The Cartographer (The Compass series Book 6)

by Tamsen Parker

  “I’m sorry, Hart.”

  “Yeah. My mom did the best she could, but she was pretty messed up for a long time after he died. Ended up losing the house, having to move to a shitty neighborhood, and took two full-time jobs to keep me and my sisters fed and clothed. Even then, we were on food stamps for a while. She didn’t have a whole lot of time to look after us. Kendra and my other sisters never got into all that much trouble, but I more than made up for it.

  “I think Kendra is so careful with money because she sees our mom as a cautionary tale. She bought this place and then put aside a bunch of her SGLI—you know, death benefits?—for the kids to go to college. Tries not to dip into the rest much. So she bartends to make money and takes part-time classes to get her MSW. It’s not ideal, but it lets her be around more than my mom could be. Doesn’t want my nephew growing up like I did, getting involved with street life.”

  The look on his face is part-wistful, part-regret.

  “I was looking for a family, you know? People who would be around, who would have my back. It was easy to see that in the gang that ran the blocks around our house. Plus, they always had food and girls and…”

  He sneaks me a look, and I keep the neutral but interested expression plastered on my face, though the compassion wants to seep through. That’s when the smile lights up his face, and I can see the cocksure and charismatic adolescent he must’ve been. “The sneakers, man. They always had the best kicks.”

  “Which helped you get the girls,” I supply.

  The brash grin I get in response makes me want to wrestle him onto his back and have him again. I want that hard-earned arrogance to be mine, for his iron will to bend to mine. “Yeah, it did.”

  “Did you like sleeping with women?”

  “Sure. Still do. Plus, if I wanted to have sex when I was a teenager—” And who doesn’t? “—girls were pretty much my option. But I…I don’t know. It’s hard to explain. I’ll have sex with women and it’s good, but the people I’ve wanted to be with, not for a night or not just to hang out with, but as a…partner?”

  Ridges form on his forehead, and I want to wipe them clean. You can be with whomever you want, in whatever capacity you want. Tell me and I will do my best to make your dreams come true.

  “I like men.”

  I nod, knowing precisely what he means, though I suspect he gets more pleasure out of having sex with women than I ever have. “I hear you.”

  It takes him a second, but then he’s looking up at me through narrowed eyes. “You’ve slept with women?”

  “That’s surprising?”

  “Uh, yeah. You kind of seem like a gold star gay.”

  I snort, which is incredibly indecorous, so I make up for it with an indolent wave of my hand. “Occupational hazard.”

  Hart’s brows crumple, a line forming in his flawless skin. “Wait, what? You fuck your clients?”

  “Sometimes. Not all of them.” I shrug. It’s not really a big deal.

  “You fuck people for money?”

  “No,” I clarify, “though some of the best people I know in this world are sex workers, so you need to tread carefully. I train people for money, and sometimes having sex is part of that. I also happen to beat the shit out of people, teach them to cook, and listen to them talk, among other things. I hardly think sex is the strangest part of my job.”

  He considers this for minutes, and I let him. It’s easy enough because he’s rested his head on my chest again. It’s possible he’ll fall asleep before he figures out how he feels about this, though it’s also possible his mind’s too busy for that. Eventually he rolls up and looks me in the face. “Have you had sex with anyone else since you met me?”

  Not a question I particularly want to answer, but what the hell. “No. Why? Would you like to be informed if I do? That’s a reasonable ask.”

  “No, I…I guess I’m a little thrown, that’s all.”

  “It’s not every day you meet someone who has my job.”

  “No, it’s not. Have you ever…fallen in love with any of them? Your clients, I mean? Seems like it’d be easy to do.”

  You’d think so. “I haven’t. I mean, I have a great deal of affection for many of my clients, but I’ve never felt the need to settle down with any of them. Playing for keeps isn’t my MO. I did, however, train the person I’ve ever come closest to marrying.”

  “Oh, yeah? Do I want to know what he was like?” There’s a teasing lift of his eyebrow, but I think he really is curious. Boy is he going to be surprised. Thing is, he could see for himself, and wouldn’t that be fun? It’s something I find myself wanting, and what’s the harm in offering? He may well say no.

