True North (Compass series Book 4)

by Tamsen Parker

  It’s hard to tell whether she likes it or hates it, but I’m coming around to the idea that, for some people, those things aren’t mutually exclusive. When I’ve got my hand good and warmed up, I stop the beating and study her. She’s breathing hard and fast, her face pink, and her knuckles white, but she’s not using a safeword. I’ve listened for them. Daffodil. Marigold. Hell, I’d probably stop if she said dandelion just to be sure.

  I get on my own knees in front of her, settling a hand on the curve of her hip that’s still encased in the tight hold of the corset. That seems to settle her some, my touch, and she makes an effort to breathe more evenly. But I’d like to keep her on her toes. Pinning her at the waist, I delve a hand between her legs, my fingers slicking through her folds, and she groans when I find her clit and stroke.

  My muscle memory might be a little rusty, but I remember how she likes to be touched. Stroking up and down over the tight little bud before splitting my fingers and running them along the sides, drawing them together to pinch slightly.

  “Slade.” The gaspy word out of her mouth makes me lose my rhythm, and her cheeks bloom red. “Sorry. Hale.”

  “Don’t call me that.” Not her. Not even here. With other people around, sure, but when it’s the two of us—well, three, but Rey’s been read in a while ago—I don’t want her pretending I’m some stranger. Let her remember it’s me touching her, maybe wish for me back.

  “Okay.” She dips her head and nuzzles her own arm, maybe seeking comfort, so I inch forward on my knees, pressing flush against her and snaking an arm around her waist to pull her against me.

  At the same time she leans her forehead against my shoulder, I slide my fingers inside of her. The feel of her tight, wet heat surrounding my fingers makes me bite back a moan because hell if there’s anything that feels better than that. I thrust into her very core while I’ve got her trapped against me, and she cries out softly into my chest.

  “Oh, Slade. That feels…it feels…”

  “Good? You like having my fingers jammed in your pussy, you horny little fuckslut?”

  I’d debated whether to go sweet or nasty with my words, but the husky moan they drag from her tell me I made the right call. Press and the dirty talk. Can do.

  “Yes. I do. More, please.”

  I drag my fingers out of her and grab her jaw, smearing her own wetness on her cheek. Jesus do I want to lick it off of her, but no. I want to see it on her and want her to feel it dry. Evidence of what I’ve done to her—what she’s letting me do—all over her face.

  “More? You want more?”

  “Please,” she pleads, rocking her hips into me.

  “What’s going to be enough, huh? You haven’t earned my cock yet, but I’ll give you another finger.”

  With that, I remove my hand from her jaw and push back inside her, this time with three fingers.

  “Mmm.”

  Her stifled cry sends a rush of blood straight to my dick. She fucking loves this.

  “Is that enough for you? Or is your greedy cunt not full enough yet? Do you want another?”

  She presses her head into my chest, trying to hide, so I wrench my fingers out of her again grasp her chin, holding her away.

  “Answer me. Do you want another?”

  Her cheeks have gone scarlet at the border of the blindfold, and her chin is trembling. Panic grips me because I don’t want to hurt her, but Rey’s voice fills my head like he’s whispering in my ear, not doing god-knows-what in his little supervisor nook on the other side of the room. She knows what she’s doing. Let her do it.

  She’d tell me. If it were too much for her. But I’m not okay with this. I can’t handle the worry. And as I’m coming up with Plan B, she whispers, “Yes.”

  Power surges through me and doesn’t dissipate. This is the same feeling I’d get when I made those unconsenting women cry, but unlike then, when I’d had sickening crazed moths beating around my insides, this feels good. Right. This isn’t against her will. She’s given me permission and is, in fact, encouraging me.

  “Too fucking bad.”

  Sliding my fingers into her hair, I close them into a fist near her scalp and stand, using my other hand to undo my pants. Clumsy. For fuck’s sake. But she can’t see me fumble at my fly because she’s blindfolded.

