Personal Geography (30 page)

“Fine.”

“Good girl.”

He loosens his grip warily, as if I’ll make a run for it, but my word is good. When I take a step toward the bathroom, my legs give out, and the room spins. It’s possible it would’ve been a good idea to eat sometime today. Luckily, Crispin is prepared, and I don’t hit the floor before he scoops me up effortlessly against his chest. We don’t make it to the bathroom before I start to cry.

‡

H
e rinses me
off in the shower while the bathtub fills and then slips me into the steaming water. It hurts like a bitch for the first few seconds, but after the initial sting, it’s incredible. After getting me a glass of water, he undresses and slides in behind me.

“Tell me what happened.”

He wraps his arms around me, and I tell him about Slade, that fucker. Though he goes tense and rigid, he doesn’t say anything until I’m finished.

“Nothing he said was true.”

I shrug and shake my head.

“From what you’ve told me about Constance and Jack, they’d never let you get away with any of that.”

“No,” I grant, not wanting to impugn their characters. They’re two of the smartest and hardest-working people I know, and they don’t pull any punches.

“So why was it so upsetting?”

“I couldn’t defend myself. He was blatantly mind-fucking me, and there was nothing I could do.”

“Why didn’t you tell me when you got here?”

“I didn’t want to rehash it. I wanted you to make it go away.”

“I understand. But maybe talking about it first might have taken the edge off, and then I could give you what you need? I’m not going to hurt you. Actually…”

There’s a sigh from behind me. I shift to face him, leaning up against the opposite end of the tub. “What?”

“I’m uncomfortable being so rough with you.”

“Why?”

“I don’t always understand what you’re getting out of it.”

“But you’ve done all this with your other subs.”

He frowns but concedes. “Yes.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“That’s all they were. I mean, I cared for them. I wanted them to be happy. I felt responsible for them. But why they were doing it wasn’t that important to me because I never…”

He falters, and my heart seizes. He never
loved
them. That’s what he’s going to say.
Don’t, Crispin. Please don’t.
Love fucks everything up. It makes men think they own me down to my very core. That I’m not allowed to keep anything to myself. It means selling my soul and putting my whole self at risk.
You don’t love me. Don’t love me.

But to protest would be to admit I know what he’s going to say, so I shut him up the only other way I know how. I throw myself across the tub, sending waves of hot, salted water sloshing over the sides. My mouth is on his, plundering, pushing, biting his lip hard. I taste blood—not mine—and then Crispin shoves me against the far side. My challenge has been accepted. We struggle in the warm water, flailing slick limbs, pulling damp hair, digging desperate fingers into flesh.

He grabs my sore cheeks, kneading with both hands, fingering the marks he’s made on me. I rake my nails down his back as I moan into his mouth. He wrenches his lips away from mine and growls, “Out.”

I want to push back, but the look on his face tames me. I climb out, naked and dripping, waiting for him. He emerges from the water and grabs my biceps, propelling me back until I hit the tiled wall hard, the cool smooth surface a shock against my skin. He pins me with his hips and kisses me again, insistent and aggressive.

He pulls away long enough to instruct, “Spread your legs,” and enters me roughly. No warm-up here, just a straight-up, hard fuck against a wall. This is the
more
I needed. Not more of a beating, although that would’ve done eventually. This is better. He’s slamming into me so hard I can’t touch the ground, even up on my toes. I scale his legs with my feet, finding my way to his hips and wrapping myself around him.
Don’t let go, Crispin, don’t let me go
.

“Come on, India. Give this to me.”

I’m startled by his use of my real name. I whine and push at him with my hands. My heart is beating hard with terror, my stomach clenching in panic, my throat closing with fear. He grabs my hair and pulls hard, forcing me to look at him.

“Goddamn it, India. Give it up. Now. Come for me.”

My body is warring with my head. I’m at the edge, and it could go either way. Female desire is fickle, and one stupid word could ruin this. But I want it. I want to be India making love to Crispin, not the fuck-toy-sex-doll everyone else gets. He’s the only one who’s ever wanted it. Who’s fought for it. For
me
.

“Yes!” As I gasp the word, an orgasm wracks my body, rolling out in waves, sending pleasure through every inch of me. Unrestrained, unadulterated pleasure. I should come as India more often. He’s emptying himself inside me, and I clutch his head in my arms, holding him close as he shudders.

“India,” he says with each last, uneven thrust, “India, India.”

I’m yours, Crispin. I’m all yours.

*

After the sex,
I feel better but not a hundred percent. I’m still hearing Slade’s voice thudding in my head. I need to silence it before it grows any louder, otherwise all of Crispin’s hard work will be for naught. I tell him so while he’s holding me on the tile floor, and he’s pensive for a moment.

“I’m not going to hit you anymore.” He’s daring me to argue, but I’m not sorry. I ache, and I’m not sure how much more I could take and still drag my ass to work on Monday. “But I think some bondage would do you a world of good.”

