Personal Geography (19 page)

And before I can say, “Yes, sir,” his mouth is on me and I melt. Again.

It doesn’t take long for me to find another climax, not with his hand still inside me and his tongue working my clit. My orgasm isn’t as powerful as the last, but fits comfortably inside the space carved out by its predecessor, like a nesting doll. After I’ve come down, he works his hand free, soothing me through the hardest part. When he’s done, I expect him to reach for a towel, untether me, and issue more orders:
turn over
or
on your knees
.

Instead, he kneels up between my thighs so our legs cross, unzips his jeans, and takes himself in hand, bracing a hand on my knee. Watching Cris touch himself, pull with rougher strokes than I’d dare and with the hand that was just inside me… I should be piqued. Why hasn’t he asked me to do this? But I’m fascinated. He’s beautiful to watch, and knowing that what he’s done to me, what I allowed him to do, is what’s turned him on so much is a balm to the slight sting of insult.

His fingers grip my knee tighter, and his stomach muscles contract before he spills his release over his hand, onto my stomach. It lands hot on my skin, marking me in a way that won’t wash off even when the evidence is gone. He drains the last of his climax and hangs his head, shakes it, before looking up at me with a smile.

“Thought I’d give you a break. We’re not done yet.”

My heart beats hard, and my fingers curl around the chains that still bind me. If he’s giving me a break, what’s coming is going to be really, really good. “Yes, sir.”

*

The rest of
the weekend is a disconcerting mix of the same: unparalleled, uncomfortable, unfamiliar intimacy on the one hand and customary, mind-numbing, delicious sex on the other. I’d describe it as purgatory, but it’s more like jarring swings between heaven and hell. Though the play is impeccable, as per usual, I’m still a bundle of exposed nerves when I go home. It’s better than I expected, given the state I arrived in, but I miss the blissed-out feeling I’ve become accustomed to leaving with. Maybe it’ll come back next time.
Next time
.

“Are you okay, Kit?”

I’m standing on the sidewalk outside of the airport with Cris, and he’s taken my weekend bag out of the back of the Jeep. I drop a brusque nod and hold out my hand for it. He doesn’t give it to me, but regards me with slate-blue eyes. If I have to abandon the bag, if a sacrifice play becomes necessary, I’ll only lament the loss of the red sundress I arrived in. The rest of what’s in there is disposable.

Cris isn’t buying my nod. “Don’t tell me that if it’s not true. I’m not sending you home a mess.”

My heart starts thudding against its cage of muscle and bone and skin, trying to escape before I can say or do something too stupid.

“I am okay. This was…stressful.”

A frown darkens his face. “I’m sorry. I was trying to make things better—”

“You did. This is… It’s hard. For me.”

“I know. Would you tell me, sometime, why?”

My heart is playing Red Rover with my ribcage. “Sometime. Can I have my bag?”

“Yeah, Kit, of course. I’m not trying to hold you hostage.”

When it’s safely in my hand, I take a deep breath, pull it over my shoulder, and hesitate. I’ve brought something for Cris, but now it’s game time and I’m unsure if I can go through with it. I look at him—his browned-from-the-sun skin, the achingly perfect amount of stubble on his cheeks, the laugh lines around his eyes and mouth. I think of everything he’s given me. I told myself if I decided to come back after this weekend, I would give it to him. He’s given
me
anything I’ve asked and a lot I didn’t have to. I’d like to tell him what that meant to me—without having to actually, you know, say it.

I reach into my purse, slip out a small photograph, and thrust it at him. He takes it before I can snatch it back.

“If you’re going to have a picture of me, I’d like it to be a good one. Not that grainy, unflattering newsprint thing I know you haven’t thrown away.” I affect prissiness so I don’t choke. Or faint.

He colors. Did he think I wouldn’t know he kept it?
I’ve met you, Cris. I’ve seen your sentimental streak. It’s a fricking mile wide.
The photo is of me at a charity event, and I look amazing. Pictures of me are hard to come by. I avoid cameras like the plague, and this is the only one I keep in my house besides ID.

He’s staring at it. He’s never seen me dolled up like this and he never will, but I hope he likes it. His eyes flicker to mine. He does. I eke out a smile and turn on my heel to go.

“I like this side better.”

I turn, and he’s holding it up so I can see the message I wrote on the back. I was hoping he wouldn’t notice until I was safely in the airport or, better still, on the plane.

Cris,

For the next time you can’t not.

Below that is my personal cell number.

“Okay,” I mutter as I flush and stalk off.

I picture him trying to curb his laugh so he won’t make me mad, but it’s clear as the water in his little cove when he calls, “Bye, Kit.”

