True North (Compass series Book 4) Page 12

  Oh. He’s leaning on the sexual insults pretty hard, practically shoving them under my nose. Take the hint, Hale. Man up and say it. You want to, she wants you to. Fucking do it.

  “Yeah,” I venture, stalling until something comes into my head that I can bear to say out loud. In front of her, in front of him. It’s easier than berating people for fucking up at work because I’ve been given permission, but also harder because these are people I like, people I trust, and they’re going to know I’m getting off on the cruel words and Pressly’s ashamed reaction. She’s already got flags of color gracing her cheekbones, and I want to put more there with my words, maybe even make her eyes red with blinked-back tears. My stomach’s in knots, but there’s no way I’m passing up this opportunity. Planting my feet apart, I rest a hand on my hip, the very picture of apathetic dismay. “Shameless little whore, already fucking the air.”

  A tiny moan makes its way to my ear from her lips, and I fucking love it.

  “Jesus Christ, control yourself, you licentious, cock-hungry slut.”

  That’s right, I can still have a vocabulary even when I’m talking dirty to my half-naked and kneeling ex-wife. A bigger moan this time, confirmation I’ve nailed it with the dirty talk. Holy hell, how is this my life?

  I use the crop at her ass to still her motions, and she obeys as her face flames. She doesn’t say anything, though, not a protest, not one of her safewords. So I swat at her obediently unmoving ass. “Kneel up and clasp your hands behind your neck.”

  She does as she’s been told, rising and weaving her fingers together under her hair. Despite her pink bottom and the harsh words we’ve thrown at her, she still looks perfect and proud. It makes me want to make her cry and wreck her. She’s flawless, and I want her not to be, for me. Though she looks so goddamn gorgeous I could die, I scold her.

  “Elbows up,” I say, accompanied by wicked taps of the crop on the undersides of her biceps. The bite of the keeper leaves red marks that I want to lick and sink my teeth into. And perhaps if Rey weren’t here, I would. But I’ll play along with this little game he’s set up. “Tits out.”

  Again, the strike of the crop, this time against her shoulder blades, and she does her best to shape herself into what I’ve asked, holding the pose and making it look easy. Like she could stay like this for days if I told her to.

  Trailing the crop over her shoulder, between her breasts, and then down the corset, I watch her face. Press isn’t snotty, but she is confident and rightly so. Even when she’s being toyed with like this, her poise doesn’t go away.

  I want it to.

  I want her so desperate and torn apart that she’d say or do anything for me. Debase herself because I wish her to, let me strip her of all that perfection until she’s a disaster. My disaster.

  So when I get to the juncture of her thighs, I urge them farther apart with swats of the crop, not bothering to be gentle. When she’s spread to my satisfaction, I draw the tip of the crop from the inside of her knee to her garters, but I don’t stop there. Not this time. No, this time I use the thin rod to slide against her panties. Does it get slightly damp because her desire’s soaked through the thin silk?

  The clench of her jaw catches my eye and I smile. “You like that, slut? Do you have a greedy pussy just waiting to be touched? Maybe…”

  Instead of finishing my sentence, I draw back the crop and slap her with it, hoping my aim is good enough that I’ve hit her clit. If the contraction of her stomach muscles, the slight pitch forward, is any indication, I’ve hit my mark.

  “Yes.”

  She’s not calling me sir, which is fine. That hasn’t been discussed. And she’s not calling me Hale, which is even better. It’s her tone that matters to me, not the honorific. The throaty compliance is good enough for me.

  “I haven’t quite made up my mind about you.” I hit her again and again in that same sensitive spot, harder and harder until her eyes water, but she doesn’t let go of her hands, doesn’t try to close her legs, doesn’t tell me to stop. Just sits there and takes it. At the last swat, I drive a distressed squeak out of her, and I know I’ve gone far enough. Her jaw is set, but her exposed breasts are heaving and I fucking want this over with so I can have her. Please tell me I get to have her.

  Then there’s a man’s hand at her throat. Rey’s still here, which I’d almost forgotten in my concentration on tormenting her. He uses his thumb to pry her mouth open by her chin and leans in close, like he’s inspecting her teeth. Like she’s livestock. An animal to be bought and sold.

