Page 57 of The Cartographer

The valet opens my door and takes the key. As he drives the Tesla off, I take Hart’s hand and lead him up the steps to the house. I haven’t told him a damn thing about this party, aside from that he should wear whatever he feels most comfortable in. I was pleased when I picked him up at Kendra’s and he’d taken me at my word, opening the door in sneakers, jeans, a T-shirt that clings deliciously to his pecs and his biceps, and a trilby. Goddamn, can that man wear a hat. Will seeing him ever cease to give my system a jolt? Like,Hey, this is why you’re alive. This is what you were built for.

That is so completely unhealthy.

Regardless, we’re here and I intend to show him a good time. A very, very good time.

There’s a woman at the door in a retro dress that shows off her substantial curves, her hair carefully arranged into a fifties confection. She’s taking names, and she smiles as I give her mine. “Welcome, Mr. Walter. Have a lovely evening.”

“Thank you, Ashleigh. I intend to.”

I tug Hart over the threshold, and as soon as we enter, I take a deep breath and look around. Elouisa’s outdone herself. The caterers are moving about in fifties and sixties clothing, and her palatial house is done out in Las Vegas Rat Pack glory.

I like that she does these themes. I like even better that she doesn’t impose them on her guests.

A woman in a fifties housewife’s dress—fitted bodice, cap sleeves, full skirt—comes by, bearing a tray heavy with Tom Collinses, and I notice Allie dart a glance my way.

“Drink whatever you like. We’re not playing hard tonight, if at all. I promise not to take advantage of you.”

Disappointment dulls his face for a moment, but he takes a drink off the tray and sips, as do I. Delicious.

“So if this isn’t a play party, what is it?”

“It’s a different kind of play party. You’ll like it.”

“Yes, sir,” he murmurs in between sips.

“Elouisa’s what I’d call a sensualist. Nothing delights her more than pleasure. Of all sorts. She’s dedicated herself to hedonism in a pretty serious way. If there’s a way to enjoy yourself, she’s tried it.”

Elouisa and I have a great deal in common. We’re both connoisseurs of pleasure, though for our own reasons. She was in a joyless, sexless, and frankly, abusive marriage for too long before her husband died and left her with piles of money. She figured she’d paid her dues in terms of misery, and it was time to enjoy. So she does. Food, drink, sex, exposure to and consumption of all kinds of art. She may be the world’s foremost expert on how to enjoy one’s self.

For a while, I’d binged on hedonism, stuffing myself as full as I thought I could get while at the same time stretching myself too thin with drinking, drugs, sex, kink. Anything I could get my hands on that would make mefeelsomething. That might have been the worst year of my life. Living in a more tightly controlled way is so much more satisfying. Sure, I take my pleasure where I can, but I mete it out, not gorging on it like some glutton hell-bent on destroying myself with vice.

There are heaps of food spread out on tables, well-stocked bars. Out by the pool and the biggest hot tub I’ve ever seen, many guests have stripped down and are cavorting naked. It’s a modern-day orgy, and it’s fun to watch. Beside me, Hart seems a bit bewildered by the couples and ménages taking place on lounge chairs, in cabanas, pretty much everywhere.

I nudge him with an elbow and lean in so he’ll be able to hear me over the music. “Don’t worry, they’re using protection.”

When he turns, a quizzical expression imprinted on his face that says clearlyas if that’s what I was worried about, I gesture with my chin to a giant bowl of condoms and other sexual favors gracing a low coffee table that people are grabbing by the handful before finding the nearest surface to fuck against.

“That’s crazy,” he mutters, shaking his head.

“You don’t approve?” My Allie can be a bit of a prude. That’s part of what makes him so much fun when I can loosen him up. It’s what made me so thrilled when he started to be brave enough to ask me to try things.

Since his first flogging, he’s asked about more impact toys, things he’s picked during trips to my dungeon. A paddle, a tawse. He’d shied away from the dragon tongues, delrin birches, and carpet beater loops, but had fingered the leather belts in a way that made my breath catch. Possibly made me get hard when I’d asked if he’d like to try one sometime and he saidyes.

A prize isn’t any fun if it didn’t take any effort to earn it but I have. And my prize embarrasses beautifully.

I used to be disappointed I couldn’t readily see him blush, but as I’ve gotten to know him better, I’ve realized he blushes with his whole body: awkward smile, angled duck of his head, a slight purse of his lips, tightening of his shoulders. That’s how he blushes for those who can coax it out of him.

“I know you do this every weekend, but you’ve got to give me a chance to get used to it, okay?”

I rest my hand at precisely the point where his ass starts to curve out, enjoying the flex of it as I steer him back into the house. “You think I go out without you?”

Truth is, I spend most of my weekends working because that’s when a lot of my clients are free. I suppose he wouldn’t know that.

“Don’t you?”

“Some,” I hedge, not wanting to say rarely. Almost never these days, come to think of it. It’s more fun going out with Allie. “Don’t you go out without me?”

“Of course.”

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