  “Actually, I’m supposed to have dinner with her, her husband, and a couple of other friends of ours next week. You could join us if you like.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  ‡

  “Don’t be so nervous.”

  Hart yanks at his shirt collar as if it’s strangling him, even though it fits perfectly. I made sure it would. “You want to look as if you belong here? I can help you with that.” And I had.

  There had been a great deal of satisfaction in watching him get all dressed up, showing off that fine body of his in clothes that actually fit properly. Not that I can’t appreciate the curve of that ass in thrift store jeans, but there’s something about the way wool drapes… Had it been any surprise we’d ended up going at it in the dressing room? No. Not to me anyhow. If Allie had been anything more than a little taken aback, he hadn’t shown it. Just let me use him and then play dress-up some more.

  He turns his head and narrows his eyes. “Easy for you to say. They’re your friends.”

  I put my hands on his shoulders and smooth the sleeves down his arms, gripping the hard muscles in a way that soothes him. “That’s right. My best friends. Which is why you shouldn’t be nervous. You think I would be close with a bunch of assholes? I do business with some giant turd blossoms, I grant you, but that’s business. This is pleasure. Speaking of pleasure…”

  His head turns in a way that’s too quick to be casual. Wary. “Yeah?”

  “There’s the possibility there will be some play after dinner. Are you comfortable with that?”

  The way his eyes get bigger, showing the stark white almost all the way around his dark irises, could mean either hell, no or hell, yes. His verbal response is more measured. They usually are. “Do you mean being there while it happens or participating?”

  “Either.”

  “Isn’t it rude to just watch?”

  “No. You’ve been invited, but there are no expectations. And Glory’s a bit of an exhibitionist. She’ll like it.” Like it is an understatement. She’ll be ecstatic, and an ecstatic Glory is something to behold. She’s so frigging cute I want to squeeze her until she pops and a shit-ton of glitter and confetti pops out.

  “Would you…would you share me?”

  Ah. So that’s what he was concerned about. “I wasn’t planning on it. Why? Is that something that interests you?”

  He tugs at his collar again, and his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. “Maybe.”

  “By that you mean ‘yes’ but it makes you uncomfortable to say so?” There’s a tic in his jaw that says I hit the bullseye. Interesting. “That could be arranged, although this isn’t really the right crowd. Constance and Cris are both good enough to top almost anyone, but they both prefer women for kink. And for sex, for that matter.”

  “What am I supposed to call them?”

  “At dinner? First names are fine; you’ll be introduced. Would you like to go by Hart, Allie, or something else?”

  He hesitates, and though it could be for myriad reasons, it makes me…happy. He didn’t reflexively say Hart. Which means he thinks enough of me and my assurances he might consider these strangers his friends, sight unseen, because my word is enough.

  A vision of the six of us laughing around a dining table comes into my head, and suddenly there are few things I want more in t
his world. Of course I’ve been to these dinners and other events with endless permutations of people. Constance and India have been the most frequent faces, and since Glory arrived on the scene, her compact body’s been bouncing in a seat next to Constance. In my mental map, once Hunter had vacated the seat next to India—or had rather been shoved out of it—it had been noticeably empty until Cris filled it.

  Matthew is generally my companion of choice, but I’ve never allowed myself that same sense of permanence as India and Constance have with their partners. So aside from polite interest in making sure this evening isn’t an incredibly awkward affair and that conversation flows, I should keep out of my mind how I think Allie will fit in with the rest of the crew. How he’ll enjoy Glory’s boundless enthusiasm and gentle teasing, how I’m guessing he and Constance will be able to talk about better ways for HUD to support current and former military personnel, and how if he gets a taste of Cris’s cooking, he’ll never leave me. We’ll see how he does with India. She can be an acquired taste—one some people never acquire.

  “Allie’s fine.”

