Uncharted Territory (The Compass Series Book 3) (18 page)

“Do you want them to fawn over the first man who asks them to spread their legs, Preston? They don’t need that shit. What they need is to understand what sentiment is actually good for: power. They need to be independent, autonomous.”

“Is that what you are, Sam?”

I’d preemptively cringe, waiting for the unmistakable sound of a rigid hand colliding with a clenched jaw. Preston and Samantha Burke, ladies and gentlemen. Don’t forget to tip your waiter.

*

Hunter’s waiting for
me in the playroom. Thank god. It’s after one in the morning, and I want nothing more than for him to erase this day. My dress is chafing, my feet hurt, and the dozens of pins in my hair are digging into my scalp and giving me a headache. It’s enough to make me wish Hunter had insisted I keep the pixie cut. But in the year or so that’s passed since that little incident, it’s grown out to my shoulders. I’d like to sink into my tub, but my instructions weren’t to clean up; they were to come straight here.

I turn the solid knob, preparing to drop to my knees, but I’m caught up short. Hunter’s not alone. Humiliation rips in a wave of red from my chest to my hair. Not that Hunter never plays with other people. He does, infrequently, and I’m always there. It’s in our contract. How could he—

But when my overtaxed brain sorts the scene, my rage melts away. I know the woman strung up naked against the bedpost, attempting unsuccessfully to avoid the blows of a harsh flogger by dancing on her toes. And I know the woman wielding the flogger, too. Hunter’s merely watching.

The beating stops, and three heads turn toward me.

“You’re here!” exclaims Glory, tugging at her bound wrists, her adorably rounded Filipina body bouncing with excitement.

“Hush, little one,” scolds Constance with another swat of the flogger to a juicy flank, “nobody said you could speak.”

“Yes, mistress.” Glory’s words are breathy with contrition, but the effect is dulled by the wink she throws me. Someone’s feeling sassy. I kind of want to shuck my shoes and curl up with Glory at Hunter and Constance’s feet so we can chat. But with the cocky look on Hunter’s face as he approaches me, I don’t think talking’s on the menu.

“Welcome home, sweetheart.” He pulls me in for a kiss with his hands on my hips. He kneads my behind through my dress, making the welts from this morning come alive again. I moan my half-delight, half-protest into his mouth. He pulls away and smiles. “I have a treat for you.”

I flush with pleasure and blink at him.
A treat? For me?

“Today was a hard day for you, yes?”

“Yes, sir.” I avert my eyes. I don’t want to talk about this, and Hunter doesn’t want to hear about it. He’s made that abundantly clear. His arm snakes around my waist, and he pulls me tight as his hand clasps my jaw, forcing my eyes to his.

“I know. And I’m going to take care of it. Constance and Glory are going to help.”

My lips part and my lashes flutter. I told Hunter ages ago in a sex-induced stupor that I’d fantasized about being with more than one person. In my head, it had been more than one man, but I’d been lucid enough to keep back that detail. Hunter can be a tidgy bit jealous. I’ll not say no to this, though. I’m curious, and it’s heartbreakingly sweet he’s arranged it, even if he may have co-opted my fantasy and made it his own. Constance has no salacious interest in men, but Glory’s firmly bi. I suspect Hunter will be enjoying her charms as well as mine.

“Mouth closed, baby. I don’t want to make this about punishment, but ten will freshen up the color on your ass.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” He’s released his grip on my jaw so I bury my face in his chest, my eyes brimming with grateful tears. This is better than a dance at a wedding; this is a Hunter Vaughn love letter.

He kneads the nape of my neck while he presses my face into his shirt. My makeup. It’s going to get all over and make my fastidious lover frown when he sees it smudged across the starched and pressed white fabric. “Sir, your shirt, it’s—”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“But—”

“I said don’t worry about it.” Though his tone has grown sharp, it doesn’t trouble me. It lets me melt. I’ve been told it’s not my problem, and therefore it’s not. He’s taken responsibility for this so I don’t have to. He holds me to him for another few minutes, rubbing my back and letting me breathe him in. I like being surrounded by him, and thoughts of this horrible day leech out of my body to be replaced by the sensations of Hunter. The cool, precise smell of him; the hard wall of lean muscle beneath his fine clothes; how I know his lips would taste if he gifted me with a kiss.

