Page 43 of The Cartographer

“Fucking hell. No wonder they liked it.” The mention of previous partners doesn’t bother me, and bully for Allie for making his other lovers feel good. I’d like to say it’s a pity he’s never experienced it before now, but it delights me I get to have this first of his as well.

I keep rocking against the bundle of nerves until he’s outright panting and writhing beneath me, his pleasure driving him higher and higher until I’ve got him on the edge and I want to push him over. I’m not so far from the precipice myself.

“Are you going to come for me, Hart? I want you to come with me inside you.”

I’m almost certain there’s little in this world that would give me more satisfaction than the feeling of Hart pulsing around my dick. When his muscles start to contract around me, god, am I right. I hold out for as long as I can to prove to myself I’m able to, and when I feel as if I’ve waited long enough, I let go. And go and go, my fingers digging into his flesh. I make a guttural sound in my throat that could’ve come from an animal instead of a man.

It’s possible fucking Hart is a greater pleasure than him sucking me off, and that’s saying something.

I brush my lips against the rise of bone at the juncture of neck and spine and lick some of the sweat that’s gathered there as well. He smells of exertion and sex, and I wish I could save the sheets to smell when I’m having a shitty day to remind myself of the good things in this world. Like Hart and how fucking amazing he is, how goddamn good he feels.

As much as I’d like to stay inside of him, breathing him in and caressing and teasing him until we both get hard and I can fuck him all over again, I shouldn’t. He’s probably feeling good now, but soon enough—and certainly by tomorrow—he’ll be feeling sore, perhaps a bit abused. I should get him into the bath.

Chapter Fourteen

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The rest ofour trip is uneventful. I take Hart to see the sights when I’m not with Kenji and Kass, and after I’m done with them, I take Allie to bed. He’s a delight to fuck and a joy to top. No bad habits to break and no fear because no one’s ever done this before. He has nothing to be scared of. Apprehensive sometimes, certainly—he wasn’t so sure about the evil stick, and with a name like that, how can you blame him?—but not afraid. The most deeply ingrained fear I see in my clients comes when they’ve done something before and it went badly.

The things he’s afraid of, and rightly so, are things I’d never do to him. In fact, they’re things I’d actively keep him from. I’ve planned tonight carefully because I knew I’d want to beat the living crap out of someone after dealing with Kenji for the last time. That man knows how to press my buttons, and he did today, displaying Kass’s body modifications in their full glory and engaging in some serious humiliation play while I was there.

I’m a bit wary of permanent body mods, especially knowing he hasn’t kept a slave for more than three years—though if anyone’s got a shot, it’s Kass. I’m wary of them anyway, because even things I think are going to last forever…haven’t. I don’t want anyone to wake up with regrets, especially not in the form of things they can’t change or escape.

I’m back now, to someone who I get to control, who I get to do as I please with. Knowing he’ll get a break soon because we’re headed back to San Francisco tomorrow, I won’t hesitate to go hard on him. We haven’t discussed what’s going to happen when we get back, and part of me fears this is my last hurrah with him. We’ve made no promises, and it’s possible we’re in Wonderland and once we crawl out of the rabbit hole, he won’t want to see me anymore.

It’s happened before.

People decide they don’t need what I can offer them. Sometimes they’re right, and I wish them all the best. Sometimes they’re wrong and want back in. I welcome them with open arms. Sometimes they’re wrong, but they’re stuck. I do what I can, but sometimes there’s nothing I can do to overwhelm the bitterness of choices they’ve made, oaths they’ve pledged. I’d never give up on anyone, but sometimes it hurts them too much so I fade away.

I’m hoping against hope Hart will want more. That he’ll want sips or even gulps of what he’s only gotten a taste of. That he’ll want to get drunk on submission and pain, and he’ll want me to be his dealer and his chaperone all at once. I’d be delighted.

The suite is quiet when I open the door, the sun streaming mercilessly through the wide-open drapes.

“Hart?”

No answer. I stroll around, even though I know I’m not going to find him. That’s one thing I like about Hart. He takes up space. He doesn’t make excuses for being where he is and doesn’t try to hide. Perhaps it comes from being in the military; he never wants to feel so hemmed in again, but if you give him boundaries, he’ll knock right up against them and not even be sorry.

No Hart in the bedroom or in the bath. I even check out on the balcony, but all I find is the sweltering heat of the day and too much bright light. When I go back inside, I notice a slip of paper on the dining table.

Gone to the gym. Back soon.

A

His first initial pokes at me. I’m not sure how to feel. He’s given me his name but not really, and now it feels as though he’s taunting me with what I can’t have. I don’t like to be toyed with. Too many things have been always out of my grasp, and I don’t have patience for being fucked with. Allie’s not like that, though. He doesn’t play those kinds of mind games, and I shouldn’t pin that on him. I’ve spent too much time with Kenji, that’s all.

Walking over to the bar, I consider my options and opt for…nothing. I shouldn’t drink if I’m going to play with Hart, and I am. So orange juice, it is.

While I drink, I set out the things I’ll need. Another benefit to traveling on a private plane is to be able to pack whatever the hell you feel like and not worry about giving some poor TSA employee a heart attack when they search your bag, as they inevitably will if you’ve got it jam-packed with sex toys.

I’d packed a relatively modest toy bag on the scale of things, but it’s a decent sampling. I could give him a choice—there are several things we haven’t made use of—but in this, I’ll call the shots. This is something I care about, that I want badly, and I doubt he’ll refuse me. So I set out the tools of my trade, admiring their craftsmanship and re-familiarizing myself with the feel and the balance. They’re exquisitely made and comfortably worn in; it’s pleasurable to handle them. These are my personal toys, not to be played with by clients. I like to keep a few things to myself.

Four floggers side by side on the expanse of the bed, and I can’t wait for Hart’s reaction.

I don’t have to wait long—he’s back within the half-hour it takes me to pour myself another glass of juice and triage the day’s emails. Most to Matthew to deal with and a few I’ll respond to after I’ve finished with Hart. He’ll be sure to sleep heavily after I’m through with him. He sleeps with the abandon of a child, limbs sprawled and restless. Does he not know what to do with so much space in a bed? The thought tugs at the corners of my mouth.

Don’t worry about it. You’ve done what you can for the past several days, and if you don’t completely fuck this up, you’ll have a say in his life for a lot longer. Don’t think about him squashed into the backseat of his truck. Don’t.

Hart walks in, dripping with exertion, sweat soaking through his clinging T-shirt in patches and his shaved head gleaming with it. He looks energized, though, not exhausted. Maybe he’s saving that for me, and he won’t be sorry.

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