Page 44 of The Cartographer

Though I could stare at him all day and I’d like to strip him down and have at him right on the couch, I don’t. Instead, I look back at my phone and issue his instructions without meeting his gaze.

“Shower. Be on your knees with your fingers laced at the back of your neck at the foot of the bed in ten minutes. Don’t make me wait or you’ll be sorry.”

His automatic and enunciated response of “yes, sir” makes me hide a smile.Hart, you’re a pleasure.

*

Sure enough, whenI walk into the bedroom precisely ten minutes later, there he is, as I directed him to be. The thrill of having a man like that on his knees pulses through my veins. It’s heady and sexy as hell. He’s attractive when he’s standing, but on his knees, he’s a work of art. The way the muscles flex across his back and shoulders, the tight curve of his round ass… I have to mentally rein myself in so I don’t go charging over there and fuck him where he is.

It might be fun to force him to stay still and, if he were more experienced, slide a hook into his ass and bind it to his hands where they’re clutched together behind his neck. I can imagine the strain starting to show, how he’d shift and then regret it. Another time. For now, I have different magic to work. Without saying a word, I walk over and pick up the suede flogger and inspect it while in his field of vision.

This play is for his benefit—I’ve already checked it over and I know Matthew would have as well as he packed my things—but I want to give Allie time to consider it. Think about what I might do with it. Imagine how it’s going to feel. He’s not as cerebral as some of the bottoms I’ve played with—thank goodness for that because they can drive themselves crazy before I can even get a crack—but he does pay attention. I can tell by the slight turn of his head he’s trying to get a better look. I’ll give him one.

I lay the flogger down in front of him, draping the falls over the duvet so they’re spread out. It’s of moderate density because I haven’t quite figured out how Allie feels about thud and sting. A useful bit of information to have. Perhaps this exercise will answer some questions.

“Have you ever seen a flogger, Hart?”

“No, sir.”

There’s a note of misgiving in his voice, and I bet I can guess why.

“This isn’t the same as what they used to use for courts-martial. I’m not saying it won’t hurt, but it’s not going to scar and it would be quite difficult for me to do any real damage with this. You’re supposed to enjoy it.”

I wouldn’t take a cat to him. He doesn’t seem prone to keloids, but I’m not going to take the chance. I can find other ways to hurt him that can’t leave that kind of evidence behind. Besides, the historical and cultural implications are enough to make my blood run cold. No way in hell would I whip my black lover, at least not without talking about it first, nor would I ever call him my slave. A million times no.

While the thoughts have been racing around my head at a gazillion miles per hour, he seems less troubled but still doubtful. His forehead wrinkles with suspicion to an extent that’s comical, but I keep a straight face. “You’re telling me I’m going to enjoy getting beaten?”

“I’m fairly confident, yes.”

His eyes narrow, and he cocks his head, still keeping his fingers laced. “What makes you think so?”

I reach over to stroke the soft falls. Suede. It’s one of my favorites.

“Have you enjoyed everything else we’ve done?”

The way his jaw flexes is lovely, and I wait for him to say it. I want him to say it. “I have, sir.”

“Then I’m giving it a far better than even chance you’re going to enjoy me flogging you. Enough that I’m willing to give it a shot. Are you?”

His gaze has been drawn to my fingers where they’re entwined with the soft falls of the flogger, and he watches them. It’s a few seconds of my heart beating hard in my chest, pounding out a rhythm ofsay yes, say yes, say yesbefore he replies.

“Yes, sir.”

I don’t hesitate, taking up the flogger and using it to direct him toward a wall. Hotel rooms are notorious for their lack of attachment points, but there’s a reason I like this one and stay here whenever I’m in town. Sturdy light fixtures.

There are already cuffs dangling from chains attached to said convenient fixtures, and I tuck the flogger under my arm before ordering him to raise his. It’s intoxicating to buckle his wrists into the lined cuffs, control all that power he could use against me but he’s going to use to withstand what I do to him. Fuck all does that get me hard.

Judging by the way his cock is thickening, he feels the same way.

When he’s been secured, I stand close behind him, letting him feel the clothes I’m still wearing, not to mention the hardness of my erection. I want him to know having him like this turns me on. I want him to be proud of submitting, to find dignity in it.

I give him my standard beginner spiel, regulating my voice so it stays low but firm, meant to inspire confidence. All while letting the tails of the flogger caress his back and his arm. We go over his safewords, and I tell him how important it is to keep breathing and to not lock his knees. I remind him it’s his responsibility to be honest with me and the only reason I’ll be unhappy is if he doesn’t tell the truth.

By the time I’m done, he seems calm but eager, and I give myself a mental high-five. I’ll have to be on the ball because he’s brand-new to this, but I wasn’t lying when I said I thought he’d enjoy it.

I step back from him, trailing a hand so he knows I’m leaving and haven’t gone far, and then I use the flogger to trace over his shoulders and back. The broadness of my canvas is enthralling, and I’m going to paint every square inch of it with sensation.

Drawing back, I grip the comfortable handle and find the right turn of wrist to bring the flogger down lightly on his back. He tenses slightly, but there’s no reaction otherwise, so I do it again and again, working my way up slowly until his muscles gather and flex, telling me he’s feeling it more now.

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