“Take off your shirt.”
He peels it off without a second thought and drops it on the floor. He really is magnificent. My gaze coasts over the ink staining his skin, and now it means a lot more to me. All of these choices he’s had to make, carved into his skin. I’d like to keep him safe, happy. Take some of those choices away.
“The rest of your clothes as well.”
His eyes dart briefly toward the cockpit and to where Leanne disappeared.
“We won’t be disturbed, I promise.”
He purses his lips briefly, a reaction he can’t quite tame, and then he’s doing as he’s been bid. Satisfaction wells inside of me like a warm liquid, heated further by the sight of his narrow hips and powerful thighs. And that ass… While we’re away, I’d like to have that ass.
Not now. For now…
“On your knees, Hart.”
He lowers himself in front of me, sitting back on his heels, his thighs spread the way I like. I watch as he starts to get hard. It’s not easy for him to come to me like this, and I understand more now why. Because where he’s from, being gay was bad enough, but bottoming had to have been a thousand times worse. So for all his code-switching, he’s never been able to turn the dial here. I’ll give that to him.
I lean forward, elbows on my knees, and cup his face in my hands.
“You like being on your knees for me, don’t you, Hart?”
He huffs a short breath through his nose that wafts over my wrists and then swallows hard.
“Yes, sir.”
“Have you ever been able to do this before?”
“No, sir.”
“Have you ever been treasured for being such a damn fine cocksucker?”
“No, sir.”
“You are, though. I’ve been getting hard thinking about your mouth since you sucked me off in that alley.”
His cock has swelled further, thick and heavy but still laying against his thigh. I want him full to bursting, standing at attention for me.
“Is that what you’re thinking about right now, Hart? How much you want my cock in your mouth? How much you want to swallow my come down your throat?”
He makes an uncomfortable grunt, and his dick twitches. I’m not sure if he enjoys the dirty words, but they sure are getting him hot.
“Because that’s what I’m thinking about.”
I brush my suitcoat to the side so he can see my erection clearly through my pants.
“Do you want to touch me, Hart?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you want to suck me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then I think it’s only fair you ask properly, don’t you? I could get myself off perfectly well. That’s what I’ve had to do for the past couple of weeks given that you weren’t inclined to see me.”
I widen my knees and lazily drop a hand to my crotch, stroking my own hardness through my pants.
“Please don’t, sir.”
“Hmm? You don’t want to watch me jerk off?”
“I—”
Huh. Perhaps he would enjoy that. But not today. I’ve been waiting for his hot wet mouth surrounding me, his slick tongue stroking me. As good as I might be with my right hand, it’s nowhere near as good as Allie is with his mouth.
“No, sir.”
“What do you want?”
“I—”
“You’re practically drooling, Hart. Spit it out.”
Coaxing is more my usual style, not challenging, but I think he likes a challenge. I’ll have to tread carefully, though, because I don’t want to push him too far. I don’t get the feeling humiliation is his kink, and I don’t want to find out the hard way. That’s a difficult breach of trust to recover from.
“I’d like to suck your cock, sir.”
I’d like to tease him more, watch him try to contain his desire in the cage of his finely tuned body, but I’m about out of patience myself. Between not having Matthew to use in that capacity and visions of Allie haunting my head when I’ve thought about having someone else, it’s been far too long since my last blowjob and my patience is fraying.
“Go on then.”
His eagerness as he rocks off his heels and comes closer, all while still on his knees, is quite lovely. He reaches for my belt and unbuckles it, not bothering to slide the leather through the loops. Eager indeed.
He starts in on the button and zip of my pants, careful to hold the fly away as he unzips, which I appreciate. He doesn’t waste any time but takes my erection into his hand for a few greedy strokes before his mouth is on me. And Jesus, yes, this is as good as I remember it. He’s remembered from last time, the things I like, and is doing them and more. It wasn’t the illicit thrill of standing outside the bar, knowing we could be caught. He really is fantastic with his mouth. He licks and sucks, paying particular attention to the underside just below the crown.
My head drops back, and I allow a small groan of appreciation to escape because he should be commended for this, understand his value.
“You are a damn fine cocksucker.”
The praise encourages a small hum of response that nearly drives me over the edge—what the hell is wrong with me? Getting my dick sucked is nothing new and god knows Matthew’s a pro, but there’s something about this. He’s sloppy, desperate. Maybe it’s raw gratitude for accepting him the way he is. It’s a powerful currency, that—not one many people understand the value of.
My fingers curl around the fine leather of the seat, but it’s nothing compared to the smoothness of his skin so I reach for his neck, draw him in further until I hit the back of his throat. He gags, so I release. The whole teary, bug-eyed, choking thing doesn’t do much for me. I’d rather have him lave me with that delicious enthusiasm than bring tears to his eyes.
He hits a certain rhythm, a particular degree of suction that’s absolutely divine, and I give in. “Keep doing that, Hart, and you’ll get what you’re after.”