  “You’re going to suck me first, and if you give me the blowjob of my life, I might let you come. No promises. Maybe I’ll send you home with an empty, aching pussy and instructions not to come until I see you again. Would you be able to do it, you desperate little whore?”

  She makes a frantic mewl and leans forward, pulling against her bound wrists, searching for something to take in her mouth. So I give it to her.

  It’s exactly as I remember. The slide of her tongue, the way she massages the underside of the head in just the right way. Suction that narrows her cheeks and an enthusiastic glide of her mouth down my dick. If I were a praying man, I’d pray for this.

  She works me for a few minutes, and then I can’t handle it anymore. I pull back, pump my cock with my own fist a few times, and come all over her. The first spurt lands on the corner of her lip, dripping onto her chest, and the next hits her cheek and slides down her skin. The image is better than any porn I’ve ever seen, and it drags another surge of climax out of me that lands in the center of her reddened breasts.

  My knees are about to give out anyway, so I save some face and drop to the floor like it’s on purpose. I hold her by the hair while I rub the come that hit her chest into her skin. I don’t fail to see her tongue dart out and swipe a taste of the spurt the hit her mouth. If I had anything left, I swear to god I’d come again, but I’m spent.

  So instead I push my fingers back inside her, two, three, and then, yeah, four, and fuck her with them, thumbing her clit roughly. It’s too hard to let her get off but damn will it make her squirm.

  “Do you want to come, Sprite?”

  “Yes. Please.”

  “Of course you do, you little fuckslut. Look at you, your tits hanging out with my come all over you, trussed up like livestock, and all you can think about is your orgasm. You’re an awfully dirty girl. What could I get you to do if I promised you could come after?”

  “Anything! Please, I’ll do anything.”

  “You’re lucky I’m tiring of you. I think I’ll let you come—” She immediately thrusts her hips harder against me and cries out. “Not yet. Wait till I say. For the love of god, control yourself.”

  I tsk at her as if I’m disgusted when in truth I’m amazed at her self-control. She fucking amazes me. I’d like to tell her, but that’s not the game we’re playing so I tease her more, muttering the dirtiest things I can think of while I’m buried knuckle-deep inside her. And finally, when I think she can’t take it anymore, I push harder with my fingers but lighten up with my thumb and tell her in that dismayed tone, “Go ahead, slut. Come. Since you need it so bad.”

  It only takes a few more rocks of her hips, meeting the vicious thrust of my fingers inside her, until she’s crying out my name and panting, her muscles contracting around my fingers that are spreading her wide apart. Fuck, holy fuck. The only thing that could possibly make this better is if it were my cock inside her. Maybe next time. Please let there be a next time.

  She shudders in my arms, and I hold her, feeling like I need to shelter her from her own body’s reactions. Like she might shake apart. Press and I used to have some damn good sex—well, at least I remember it that way—but never was it anything like that.

  That’s when I feel it, the dampness soaking through my shirt.

  Shit.

  I hold her away from me and pry the blindfold from her face, cupping her cheek with my hand so I can study her. Eyes red and puffy, cheeks red and tear-stained, and hell, her makeup.

  “Press…”

  She sobs and pulls at her wrists so I hold her the best I can while I reach for them and unclip the attachments. I hear a rustle behind me and pray that it’s Rey. Not that I want
him to see exactly how badly I’ve fucked this up, but he’ll be able to fix it. Take care of her where I’ve failed so utterly.

  “Press, I’m sorry. Jesus.”

  I expect her to cuff me when I’ve freed her hands, but she doesn’t. Doesn’t even go for the restraints still holding her to the spreader bar. Reaches for me and drags me toward her. Clutches the cotton of my shirt between her fingers and buries her face in my chest.

  “Don’t.”

  Don’t what? I’d let her go, but she’s got a death grip on me.

  “Don’t be sorry. S’good. Really good.”

  She lifts her face, and through the mask of her sobbing, I can start to see it’s true. She breaks our gaze by looking over my shoulder.

  “I’m good. Promise.”

  I dart a glance behind me to see Rey pause and then nod before walking away.