  Though on the inside I’m breaking into a goofy grin, I keep my neutral expression on the outside because it would have been totally fine for him to say Hart. I wouldn’t have been disappointed. Not even a little bit. Because this is temporary. As long as Allie’s my charge, I’ll care for him the best way I know how, and hopefully by the time he leaves, he’ll be in a position to know what to look for in his next partner. That will be thanks enough.

  “And for later?” I leave the “during playtime” left unsaid, because his wide open, unblinking eyes tell me he knows exactly what I mean. His teeth sink into his bottom lip briefly before he makes his call.

  “Would it be a dick move to say Allie?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Am I supposed to be all ma’am and sir and shit?”

  I want to laugh, but I swallow it. He can speak to me like this, but I don’t necessarily want to encourage it. Not setting a good example for the next Dominant he might encounter.

  “You’ll need to be respectful, of course, but you haven’t signed on to any protocols with anyone but me. Neither Cris nor Constance stand much on ceremony, either.” One of the reasons we get along so well, to be honest. I can see the pleasure to be gleaned in the hard lines and strict demands of formal protocol, and I’m happy to teach it, but it’s not my personal hot spot. “India will be addressing us as ‘sir’ and ‘mistress.’ Glory will be calling me ‘sir’ and Constance ‘mistress.’ I’m not sure how she’ll address Cris. They haven’t spent a great deal of time together. It’s all negotiated, nothing’s set in stone.”

  “They’re all going to play?”

  “Maybe. I can’t say for sure.”

  “Will you?”

  “You mean with someone other than you?”

  He nods, and a small line forms between his brows.

  “I might. Unless you don’t want me to. Then I wouldn’t.”

  “Just like that?”

  His tone is suspicious, and I don’t like it at all. I take his shoulders in my hands again and squeeze, digging the tips of my fingers into his flesh, seeking out nerves to inflict a sensation that will make him gasp. I’m met with success. “Since when have I ignored a request of yours outside of a scene where that was part of the game? Ever?”

  He squirms in my grip, but I don’t let go. If anything, his movement is inflicting more pain. He doesn’t stop, I’m guessing because he’s finding pleasure and comfort in the feeling. “Never, sir.”

  “I’m not going to start now. You can decide after you’ve met them if you want, and you can always change your mind. Rule number one, Hart.” I release him and smooth the fabric I’ve mussed. Can’t have him showing up all wrinkled. We’ll save the disheveling for later. For now, I know he’ll feel better, more at ease, if he looks his best. “You never have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  *

  We arrive at the restaurant and are promptly escorted to the private dining room in the back. I don’t always dine privately, but sometimes it’s nice to be able to discuss your full range of interests and I’ve never felt truly comfortable doing that in public spaces. Mostly because I don’t care to make innocent bystanders any less innocent.

  My foot has barely crossed the threshold when I’m assaulted by a brightly colored bouncy ball. Glory’s flung herself at me, her plump arms circled tight around my neck and her legs wrapped tight around my hips. “Rey! I missed you!”

  I hug her tight to me, enjoying the way she always thrums with energy and how good she smells. Her long black hair holds the scent of whatever shampoo she uses, and tonight it’s falling down her back. Apples. Not Granny Smiths or a mealy red delicious though. Pink Lady. That’s the type of apple she smells like.

  “I missed you too, my apple-cheeked wonder.”

  “Glory, get down. Exhibit a little decorum, please.”

  Constance’s gentle scolding has the intended effect; Glory loosens her grip and slides down, her rosebud mouth pursed in reluctant contrition as she takes a step back. “Sorry.”

  “No need to apologize to me,” I say, chucking her on her chin, and she breaks into the smile I knew was lurking beneath. “Besides, you know Constance just wanted to get in on this action herself.”

  Constance shakes her head, but does in fact envelope me in her arms. Hugging Constance always feels slightly combative, as if affection is a full-contact sport. I suspect outside of India and Glory, she doesn’t get much physical contact, and though she enjoys it, it still makes her uncomfortable. I understand, and I think that’s why I’m one of the few other people who’s permitted this intimacy. I hold her tight and pound her on the back, lest this feel too sweet. Don’t want my permit getting revoked for hugging like a wuss.