I raise a hand, not turning around, and head single-mindedly toward the door.

‡

I
get a
customary “Call me” text from Rey the next morning, but I wait until I get home from work to respond. He picks up on the first ring.

“Hello, lovah.”

“What’s up?”

“Your standard second-you-leave call from Cris, that’s all.”

He called Rey and not me? Not that I’ve been checking my cell to make sure I didn’t miss a message or anything…

“He wanted to know if he could see you again. I’m assuming yes? When do you have time?”

“Three weeks.”

“Spill.”

How does Rey have a hotline into my grey matter? “I gave him my number.”

Rey’s eyes must be the size of dessert plates, but he manages a cool, “I see.”

“Yeah.”

“And you’re mad he called me and not you.”

“Yeah.”

“You do remember the contract says he’s only allowed to contact you through me?”

“The contract he ignored?”

“For which you were going to stop seeing him?”

Dammit, Rey.

“Wouldn’t you stick to the letter of the law if you were him? And don’t pout those lovely lips and tell me you wouldn’t have broken it in the first place. That’s beside the point, you pretty little teacher’s pet.”

“But I gave it to him.”

“Might not be enough.”

Men.

“When he sends the contract, I could send it back with an amendment, make it official.”

Rey may be a pain in the ass, but only because he knows me far too well.

“Okay,” I grant, and we hash out the details.

*

“Tell me again
why you can’t go to Chicago?”

Jack’s in full-on, flip-out mode, and this time there’s nothing I can do about it. I’m going to make it worse.

“I’m overdue to go up to LA. If we don’t get those vacancy numbers up, Cooper’s going to have Janis’s head and your balls.”

This is true. I’ve been punting my trip because of other fires I’ve had to put out. It also sounds more reasonable than, “There’s an imaginary line I can’t cross, and Chicago’s on the other side of it.”

“And what about you? I know you two are like fucking Laverne and Shirley or Lucy and Ethel or whatever—”

“You’re dating yourself, Jack. How old
are
you?”

He glares at me.
Oops.
But I know we’re okay when he rejoins, “Brenda and Kelly? Is that any better?”

I mouth
no
as I shake my head.

“My point is you aren’t going to be getting off with just a spanking, either.”

Jack’s choice of words is unfortunate. I can’t imagine what he’d do if he knew Constance
has
taken me over her knee and I wasn’t the only one getting off. I may prefer men, but my skills at pleasing a woman aren’t for nothing. If Jack had a clue, Leo wouldn’t be the only one recovering from a heart attack.

“You’re right,” I concede. Not a spanking. For breaking a promise? Maybe a whipping, but probably the cane from Constance. It’s her favorite. “And you’re making my argument for me. Send Julie. She’s been looking bored.”

“Julie’s looking bored because I’m going to fire her, and today might be the day. She’s not getting any new projects. You think Chow’s ready?”

“Yes. She’ll be fine. More than fine,” I amend at Jack’s glower. “Send Rodriguez to help her. They work well together.”

“You want anyone else in LA?”

“You know I’m a lone wolf.”

“Good. I can’t afford to give you anybody, anyway. Get it done this time, India. You’re not going back for a while.”

I stand to head back to my office. “Aye aye, cap’n.”

“Oprah and Gayle?” he calls after me.

“Better.”

*

Cris calls me
on Saturday. Seeing his number come up on my screen stems the tide of frustration over the newest vacancy numbers Janis has sent. The way things are going, I
am
going to have to lease those tenants up myself. I don’t understand how we’ve managed to mop up so many messes, but this one is still spilled all over the floor. Call me the janitor because it’s cleaning day.

But first, I am absolutely going to take this call. Even though I know it’s him, I answer with a coy, “Hello?”

“Hey.”

He sounds nervous. It’s cute.

“What took you so long? Playing hard to get?”

“I plan to use this judiciously. I don’t want my phone privileges revoked.”

I snicker and cringe at the same time. “Fair enough. I was surprised you called Rey.”

“I thought he’d still be brokering the contracts. Should I call you instead?”

“No, that’s fine.”

“Also, I didn’t want…”

“For me to go postal on you for breaking our contract again?”

“I wasn’t going to put it like that, but yeah.”

Score yet another one for Rey. Would it kill him to be wrong every once in a while? “Now you’ve got yourself a permission slip.”

“I do. I promise not to abuse it.”

We chat on, and it’s nice. It feels…normal. I haven’t had a boy call me on the phone in years. It’s been ten minutes when he says he’ll let me go. “I hear you’re very important and extremely busy.”