  When she blinks back to me, she’s smiling. “Sorry. Should’ve warned you. I cry sometimes when things get intense.”

  “Okay.” I don’t know what else to say to her. I’m relieved. I thought—

  “But could you…” She gestures with a weak smile to where her knees are still spread apart.

  “Yeah, of course.”

  I get her out quickly, and then, though I’d like to scoop her up and lay her out on the bed, I offer a hand, which she takes and comes unsteadily to her feet. She looks dazed but happy. Yeah, I did that. This is so much better than the aftermath of my prior outlets. I’m never going back.

  And just as the words are about to spill out of my mouth because coming makes me stupid and sloppy—I love you, Press. Give me another chance. We could be so happy together. I swear—there’s a knock at the door and shouts from beyond.

  “Are you people done yet? We want to celebrate.”

  Fucking Tangent and his piss-poor manners. Rey’s crossing the room already, handing me Pressly’s robe, which I help her shrug into.

  I’m searching Pressly’s face, unable to dissect her expression. Sated, I think, but otherwise, I’m not sure. My inspection is interrupted by Rey’s scalpel-sharp words.

  “That was completely uncalled for. You do something like that again, I’ll have your membership suspended.”

  Holy fuck does he sound pissed. And judging by the way the jovial color drains from Tangent’s face, he knows he’s gone too far. But Press the peacemaker puts on a pretty smile.

  “It’s okay. We were just, um, finishing up.” She darts a sneaky look in my direction, like we’re some sort of kinky co-conspirators, and it makes me smile. “Give me a minute. I’ll be right back, and we can have the toast.”

  After one last death glare at Tangent, Rey opens a closet door I didn’t notice and drags out a beverage cart, complete with ice buckets and champagne flutes. “No more playing for any of you tonight, understood?”

  The chorus of “yessirs” that ring through the room make me laugh. Fucking Rey Walter. Who doesn’t he control?

  I start to head to the door in the back where Pressly’s disappeared—maybe a bathroom? Changing room? I don’t know—but I’m stopped by a hand on my shoulder, and when I turn, it’s Zelda.

  “Looks like you had a good time with your girl. Welcome to the club, you stone cold pervert.” Her eyes glint at me, and her smile is devious. When she called Pressly my girl, my heart skipped. I liked the way it sounded. Not as good as my wife, but I’ll take it. As for the rest… Pervert doesn’t sound like an insult here. In this weird, murky world that I fell into. I guess that’s what happens when you go begging at the rabbit hole. Lucky for me.

  “Thanks, Zelda.”

  I try again to make my way back to where Press disappeared, but there’s a flood of people. Congratulating me, clapping me on the shoulder, asking me about what was behind all those doors. I want to go check on Press—my girl—make sure she’s okay, ask her what she needs after our scene, but there’s a dozen people between me and her. I catch Rey’s eyes on the far side of the crowd and point toward the mystery door.

  He raises his chin in acknowledgment and heads straight back, unimpeded. I’d rather it be me, but Rey’s the next best thing. Everyone’s still clamoring to know what I’ve been doing all night, and because I’m here, where people will be impressed or interested instead of horrified and disgusted, I tell them. Save a couple choice details, of course, things I’ll keep close to where my heart used to be.

  Chapter Fourteen

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  After a brutal meeting with Gomez, Tanaka, and Albertson, I ought to go back to my office because I’ve got some serious work to do. If I could’ve gotten Gomez alone, I bet he would’ve been a yes, but that’s probably why he came with King and Queen Hardass—so he wouldn’t be tempted to cave. If Jenny can’t get a one-on-one with him, I’m going to follow him and accost him in the men’s room, because he knows this is the right thing to do, dammit. All he needs is the opportunity to do it.

  As things stand, I need a few minutes to clear my head so I won’t completely and utterly lose my shit at my office. Things had been going so well too. I take a small detour and head for the botanic garden. Despite the tourists milling about, it still feels relatively empty. And green. As if the air quality in the immediate vicinity is improved given the ratio of plants to concrete. Whatever it is, I like it here.