  She pulls back, and if I didn’t know her so well, I wouldn’t think anything of the sheen in her eyes. I’ll make sure to talk to her later in case I’m right.

  Cris is next and offers me a hand and a smile. It’s genuine, so he’s happy to be here, happy to be around people he knows, trusts. Good. He still looks worn, not quite like his top-form self, but better than the last time I saw him, which was in Kona for Mal’s funeral. Definitely better. The dark smudges under his eyes are lighter, his skin isn’t so dulled by grief. He’s still hurting, but not in never-ending agony. Cris isn’t a difficult man to read because he never had to be, but I ask him anyway, because people tend to not like it when you can glean every detail you need to know without them opening their mouths.

  “How’re you doing?”

  He nods, considering, and shifts his weight, thoughtful. “Better.”

  “Good. Glad to hear it.” I am. I like to see people in pain, but not that kind and not him. He’s a good man, and he deserves to be happy. Besides, it’s taxing for both him and India when he’s anything but easygoing and fully functional. “Where’s Mano?”

  Cris snorts and rolls his eyes, but his smile grows broader. I think he loves that dog. Well done, India.

  “He’s with Holo and Lani. They’ve got a mutt of their own, and they play like they were litter mates. You’ll have to meet him. When are you coming to Kona again?”

  “Soon, I hope.”

  “You’ve got an open invitation.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

  He claps me on the shoulder and moves aside, and there’s my India. She was waiting her turn. She likes to go last so she can be held as long as she likes. She looks okay too. Maybe tired, but better than I was expecting. Her dress is…pale pink of all things and modestly cut. I’ve never seen her look so soft. What in the hell is going on?

  I hold her out from me to take her in, and she looks away, blushing. “I look ridiculous, don’t I?”

  “No, you’re stunning and you know it. I couldn’t quite believe it, that’s all. Now come here.”

  When I wrap my arms around her, I have to smother a laugh. There’s
a rope chest harness underneath her couture, and I play my fingers over the bonds, trying to picture it purely by touch. Perhaps I’ll get to see it later. Cris, unsurprisingly, does beautiful rope work.

  “You were either a very good girl or very bad. Which was it, little one?”

  “Maybe both,” she murmurs against my chest. Sounds about right. If there weren’t so many people here, I’d slide a hand down to see if she had a hip harness to match, but I’ll have to wonder for now. I’d like to hold her forever, but we do have company and I haven’t made introductions yet. Poor Allie is probably standing there, fidgeting. Guilt smacks me upside the head. Jesus, Walter, you’ve got responsibilities. Fucking fulfill them.

  I give India one last squeeze and drop a kiss on her head. I need to make an effort to see her more often. She’s got Cris, but I don’t want her to forget she’s got me too. Not only when she’s in crisis, either. Always.

  I ruffle her hair when I pull away and then search over my shoulder for Allie. He’s standing a couple of paces behind me, his hands closed but not clenched by his sides, taking in everything and everyone. I reach back for him, taking his arm and applying pressure, my fingers digging into the fine fabric of his suitcoat. He really does look marvelous.

  “I wanted to introduce my…” None of them would blink if I said fuck buddy, but Allie might cringe. Partner is too much and might raise some eyebrows. Sub would do, but I don’t want to embarrass him, and I’ve never said that out loud in his presence. “…companion.”

  Perfect. And I resisted the “dinner” I could’ve put before it. Because it’s not just about dinner. Certainly not anymore. If I’m lucky, I’ll get to hold onto him until he finds someone else. If I’m very lucky, that will take a while.

  “This is Allie.”

  Saying it out loud makes something inside me glow. He’s given me a gift, and I savor unwrapping it, saying his name like I’d slip a finger gingerly under Scotch tape and peel it up without wrecking the paper. Allie, Allie, Allie. I’ll say it a million times tonight, every time I get the chance. Then I’ll stop, because he hasn’t extended the privilege to when we’re alone. I’d like to think we’re friends, but I’m not sure what he would say.