Page 65 of The Cartographer

I don’t ask him any more questions, afraid of the answers, and instead focus on strapping every single available inch of his bulk. Back and shoulders—but careful not to catch his neck. Those glorious buttocks and the backs of his thighs. I hit him again and again until I’m getting hot from exertion. That’s when I let my gaze wander to his face: eyes clenched shut with tears sliding over his cheek and onto the covers, jaw so tight I’m worried he might crack a tooth. Shit. And yet his hands…fingers still gloriously spread and flat out, though the tendons stand out and they’re shaking with tension…

God, he’s lovely. So goddamn tempting. I’ve got more self-control in my pinky nail than most people have in their entire bodies, but Allie makes me lose every ounce of it. I want him now, and for the love of all that is holy, I’m not going to wait anymore.

I drop to my knees behind him, pressing my pelvis into his ass that must be on fire, and it forces a strangled noise from his throat. So often domination feels like a weight, a responsibility. One I enjoy, very much, but it’s in moments like these that it gives me a high. Makes me feel powerful and elated. This is my definition of rapture.

Maybe it’s that Allie is so strong and it would take more than I’d ever inflict to truly break this man who’s been hardened by life, or maybe it’s because he’s my lover and not one of my clients, so I don’t suffer the same kind of obligation. This isn’t solely about him; I’m allowed to take my pleasure too. And I will.

Sliding my hands up the sides of his heaving ribcage, I let my fingers run over the welts I’ve left and scrape my nails over his arms. Not so hard I’ll leave marks for long because he wears T-shirts so often, but hard enough for him to feel, and then I thread my fingers through his own, lean down, and bite hard on his ear. He doesn’t release his hands from their strenuous position, but holds them still as I lick the trail of tears on his cheek.

“Let go, beautiful man. You’ve done well, and I’m pleased with you.”

His fingers crumple into fists, and he squeezes my hands as he shudders underneath me and lets out a ragged sob. “Fuck.”

It tears at my heart at the same time it gets me unbearably hard… What this man will do for me. Bear excruciating pain, let me mark his flesh that’s been marked so many times before. Though maybe handing it over willingly is reclaiming some of his own power instead of experiencing the loss of it anew. He enjoys this on some level, and he’s given me permission. God, I hope he realizes I’d never take it without him offering it up on a platter. Because I wouldn’t. The moment this becomes involuntary, it changes into something else entirely, something I don’t want to think about.

I press against him, letting him feel the aftermath of his hiding because he’ll like it, and I take the opportunity to kiss behind his ear and tell him how magnificent he is. In my head, where it’s marginally safe to think the most dangerous of thoughts, I have to admit he is in fact exceptional. Unrivaled in the pure emotion and sexual heat he manages to spur in me.

I am fucked. So totally, completely, and utterly fucked.

When he’s calmed to my satisfaction and is pressing his hips against my erection, I push back and up, coming to my feet in a swift movement and heading to the bedside table where I wrench open the drawer and throw a bottle of lube and a strip of condoms on the duvet and wave at the bed in a totally undignified way.

Jesus, Walter, get your shit together.

“On the bed,” I snap, because luckily Hart didn’t witness my indecorous flailing. He climbs up and flicks a glance over his shoulder. “You may decide if you want to look me in the face while I fuck your ass.”

Part of me wants him to collapse facedown in the pillows so I won’t have to watch him while I press inside his body and drive him crazy. The feel of being inside of him and the sounds he makes, the sight of the back of his neck I’ll undoubtedly bite—those will be about as much as I can handle. I’m not sure if I could…

But the damn man doesn’t give a crap about the lingering shreds of my self-control. He’s intent on destroying me. Or perhaps just doing what he’d like, flopping down on his back and raising his arms above his head, tucking his hands behind his neck. Looking almost arrogant as he stretches out on my bed.

I narrow my eyes and cock my head. “You’d best wipe that conceited look off your face before I do the same thing to your front as I did your back.”

I heft the belt to make my point, and his face goes a little ashy. I wouldn’t, and I hope he knows that somewhere deep inside. Truth be told, I don’t mind the cocky look on his face. Mostly because I know, with a look, I can make it disappear. I want him to be proud, and god knows if anyone were to treat him with anything other than the utmost respect, I’d have their head on a stake. There’s something to be said about having a person like him under your control.

Dropping the belt, I reach for my own and leisurely unbuckle it. It feels as though it takes a ludicrous amount of time to glide the leather through the loops. Okay, not ludicrous, probably more like three seconds, but with how badly I’m aching to be inside of him it feels like a transatlantic flight. When it’s out, I drop it on the floor and untuck my shirt before unbuttoning it.

Allie’s staring at me like a starving man would eye a bloody steak. I have a decent body, though my physique doesn’t hold a candle to his. I tend toward lean and I’m more sleek than solid, nothing like his raw power, but the way he looks at me makes me feel like a very fine specimen indeed. So I take my time, stripping the rest of my clothes as he watches. The late-morning light is breaking through the shades and streaking over me.

Perhaps it’s excessive amounts of vanity and power run amok, but I feel like king of the world. Or, at least, my own bedroom. In my experience, those things aren’t so different. Shoving off my pants and my socks, I kick them to the side and stand before him.

“Are you going to stand there and pose like a Greek god, or are you going to fuck me already?”

I raise an eyebrow because I don’t want to encourage his impudent sass. “I may not beagod, but I’m sure as hellyourgod. So if you ever want me to fuck you, you’d best keep your pretty mouth shut. Knees up.”

He rolls his lips between his teeth and then makes a gesture like he’s zipping them closed, locking them up tight, and throwing away the key. Once done, he bends his knees, taking hold of his shins and pulling them in toward his chest. He’s shamelessly on display, and I’m flattered I’ve gotten him so turned on he’s thrown modesty entirely out the window. His gorgeous cock is standing up at an angle just shy of vertical.

I climb onto the bed and settle between his spread thighs. When I sit back on my heels, I stroke myself. Because I can and because he looks delightfully wanton, spread out and waiting for me.

With an uncharacteristically desperate whine, he begs me and I tsk. “Not until I’m ready. Who knows how long I could jerk myself while you wait? Looking at that thick, hard cock of yours, how frantic you are to get my dick up your ass. It wasn’t so long ago you would’ve claimed you didn’t want this. Now look at you. Legs spread and all slutty for me.”

He closes his eyes and he makes a choked sound, but doesn’t lower his knees, doesn’t try to close his legs. If I’m a judge of these things—and I like to think I am—his cock gets even harder, thicker, swollen and pulsing with want. Now I really can’t wait anymore.

I tear open one of the foil packets and slick some extra lube over my cock before I pour some more on my fingers and move closer into him. I rub at his hole, coaxing and gentle, and it’s enough to make him squirm, his hardness bobbing against his stomach. Then I push. Just a little. My finger goes in easily with the copious amount of lubrication, but it still makes him gasp. Satisfaction? Craving? I can’t tell. So I push farther, gentle, because penetration is still new to him and I want him to like it. I want him to enjoy having me inside him.

There are few things in life a satisfying as being buried to the hilt in a beautiful, compliant man, and because I’m a selfish creature, I don’t want anything to get in the way of my desires.

I slide my finger in and out of him, the warm, welcoming heat of him surrounding me and making me wish it were my cock inside him instead of my finger. Soon enough. Stroking in and out, I let him become familiar enough with the feeling to relax. That’s when I add a second finger and coax it inside him, urging him to relax when his muscles stiffen.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Hart. I promise. I’m going to make you feel good. Do you remember the last time we did this?”

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