“Let’s get you out of these clothes, shall we?”

“Yes, sir.”

While Hunter was holding me, Constance finished Glory’s flogging and is standing close behind her. The contrast between Glory’s small, tanned, naked body and Constance’s large clothed one is stark as Constance speaks in a low voice only Glory will be able to distinguish. But I know those tones. I like them, too. The gentle praise for a beating well-taken, the stroke of a hand over a hip because you’ve pleased them—there’s nothing better.

Constance unhitches Glory’s cuffs from the post and rubs her arms. Glory nods and her mouth forms words I can read from here: “Yes, mistress.” What has she agreed to? Hunter steers me to stand in front of the low leather couch before he sits and tosses a question Constance’s way. “Is she okay or does she need a few minutes?”

“She’s fine. Aren’t you, love?”

“Yes, mistress.”

From the glassy look in Glory’s eyes and the healthy flush in her cheeks, she’s more than fine.

“Then go be a good girl for Hunter.”

“Yes, mistress.”

Hunter’s played with Glory before, and I have no doubt he and Constance talked before this little interlude. Not to mention Constance will be watching like a hawk. Even though she’s letting Hunter take the lead, Glory is still her responsibility and she takes her obligation very seriously. Constance settles on the couch next to Hunter to watch as Glory kneels in front of him with her back to me.

“Think they should put on a show for us?” Hunter’s crossed an ankle over his knee and idly drums his fingers on the perfectly shined leather of his shoe.

“Dinner and a show? You’re too good to me, Hunter.” Envy clutches at my stomach. I would’ve much rather been here with them than suffering through the perfectly done filet at my sister’s wedding. But I’m here now, so I try to let it go.

“Take her shoes off,” he directs Glory. She ducks her head before she turns around and holds out her hands. I place a hand on her shoulder for balance and offer my foot so she can slip the sculpted heel off. The thick pile of the carpet is luxurious, and I have to bite back a moan of relief when both my soles have sunk into it.

“Now her dress.”

Glory stands and walks behind me to unhook and unzip my dress. I’m left in the intricate filmy lingerie Hunter dressed me in this morning before I had to go. I’m surprised when he directs her to remove that, too, but grateful. The straps that bind the confection together bind me as well, and when it falls away, I can finally breathe properly. Despite being under Hunter’s tight control, this is the most free I’ve felt all day.

“On your knees, baby, so Glory can take the pins out of your hair.”

I barely brush five foot two, but Glory’s tinier than I am. I sink to my knees and look down as she works my hair free, strand by strand. When she’s finished, she runs her fingers through from root to tip, searching for any stray pins she missed, but she’s gotten them all. She steps forward to take something from Hunter’s outstretched hand and soon there’s a brush passing through the mess of curls she just unleashed.

I’m familiar with this brush. The head is smooth, wood, wide, and rectangular. I’ve been both spoiled and punished by it, and I suspect I’m in for a bit of both. Glory eases the bristles through the riotous mass of my hair until it’s been tamed, gently working tangles free and humming while she works. The rhythmic strokes and melodic tune are enough to put me in a trance.

Hunter’s sharp voice cuts the easy haze. “Enough. Come here, both of you.”

Glory and I crawl forward, and when Hunter holds out a hand, Glory places the brush in it and a breath flushes out my nose.

“Over my knee, baby.”

I ease myself over Hunter’s thighs, and Constance scoots closer to him, taking my head in her lap. She strokes my hair as Hunter examines the marks he made on me this morning, pinching at the welts and bringing them alive again before running the back of the brush over my upturned bottom.

I do my best not to squirm or gasp because that’ll only add to my punishment, but he makes it impossible, digging fingers into sore flesh and scraping nails over abraded skin. I don’t particularly like when Hunter is being this sadistic, but it’s certainly an effective distraction. And knowing I can please him by doing this penance settles me.
Take it. You’ve earned it, so just take it.
And when it’s over—

Ow.