With him working at me, I try to hold off to enjoy the exquisite pleasure, but then he looks up at me with big eyes, begging for approval, and I lose it entirely, spilling my release into his mouth. He doesn’t seem surprised, doesn’t break eye contact, just gentles his motions by degrees after my initial climax. And continues on a sweet and easy downslope until he’s barely moving at all. I tighten my hand on his neck. “That’s enough.”
He withdraws, letting my dick fall free of his mouth. I am so, so glad he agreed to come, and I plan to make it well worth his while.
Chapter Twelve
‡
That fucker Kenji is keeping me on my toes. His new slave’s quite beautiful, as to be expected. He likes stunning women. This one is no exception. More athletically built than the willowy things he usually keeps on his arm, she’s like a jungle cat as she lies at his feet. All restrained power.
She looks beautiful there, curled around his ridiculously expensive and perfectly shined shoes. It’s quite the picture, like some surreal shoot for an upscale men’s magazine, and I have to hand it the man for aesthetics. Everything around him is gorgeous, from the luxe hotel suite that’s likely comped because of the truly offensive amount of money he drops at the gambling tables, to his clothing, to the sumptuous sushi lunch we’ve consumed, to his partner.
Now we’re through with our meal—which he hand-fed to her in a way that made me ache to have my own pet at my feet to spoil and control in equal measure—it’s time for what I’m really here for. To speak with her alone, as I always demand to do with his partners. Though he acts as though it’s a bothersome formality, I suspect he appreciates having a balance to his check. Indeed, I think that’s what he pays me for. I’m not here to expand his practice, that’s for sure.
Kass follows me into one of the bedrooms of the suite where Kenji had invited me to stay the night. I’d demurred. I need a breather, and there’s a magnificent man waiting for me back in my own, significantly less palatial suite to give me one when this is over. As soon as we’re through the door, she
stands, making it clear precisely how she feels about me. Which is fine. I’m not her master, and there’s no need for her to treat me as if I am. Eases my mind, actually.
I gesture to two chairs on either side of a side table next to the floor-to-ceiling windows. Not taking her eyes off me, she sits, curling into the chair in a decidedly feline manner. While we talk, she doesn’t give me an inch. Respectful, of course, because Kenji doesn’t brook rudeness to his associates, but so damn proud it rocks me back. She may purr like a kitten for him, but not for anyone else. I like those kinds of submissives—women, in particular. Reminds me of India.
After I finish my usual rundown of questions—do you feel safe? Are you happy? Is he respecting your safewords?—she relaxes some, but not enough I don’t think she’d rip my throat out if he so much as waved a hand. Then I can’t help myself. I have to ask.
“What exactly about Kenji do you enjoy?”
The look she gives me is so hotly defensive I can practically feel the aggressive flames licking at my skin. “If you think he’s abusing me—”
“I don’t. I just want to be sure you’re satisfied with how you’re being treated.”
Her eyes narrow, not helping the impression of her being half-feline, half-human. “Who the fuck are you, the kink police?”
I raise an eyebrow. “Of a sort. But the point is your master’s asked you to answer my questions, so I’d suggest you do so unless you’re prepared to deal with the consequences.”
I don’t particularly want to think about what those might be. Probably something that would make even my iron stomach clench. I like the man, but sometimes I wonder why. To be fair, I’m sure a lot of people feel the same way about me. At least I hope they do.
Her face softens, becoming more of a soft glow than a fire waiting to rage out of control. There it is: love, devotion, gratitude, all gleaming in her eyes. “What do I like about Him?”
The verbal capitalization of “him” is obvious in the reverential way she says it. She’s exquisite, her ardor for him so sharp it cuts. She blinks, and I can almost see the way the movie plays in her mind, all the things she loves about him.
“I’m not sure if you understand what it’s like, to be a person like me…”
She eyes me cautiously, as if I might mock her, hurt her, but when I dip my head and say in an utterly neutral, soft tone, “You mean a slave?” she nods and continues.
“I’m…too much. I scare people. Disgust and horrify them. The things I want…”
I can see all the times she’s been rejected, demeaned, all the times people have made her feel badly for being brave enough to confess her deepest desires, and it squeezes my heart. Yes, I know what that’s like. I’ve seen too many people treated that way.
“They’re too much,” she finishes blandly, probably trying to block out the memories by not giving them any weight out here in the world. “But Master…”
There it is again—that glow. I get it.
“Master never makes me feel that way. He accepts what I want and need. Not only that, but he values me for it. Even when he refuses me, he does it in a way that makes me feel cherished and protected instead of dirty and revolting.”
She looks up at me again with ferocity in her eyes, daring me to contradict or argue with her, but I won’t. “Then I’m happy for you both. Thank you for your candor.”
“So you’re finished with your investigation, Inspector Walter?”
A title that makes the corner of my mouth twitch in a reluctant smile, her gentle teasing another reminder of India. “Yes, and everything’s as it should be. I hope I’ll be seeing you again.”
I do. It seems as though Kenji’s finally met his match in Kass, and I’m glad they’ve found each other. As much as I’d rather frame it as different wants instead of assigning it a value, I’m sure 99.9 percent of the world would agree: what they want is too much. So it’s handy they’ve managed to sift through the sands and latch onto the other piece of sea glass.