  I find a corner of the First Ladies Water Garden that’s not overrun by people and sit down on a half-wall. The sound and the flow of the fountain is soothing, and I let my eyes close, leaning back on my hands. I’ve got to let Tanaka and Albertson go, focus on the next batch, and hope I run into Gomez somewhere I can back him into a corner.

  I’m plotting my next move when I sense someone coming too close. Cracking an eye open to see the person who clearly needs a tutorial on personal space, I’m surprised by a blonde in a bright white pants suit—a certain ex-wife of mine in very becoming Stella McCartney if I’m not mistaken.

  “Mind if I join you?”

  Extending a chivalrous hand, I shift so there’s plenty of room for her on the sun-warmed stone. “Please do. Pleasure to see you, Ms. Allwyn.”

  She sits and bumps my shoulder with her own, and I’m tempted to turn her face toward mine for a kiss. But I’d barely had a chance to talk to her after we’d finished my initiation scene. A few words here and there, but people would always insist on dragging us into other conversations or offering us another drink. It would have been nice to debrief, but before I’d been able to get her alone, she’d had to go. Early meeting for work. I’d had one too. And it’s not like we were going back to the townhouse together—no, I’d gone back to my cold, empty house alone.

  But here she is, a second chance. I’d like to be brave, but I need to start slow. “How are you?”

  She tips her head and wrenches her pretty mouth. “Okay. The senator’s been running me ragged for the past few days.”

  “Wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with a certain bill, would it?”

  “Slade, don’t even go there.”

  Her death glare silences me, and I raise my hands in surrender. If she doesn’t want to talk about work, we don’t have to, but a girl can’t blame me for trying. The cagey, livid look says this isn’t an innocent bit of teasing, though. It’s like she believes what she said to me: that I only want to use her to advance my own agenda. She narrows her eyes, making sure I’m not going to try to wheedle more information out of her, but I’ll be on my best behavior. I will do my utmost to convince her that wanting to spend time with her has nothing to do with her influence with the senator. After a few seconds of assessment, she decides I’m going to let it go without a fight and relaxes.

  “He always keeps me busy, but everything’s at a fever pitch on the Hill. It doesn’t help that I was a little short on sleep the other night.”

  A smile slips over her face, and she eyes me bashfully, bringing all the memories flooding back into my head. Pressly in black and silver, spanking her, having her suck me off, marking her with my climax, getting her off with my
fingers inside her. Fuck all, cannot be getting hard in the middle of the First Ladies’ Water Garden. I mentally send regrets to Martha, Abigail, Dolley, and all the rest. My apologies, ladies.

  Press has got a pink glow in her cheeks, and I don’t think it’s from sitting in the sun. Maybe it’s her cheerful contentment that gives me the courage to ask what I’ve been wondering since Wednesday night.

  “Why’d you do that anyway?”

  “Do what?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  She blinks, and I swear the colors in her eyes swirl like I’m looking through a kaleidoscope. “I do.”

  “So why?” I keep trying to figure out why she would’ve done that. Offered up her physical and mental health to me, the man who ruined her six years ago. What in heaven’s name made her think that was a good idea? If I weren’t so grateful, I’d scold her for it. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, it was amazing and I’m so thankful, but I don’t understand why you did it.”

  She looks around, but no one is close enough to hear us, and then the corners of her mouth turn down, the way they used to when she was trying to work something out in her mind before she said it out loud. I’d always found it freaking adorable and newsflash: I still do.

  “When we were…” Her voice falters, and her mouth tightens.

  “Yeah.” I’m not going to make her say it out loud. Partly because it’ll hurt her, and partly because I don’t want to see the pain on her face when she does. Because married is a bad word to her, an institution that brings nothing but heartbreak.

  “Once when I came by your office, you were in a meeting. You didn’t know I was there. And I heard you—yelling. You were dressing someone down for messing up a project that the firm had put hours and hours into, and it gave me the strangest feeling.”