  “She’s in good health, certainly,” he muses, tipping his head to see inside of her. “Though I might suggest you sample her mouth before you make a final decision. She’s not much good to you if she can’t deliver a decent deep-throating, am I right?”

  Pressly’s quivering ever-so-slightly, and her pleading gaze is on Rey’s face before he shakes his head, indicating with a twitch of his eyebrows that it’s up to me, not him. And then she’s focused on me, her look imploring. Mouth gaping open, does it make her think of what else we could pry open, have at our mercy?

  I doubt Rey’d blink an eye if I unzipped my fly and made her suck me right here. And goddamn is it tempting, but I don’t want to come in her mouth. If she swallowed me into the tight heat of her, I’m guessing I’d last a grand total of five seconds. So I fist a hand in her hair and shove two fingers between her lips, heedless of the scrape of her teeth against my knuckles. A little rough, yes, but the moan that overcomes her says she doesn’t mind. Or maybe likes it. And then she sucks, her tongue working under and between the digits I’ve thrust inside of her.

  She takes to them desperately, and with the close of her eyes, I think she might be relieved. I give her the reprieve, letting her lave my fingers and make the cutest little noises. Fingers in someone’s mouth are pretty chaste on the scale of things, but honest to god this is one of the most obscene things I’ve ever done.

  “Enough.” She blinks her eyes open at my imperious tone and reluctantly releases my fingers. “A bit sloppy, but finesse isn’t really something I look for in a blowjob.”

  She visibly squirms, and I slap her flank with the crop for it.

  “Foolish girl.” Rey shakes his head as if he’s disappointed in her and grips the back of her neck below where her hands are clasped. “Let go. Hands and forehead on the floor, hips up.”

  She does as he’s instructed, and when she’s settled into position, her ass is high, her knees still spread, the narrow strip of fabric pulled tight between her legs leaving little to the imagination.

  And then there’s the glint of a blade. What the fuck does he have a knife for? But it’s made obvious as he slips the blade under her panties and cuts them, reducing them to shreds with a few confident snips. A neat trick that makes me wonder how often Rey Walter cuts underwear off of women. Man must have an interesting skillset. What in the ever-loving fuck would he put on a CV?

  And why the hell am I contemplating that when I’ve got Pressly mostly naked and on display for me in a really humiliating way? Spread out and wanting and wet. Oh, so wet.

  “Feel her if you’d like,” Rey encourages, gesturing with an open hand, as if Press is an all-you-can-eat buffet.

  I want to, so badly I can almost taste her, but if I put my fingers inside her, it’ll be all over. A man can only take so much, and I’m practically at my breaking point, my head foggy with frustration and triumph both. The oddest feeling, but close to the best I’ve ever had. This is where I’m meant to be, what I’m meant to do. And, I hope, who I’m meant to do it with.

  None of the delights in the other rooms made me feel this way. Some of that was the content, but some of it was who I was doing it with. Yeah, I’d enjoyed caning Scooter, but my head might explode with satisfaction if Press ever offered me that gorgeous heart-shaped ass to stripe, even though she’s said it’s not her favorite. Maybe like she’s offering herself to me right now.

  Speaking of, I should stop daydreaming an
d focus on the present, on her upturned bottom, her glistening, spread-out pussy.

  “I’ll save that particular delight. But I do have a question.”

  “Anything.”

  The idea catches in my throat. I’d never asked Press when we were married, had been too shy, too ashamed, too afraid that she’d be horrified and wouldn’t want me to touch her again because all she’d be able to think of was that. But it seems okay now. Wise, even. Yes. Ask about her limits. I have a good sense of some of them, but about this I don’t have a clue.

  “Is her ass available for fucking?”

  Press makes a small noise into the floor, her fingers curling like she’s trying to grasp the fibers of the carpet underneath her. Not distressed. Maybe even turned on?

  “Not tonight,” Rey says coolly, stroking his long fingers over her lower back. Her hips sway, and he smacks her, the crack of his hand making her gasp. “But perhaps some other time. It’s certainly a possibility.”