Kass doesn’t return my sentiment, and that’s okay. She uses her coiled tight muscles to step lithely off the chair and give a wave before she heads back out to where her master’s awaiting her, no doubt having planned some new delectable torture in the time we’ve been talking. By the way her hips swing as she walks to the door, she’s thinking the same thing.
When she opens it, she sinks to her hands and knees and passes over the threshold as his property once again. I catch a glimpse of Kenji’s expression through the doorway as she crawls through it, and the feelings they have for each other are clearly mutual.
Something inside me pings, and I can’t quite identify the feeling. Seeing my clients happy and satisfied, paired with an appropriate and loving partner, usually provides me with unqualified contentment. Today… Am I happy for them? Of course. But the thought hovering at the edge of my brain isn’t of the next thing to tackle from my long list of things to do, but of a certain man waiting for me back in my hotel room.
Chapter Thirteen
‡
Riding the elevator up to my suite, I lean back against the wall, thunking my head on the mirrored surface. I’m supposed to take Hart out tonight, but I don’t know if I can manage it. I might have to beg off and offer some profuse apologies. Though maybe when I see him, I’ll feel differently. He has a way of making me feel…energized. Sure, that’s the word for it.
I let myself in with the keycard and step inside to where Allie’s lounging on the couch, phone pressed to his ear. With a few words, I can tell he’s on the phone with Kendra. I give him a wave as I head through the bedroom and into the en suite. I get in the shower because I want to wash the whole thing off. Kenji tests my mettle. At least he’s good for desensitizing me. Nothing makes me blink anymore.
After letting the hot water sluice over me for a good ten minutes, I feel slightly more human. Not to the extent I want to go clubbing or anything, but I could probably manage dinner.
I don’t bother putting on clothes before wandering out to the living room but sling on a robe because, depending on what we decide to do, I might dress differently.
“How’s Kendra?”
Hart blinks at me as if he’s surprised I noticed.
“Fine. Kids are good.”
“Good.” I perch on the back of the couch, not bothering to attempt much in the way of modesty. “So I know I said we could go out tonight, but my session was more taxing than I’d expected. Would you be terribly put out if we went to dinner instead?”
Allie shakes his head, and I can’t detect any real disappointment on his face. “Would you be upset if I asked for room service? I mean, I know you want to show me off and all…”
Crossing my arms, I cock an eyebrow, a skill I had to perfect in the mirror when I was a kid. So worth it. “Do I?”
“Dude, I’m a hot piece of ass.”
That makes me laugh. I don’t remember the last time someone called me dude before I met Hart. I could get used to it.
“You are indeed. Although I don’t mind keeping you all to myself for an evening.”
Perhaps if I’ve recovered enough, I’ll have all of him as I was planning to.
I grab the room service menu, a pad of paper and a pen from the desk, and hand it to Hart.
“Pick whatever you’d like and write it down. I’ll call after I get dressed.”
Ten minutes later, I’m met with a Hart who hasn’t budged from the couch and is staring at the menu with crunched brows and the corners of his mouth turned down.
“What’s the matter? Couldn’t find anything you’d like? I’m sure they could throw together something you’d find acceptable.”
“It’s not that. It’s that I don’t feel good about ordering a thirty-dollar cheeseburger.”
I bristle some at his disobedience, but dismissing his concerns isn’t going to help anything. Nor would it make him feel any better to know the last hotel I was at, it would’ve been forty-two dollars.
“I can’t say I disagree w
ith you, but on the plus side, the staff person delivering said excessively priced cheeseburger will be getting a nice tip that will help them pay their rent. If it bothers you, we could take a car to the nearest fast food joint and our entire meal will likely come out to less than that. Would you prefer that?”
He eyes me suspiciously, not closing the binder of over-priced cuisine. “You’d do that?”
“Sure. I like In-and-Out as much as anyone.”
His brows descend further until his eyes are merely slits. Incredibly dubious slits.
“Yes? Something I could help you with?” I’m starting to get hungry, and I’d like to get the Bay of Cheeseburgers over with.
“I’m trying to figure you out, that’s all.”
Good luck with that. “What about me?”
“For starters, you call yourself a control freak.”
“I am.”
“For a control freak, you sure do let me have my way a lot.”
How to put this? “There are some things I care very much about and other things that don’t matter. Where we eat dinner tonight is something I care about only insofar as I’d like to eat something and I’d like to see you eat something. Where we do it is of little consequence.”
“What’s something you do care about?”
“Right now? I’d like for you to wear your grey shirt instead of that one and I’d like for you to think about how I’m going to fuck your ass when we get back from dinner.”
Hart’s eyes have popped satisfyingly wide, and I can’t help how one side of my mouth draws up. “I also wanted you to stop looking at me as if I’m a specimen in a jar. Mission accomplished. Now let’s go.”
He shakes his head and stands, pulling his shirt over his head in one swift movement and heading toward the bedroom. When he comes back, he’s got his grey shirt on, the one that clings to his chest and biceps just so, and I smile.
“See? Now we’re all happy.” Cocking my head toward the door, I hold out an arm. “After you.”
The Cartographer (The Compass series Book 6) Page 11