His hand circles my wrist, and I’m instantly distracted. And horny. I love being restrained.

“Stay.” He disentangles himself and comes to his feet, a column of tan, masculine flesh. I admire him from my place on the bathroom floor while he showers, his muscles moving easily under his skin. He pulls his jeans on and walks out to the studio. I curl up to await further instructions and recall the sensation of Crispin’s hand around my wrist. More than the crack of the cane, it made me feel possessed by him, subject to his will. I’m meditating on it when he returns.

“India.” His use of my real name snaps me back to my full faculties.

“Yeah?”

“How would you feel about moving this to your room? I’d like to keep you tied up for a good long time, but the bed in here isn’t exactly made for long-term occupancy. You can say no, and I’ll figure it out.”

“No, that should be okay.”

“Good.” He’s got his Dom face back on. “Get up.”

*

An hour later,
I’m propped against pillows on my comfy bed, being fed grape leaves and licking hummus from Crispin’s fingers. I also happen to be blindfolded and bound to the bedframe: arms stretched along the headboard, knees spread wide and tethered to my elbows, ankles cuffed and affixed to attachment points under the mattress.

“Open,” he urges and slips a bite of spanakopita into my mouth.

It is, like everything else Crispin has made for me or done to me, delicious. “Going Greek today, are we?”

“I believe I’ll go Greek on you later.” I almost choke on my next mouthful. “Are you finished?”

“Yes, sir.” Even though I could eat half as much again, I don’t want to fall into a food coma. I want to stay awake for whatever he’s plotting for me.

“I’ll be back in a bit. In the meantime, you’ll enjoy these.”

He applies some vicious clips to my nipples, and I whimper as my core clenches in wanting. I wait for him, testing my bonds periodically. Not because there’s any chance of escaping—Crispin knows what he’s doing—but because I can’t sit still with the constant pinch on my nipples and a little hapless struggle turns me on.

I pull at my wrists again and startle when I hear Crispin’s voice. “So eager to be released?”

“No, sir.”

“Good. Not that it matters much. You’re mine for another couple of days, and I’d forgotten how much I like having you completely at my mercy.”

He unravels my bonds, starting with my ankles and ending at the blindfold, rubbing my limbs once I’ve been released.

“Turn around and kneel up.”

I do as I’ve been told, and he casually clips the cuffs adorning my wrists together behind my back. I get the feeling I’ll only be completely free for a few minutes at a time until I go home. Good.

He’s moving things about on the bed, the only clue the soft rustle of linens. The clips are removed from my nipples, and he licks and sucks at my flesh as the blood rushes back in. I inhale sharply. He bends me at the waist over a pile of pillows until my hips are elevated; my sensitized nipples are rubbing against the sheets and my head is resting on the mattress.

“Spread your legs.” He presses my bound wrists into the small of my back with one hand and drags the fingers of his other over my clit. I gasp, already throbbing. Bondage makes me disproportionately hot. I wriggle against him, trying to get more contact—it won’t take much for me to get off—but instead of a glorious orgasm, I get a harsh spank.

“We’re not even close. I’m going to have some fun with you before you get to have any at all.”

I groan, and he threatens, “Quiet or I’ll have to gag you.”

He slips a finger inside of me, stroking in and out. I’m aching for more.

“Feeling a little empty, are we?”

“Yes, sir.”

“We can fix that.”

Lube slips down my cheeks, and Cris presses a finger into my ass.

“Relax, kitten,” he chides as he works the lube into me, adding a second finger once he has enough play. I let go enough for him to prepare me, enjoying the sensation of him plumbing the most physically private part of me. His fingers leave, and then he presses a plug into me to make up for their absence.

“Better?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

He sits me up by my shoulders and helps me off the bed, directing me to kneel up on a folded blanket on the floor. Crispin’s naked, his hard body looming in front of me. I count the pale scars adorning his tanned frame while I wait for my instructions, ever-conscious of the plug buried inside me and my hands cuffed behind my back.

He cups my face and tilts my chin until I look at him.

“You’re such a pretty little thing. And so talented. Do you know what would please me?”

“What, sir?”

“If you’d take me in your mouth. You’ll do that, won’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And why will you do that?”

I blink. Is this a trick question? “Because you’ve told me to, sir.”

“And you’ll do what I’ve ordered because you’re a good girl, so eager to please, aren’t you?”

“Yes, sir.” Tears swim in my eyes. I know this is messed up, but Crispin’s praise for my sexual prowess and my obedience pushes Slade’s diatribe further from my mind. I
am
a good girl, I do like to please, and goddammit, I’m good at what I do.

I take Crispin in my mouth and work at him, stroking my tongue along his erection and pulling at the bonds on my wrists. Between the grunts and small moans of pleasure I’m eliciting from him and the tug of the restraints holding me back, I’m panting and desperate when he finds his release at the back of my throat. I finish him scrupulously, resting my head on his thigh when I’m through.