  Good thing I’m traveling tomorrow. No staff phone calls, no mooning around the office because I’m dreaming about the prospect of anal sex with my ex-wife. Holy hell. But if it’s on the table… No. Better not to think about it. She hasn’t been mine for six years. Did I expect her to pine after me as I’ve pined for her? Hoped, maybe, but didn’t expect. I really did wish for her a happiness I didn’t think I could give. It’s also a relief in some ways. Gives me time to prepare, time to study up because I want this to be good for her. I want her to enjoy it and I don’t want to hurt her. Not in that way anyhow.

  “Fine.” I wave an imperious hand to try to cover the hoarseness of my voice.

  “Anything else?” Rey’s still touching her, his middle finger slipping down the cleft of her bottom, rubbing the tip of his finger over her hole. Making her moan. “You’re welcome to take as long as you like, but I might suggest making your call now.” He checks his watch theatrically. “After all, if she doesn’t meet with your approval—” She does. “—then we should explore your other options.”

  He’s tapped her lightly with every word and even from here I can see the heave of her shoulders, though the constriction of the corset keeps her ribs from expanding much. I restrain myself from saying, “Fuck, yes. Get your hands off of her and hand her over because she’s mine.”

  Instead, I cultivate that cruelly bored tone she seems to like so well. “I suppose she’ll do.”

  “Very good. Where would you like her?”

  Aw, crap. I’ve been so busy pulling off this so-called inspection that, now that it’s over, I’m at a loss. I don’t suppose “On her back on the bed so I can fuck her stupid” is an option? Or who the hell knows, maybe it is.

  But seriously, how is it that I can be listening in on a conference call, emailing the Secretary of Veterans Affairs, and yelling at my assistant all at once, but I can’t plan thirty seconds ahead when I’m with this woman? I don’t particularly care for surprises, and this one has irked me. I don’t like looking bad or incompetent.

  “Of course, if you’d like a few minutes to consider your options, she’d be more than happy to wait. Wouldn’t you, Sprite?”

  Her soft response of “Yes, sir,” wafts up from the floor and my pique dims some. Better.

  Rey leaves her side with a last pinch of her ass and sidles over to me. Voice low, he says, “You have quite a bit of freedom here. She’s given the green light for oral, vaginal, restraints, any of the toys you know how to use, blindfolds. Spanking and humiliation are a go, obviously. You’re both clean, but she’s not on birth control so there are condoms stashed in all the drawers.”

  Yeah, I remember that. Remember when Press had tried the pill and the hormones had done a number on her, how we’d tried other things until it was clear condoms would be it. I nod so he knows I’ve heard him, and he continues.

  “I’ll be right over there.” He points to a dark corner of the room where the shadows and some heavy drapes almost entirely conceal a wide, baroque chair. “Not that I expect you to, but give a shout if you need me.”

  The idea of having him here while we do whatever it is we’re about to do is equal parts stirring and unsettling. Having someone—or someones—watch while I do things to her could be sexy as fuck, but it’s also a lot of pressure. I don’t want anyone to see me fuck up, especially Rey. But Pressly must’ve asked him to stay and I won’t argue. If this is what she needs, then this is what I’ll give her. Besides, Rey has this uncanny ability to render himself invisible. Either that or the most intimidating presence in a room. I don’t know how that works, but I’m not going to spend any more time considering how the man seems to be capable of defying the laws of physics. Not when I’ve got a certain woman wet and waiting for me to toy with her.

  I drop a last nod and straighten my tie, a tic that makes me feel like I’m strapping on armor for battle, and turn on my heel. Time to play.

  Chapter Thirteen

  ‡

  When I get back to her, Pressly’s still facedown in the carpet, her fingers stroking the weave, maybe searching for patience.

  Good news, Press, you don’t have to wait anymore.

  “On your feet.”

  She doesn’t hesitate but moves smoothly, like silk made flesh, until she’s standing. I catch a glimpse of a sway so I take her elbow to steady her. Once I’m confident she’s solid on her feet, I use that grip to steer her over to the bed. It’s solid and well-made. I’d almost be fooled into thinking it’s an original because it’s an authentic enough copy, but there are convenient attachment points placed subtly on the frame. Anyone who’d do that to an actual antique should be shot.