I wasn’t expecting him to go easy on me, but if he’s going to go this hard, he’ll usually warm me up first. Son of a bitch that hurts. But I count the blows—
two, three, four
—breathe through the pain—
five, six seven—
and by the time I’ve figured out how manage them—
eight, nine, ten—
it’s done.

After grabbing a handful of flesh that’s on fire, Hunter rolls me until I’m draped across his and Constance’s laps, face up. Constance winds a fist into my hair and pulls my head back until I can’t move and strokes a hand across my cheek.

“No tears,” she murmurs. “What a stoic little thing. You must have to go awfully hard on her if you want her to cry.”

“I don’t like my pets weepy, Constance. Not like you. It would take a lot more than that for this one to shed a tear. You should try her sometime if you want a challenge.”

The fine wool of Hunter’s pants scratches at my behind, and I nearly protest but catch myself in time. It’s not for me to say, but Constance likes the cane and it might be my least favorite. If she wanted to break me…

“I’ll let you handle her beatings. But I would like to hear her beg.”

And with that, Constance’s hand that isn’t wound in my hair cups my breast and her thumb skates over my nipple.

“I’m sure that could be arranged.”

Hunter angles the top half of his body toward me and reaches for my other breast, squeezing before plucking at my nipple. His other hand reaches down and urges my knees apart, leaving my legs spread open while he and Constance toy with me. They stroke and knead, pinch and tug, with the occasional slap thrown in. When I can’t handle their merciless teasing anymore, I whimper.

“Something you wanted to say, kitten?” Constance taunts with a particularly vicious twist of a nipple.

“Please, mistress.”

“Please what?”

“Please, may I—may I…” I look to Hunter, unsure of what to do. Whose rules am I supposed to be following?

“Go on, you naughty little thing. Constance wants to hear you beg, so beg.”

He doesn’t need to encourage me. The pleas spill out of my mouth like they’ve been backed up all the way to my lungs. “Please, mistress, may I come? Please?”

She continues to fondle me while she mulls over my request. And then she doesn’t answer me, but speaks to her beloved sub who’s been watching the scene from her place kneeling on the floor.

“What do you think, little one? Do you think we should let your friend come?”

Though I beg her with my eyes to
please, please say yes
, she won’t. I wouldn’t. “If it would give you pleasure, mistress.”

“Not yet. Besides, I don’t think she’s desperate enough yet. She’s still so composed.”

Dominants are such wicked creatures. I’m supposed to be well-behaved and take what they give me without complaint. But I’m also supposed to beg. I’m supposed to have nice manners, but if they’re too nice, I’m not frantic enough. But if I’d broken down and gotten all sloppy, I’d get punished for that.
Tell me how to please you and I’ll do it. Please.

“There’s one surefire way to make her out of her mind. She’ll say anything you want,” Hunter volunteers while he rolls a nipple between his fingers.

“Oh? Do tell.”

“Showing’s always better than telling. Glory, come.” Hunter snaps his fingers and then she’s at his feet. “On the couch. Yes, that’s right.”

She’s on her knees beside him, looking down at me, spread out and being tormented. Her gaze is half-jealousy and half-sympathy. If our positions were reversed, the look on my face would be the same.

“You’re going to do your best to make my intractable sweetheart come. And you,” he says, laying a hand across my belly, “are going to do your best not to.”

Shit. Glory and I have been used side by side and been instructed to play together for Hunter and Constance’s entertainment often enough that we’re quite familiar with how to get each other off. I am completely and utterly—

Oh.
Glory’s even more competitive than I am. She’s spread me wide open and dipped her head to lick and suck at my clit. I gasp at the sensation. Not surprisingly, Glory is really fucking good at this. Her clever tongue works its magic while her hands hold me apart. I do my best to distance myself from what’s happening to my body, to resist the sensations being forced on me, but it doesn’t take long before I’m pleading in earnest.