to the desk.

“Put him through. Cris?”

“India—”

“Why are you calling me here?”

“I tried your cell, but you didn’t pick up—”

“I’m at work. I have my big pitch in…fifteen minutes. I was going to call when it was over.”

“Can you come this weekend?”

“No, I can’t.” I eye my watch. I’d like to go over those notes one last time…

“Please.”

“I can’t, and I don’t have time to—”

“Please. I need you.”

I roll my eyes at his melodrama. “You can need me in a week. Right now I have to—”

“My dad is sick.”

“Your dad is always sick.” The second the words leave my mouth, I’m flooded with regret.
Fuck.
I can’t believe I’ve said that. I want to take it back, but—

“You can be a heartless bitch sometimes, you know that, pet?”

“Yes.” Yes, I know. And so should he. I don’t know why he’s surprised. But even for me, that was bad. Really, really bad. So bad Crispin doesn’t have anything else to say. I cut him off before he can think of something that will make me feel even worse. “I’m at work. I have to go. Don’t call me here again.”

There’s a pause, a silence stretching out between us. “Maybe I shouldn’t call you anywhere again.”

My heart seizes in panic, but the rest of me is relieved—
finally, a chance to get rid of this guy
—and pissed—he’s
mad at
me?

“Maybe you shouldn’t. You don’t get to be angry about this. You’re the one who fucked up. Don’t make this my fault retroactively because you don’t like it when I’m mad at you. You know you’re not allowed to call me here, and you need to respect my rules. I don’t ask for much—”

“No, you don’t. Because you don’t think you deserve much.”

“Would you shut up with this India-hates-herself bullshit? I happen to think I’m pretty great. I’m smoking hot, I’m smart as hell, I make good money, and I’m a damn fine lay. I like the way I live. It’s worked for me for a long time. Now you’ve come along, and you’re fucking it up. Royally.”

“India…”

Rage colors my vision when he says my name. Suddenly I hate—
hate
—hearing it come out of his mouth. I knew this was a bad idea. Worse than bad. I am going to end up in pieces, and I can’t afford to lose myself for another year and a half. I have shit to do. I knew letting him say my name, letting him in, was a bad idea. It’s given him power over me, and all I can think of are the million ways he can hurt me.

“Oh, no. Don’t you ‘India’ me. Privilege revoked. Don’t ever call me that again. Actually, take your own advice and don’t call me. We’re done.”

I slam the phone into the cradle on my desk and keep slamming it down, over and over.
What have I done?
I want to call him back, apologize, and ask him to forgive me. I want to yell at Lucy to get me on the next flight to Kona to be with him. How sick is Mal that Crispin would break all the rules? I should…but I can’t. I have a call with Greg Wu in five minutes, and there’s a five-million-dollar contract hanging in the balance. I cannot be Girl with Boyfriend Trouble. I must be India “Soulless” Burke. India “Ruthless, Driven, Take-No-Prisoners, Just-Try-to-Stab-Me-Through-the-Heart-Crispin-Ardmore-Because-You’re-Not-Going-to-Find-One” Burke.

I force myself to stop beating my phone against the desk, blink back the tears that are threatening to spill, and rest my head in my hands to give myself a little pep talk.

It’s over. One less thing to worry about. It’s better this way. Easier. Rey will find you someone new. Someone who’s way less trouble. He’s been trouble from the start, and you shouldn’t have let it get this far. Look at you—you’re a mess. This is what happens when you
care
about people, when you have
feelings
. That stops here and now. Get your shit together, Burke, and put on your face. It’s game day, and you are going to win.

By the time I’m through, I’ve calmed down. Yes, this is for the best; better it happened before it got any worse.

“Lucy!”

“Yes, Ms. Burke?” Her disembodied voice wafts through the speaker. She sounds sympathetic. It makes me want to rip her throat out. Humiliation cuts through me, along with more rage at Cris.
My fucking assistant heard that, you asshole
.

“Can you do your fucking job for once and get me a goddamn cup of coffee without me having to ask?”

“Apparently not, Ms. Burke, but I’ll get you one right away.”

Ugh, Lucy is having feelings too? Talking with Greg and Jack will be good. They’re my people; we understand each other. And it’s a good thing, too, because it’s go-time. I pull up my notes on my tablet and punch in the numbers for the conference call on my phone. Greg and Jack are already there. I put my feet up on my desk and take a deep breath.

“Gentlemen, let’s get down to business.”

*