  Leaving her at the foot of the bed, all disheveled and unkempt in a way that makes her look like she’s been well-used already, I make my way over to the armoire, formulating a plan in my head as I go. Use the time to my advantage, make her go crazy with waiting.

  In the hulking piece of furniture, there’s anything a pervert could want. Myriad restraints and toys, some of which make me tilt my head. I’ve had quite an education already, but one thing I’ve learned is that there’s always more. Always.

  I pick out a pair of pretty brocade cuffs. They look more delicate than the standard leather ones, but they’re lined and thick enough that they won’t dig into her joints. Sturdy and well-made. Another reason I like this place and don’t mind the fairly exorbitant membership rates. Good quality toys and clean. I’ve been told that’s unusual for a fetish club. Glad I’ve never been to one on the other end of the spectrum. I’d probably never come back. If I wanted filth and squalor, I’d go back to Appalachia.

  There’s a spreader bar with matching cuffs that catches my eye so I pick that up too. And consider a paddle because the color on her ass has faded and I should remedy that, but decide I don’t have the patience. Some other time.

  Feeling satisfied with my selections, I head back to the bed and lay out my stash behind her. She cranes her neck, trying to look over her shoulder.

  “Ah,” I scold with a slap to one of her exposed breasts. “No peeking, naughty girl. You’ll get what’s coming to you when I decide you will. But since you seem to have a complete and utter lack of self-control—” bullshit “—this might help.”

  Really, I think not being able to see her spellbinding eyes will help me stay focused. I strip off my jacket and lay it over the back of the chaise before rolling up my sleeves, liking the way her lips part as I reveal inch by inch of forearm. Yeah, I’m a desk jockey and a road warrior most of the time, but when I get the chance, I put in a hard workout. Game of squash with Jenkins when we can make it work with our schedules or a run on the Potomac if I’m in the District. Not to mention exhausting oneself with calisthenics is a good way to dull sexual frustration. Glad she approves of the shape I’m in. Not bad for a solidly middle-aged bureaucrat.

  I loosen and remove my tie and use it to cover her eyes, snugging the fabric against her skin and fastening it behind her head. Then I’ve got to use the rest of her to get my
cues. The way her tongue darts out to lick her lips, the way her chest lifts and falls more rapidly than normal, and how she’s laced her fingers together in front of her.

  Nervous.

  Hopefully in a fun way because, even if she weren’t completely comfortable with me, Rey’s here. And I can’t imagine him letting anyone hurt her, not even a little bit. God knows he’s made sure I’ve got my head on straight before I’ve been allowed near her. Or anyone else for that matter.

  I circle her wrist with my hand. Slim but solid in her own way, she’s the very picture of a steel magnolia. Tracing along the petal-soft underside of her forearm, I enjoy the tremor that runs through her. Even more so, how her teeth sink into her bottom lip as I wrap the brocade cuff around and attach it to one of the bed posts.

  I repeat the process on the other side and don’t miss the crease that forms between her professionally arched brows. It’s not surprising she’s confused—the attachment points I’ve used are low down, leaving her arms bent instead of outstretched. And now she’ll find out why.

  “On your knees.”

  She drops without hesitation, wrapping her fingers around the hooks I used to anchor her to the bed to steady herself. Once down, arms almost taut in her bonds, her head twists slightly, relocating me, listening for further instructions. Instead of giving them, I pick up the spreader bar and use an end to prod her knees apart until I’m satisfied and then circle those same lovely brocade cuffs just over her knees. So beautiful, my Press.

  And so at my mercy. After everything we’ve been through, it strikes me that she’s willing to let me do this to her. The well of her generosity, her trust, and her strength is bottomless. It makes me want to puke. Not because she disgusts me—the complete opposite. I don’t deserve her. But because I’m a selfish pig and I don’t know how long I can make this last, I’m going to take advantage.

  I slap the side of her breast and she gasps. I do the same to the other side, and she rolls her lips between her teeth. Spanking her this way is so different from spanking her ass. Softer and not as much to work with—I have to be more careful. But there’s something about covering this flesh with my palm, slapping her over and over while she makes tiny noises to hold even louder noises of protest in. I hit her harder and harder, covering every surface and loving the choked-off objections when I smack her nipples.