Uncharted Territory (The Compass Series Book 3) (19 page)

“Please, mistress, sir, I can’t… Please.”

Hunter cocks an indifferent eyebrow and sighs. “I know you like the begging, Constance, but it bores me. Could you shut her up, please? I’m sure we’ll be able to understand her well enough to give her permission with a few fingers in her mouth.”

Constance stops toying with my breast and demands, “Open up.”

When I do, she plunges two fingers between my lips, and I moan around them. At the same time, Glory pushes two fingers into me and I’m a split-second from coming. The stimulation is too much—the hand in my hair, the fingers in my mouth, my breasts being handled, my clit sucked, the fingers pumping in and out of me…

With a word from Hunter it all stops.
No.

“Glory, fetch me a plug.” I groan and get hard tweaks to my nipples for my trouble. “Don’t be a naughty girl. It’s not my fault you’re so stubborn.”

But it is, Hunter, it is.
If I want to please him—and I do, more than anything—I’m not to come, but he’s doing his damnedest to make that impossible. I’m lying there sprawled out and panting. I can barely follow Hunter’s instructions when he tells me to turn over.

Somehow I manage, and then he’s spreading my cheeks and easing the well-lubed plug inside of me, pressing and tugging once it’s fully seated. He toys with it for a few minutes while I listen to Glory being scolded by her mistress. Glory’s got a bit of a lecture fetish so it’s mostly playful, but I can’t imagine Constance’s reprimand won’t spur her to up her game. I’m such a goner. When Glory’s been admonished to Constance’s satisfaction, I’m arranged face up again, this time with my arms tucked under my back, hand to elbow.

The symphony they’ve been using my body to play starts up again. I do my best, but they’re ganging up on me. I can’t resist forever. I beg around Constance’s fingers, words she and Hunter must hear and understand, but they don’t give me permission. Instead, they push me harder and harder until my whole world has condensed to the sensations they’re inflicting on me. I can’t hold back anymore.

When I come, it’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before. The hands that have been taunting me are holding me down as I writhe, the feelings too big to stay in my body. It’s too much, too much for me, and I shudder until the sensations become more manageable. When I can see my way to opening my eyes, it’s to the three of them looking down at me.

“You came, bad girl. Now you need to be punished.”

‡

Year Six

I
pull up
the drive and put my car in park in front of the steps I used to find intimidating. Ben is waiting for me and comes around to open my door and offer me a hand out.

“Miss Burke, Mr. Vaughn is waiting for you in the library.”

“Thank you, Ben.” I drop my keys into his waiting palm and scale the steps, purse in hand. Ben will bring my bookbag to my room. I have piles of homework to do this evening. Grad school is no joke. But first… I head down the hallway, heels sinking into the lush carpet to the library where Hunter is waiting for me. I rap on the door, followed by his muffled response of “Come.”

Hunter is seated on the couch, looking at something on his laptop. Work or leisure I can’t tell; he has the same look of intense concentration whether he’s reading a novel or researching a new currency market. He doesn’t look up. “Come here. On your knees.”

I leave my bag on the sideboard, sink to all fours, and crawl to him. When I’ve reached him, he fastens my collar around my neck before he pats his thigh. I kneel beside him, lay my head on his leg, and he starts to stroke my hair. My eyes close and I sigh with pleasure. He pets me for ten minutes before putting his tablet aside and tugging at my hair. Taking my cue, I sit in his lap.

“You look pretty, sweetheart. I like this dress.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Have you been a good girl today? On time for all your classes and your internship?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you go to Professor Hewitt’s office hours like I asked you to?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And will you be getting an A on your next paper for her?”

“Yes, sir.”

“See that you do, or you’ll suffer the consequences.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good girl. Run along and do your schoolwork. Dinner’s at eight, your clothes are laid out in your closet. I’ll want to speak with you about the situation in North Korea—don’t disappoint me.”

“Yes, sir.”

He taps a finger to his cheek. I lean in to give him a chaste kiss before pushing off his lap and heading up to my room.

*

My books are
laid out; my laptop is on and waiting in its dock. I do a quick news search on North Korea before cracking my books, making sure I have a decent handle on what’s going down there and the players involved. I take some notes that I’ll review before heading downstairs.

For the next two hours, I read and outline a paper that’s due next week. I get ready at seven-thirty, taking a quick shower before getting dressed in what Hunter’s laid out for me. Black satin undies and
The Dress
. He hasn’t put this out for me for a long time. What’s the occasion?

I make my way downstairs and into the dining room. Curiously, there’s a stack of…magazines at my place. I don’t stop to look but kneel beside my chair and wait for Hunter, who arrives a minute later.

“Sit.”

I take my seat, crossing my ankles and folding my hands in my lap, careful to keep my eyes cast down.

“You may look up.”

My eyes come to rest on the stack of thick, shiny paper in front of me. On the top is a catalogue from Princeton. I keep my features arranged in an expression of neutrality, but my mind is churning. What is this?

“Go on, take a look.”

My eyes flash to his before I scour the pile. The Princeton brochure is for the public affairs program I’m in, but there’s a page that’s been tabbed about doctoral programs. I’m getting my master’s. Well, that and the law degree I already finished at Columbia. The next few are glossy look-books for MBA programs at Wharton, Columbia, and Stern. After that come still more catalogues for the LLM and JSD programs at Columbia, NYU, Yale, and UPenn.

Before I can formulate my thoughts into a question, Hunter offers, “You’ll be finishing your degree next year. I thought we should discuss your plans for after graduation.”

My brow furrows. I’m blinking too rapidly and I’m having trouble figuring out what to say.

“You can talk to me.”

That’s Hunter’s way of saying that I can speak candidly, so I do.

“My plan was to get a job.”

A cruel smile plays over his face. The next words out of his mouth are going to be condescending as fuck.

“And what kind of job did you think you were going to get?” It’s not so much what he’s said as the way he’s said it. It makes me feel small.

“Maybe in the mayor’s office. Or the governor’s. Maybe at a consulting firm. I’m not sure yet.” The words come out in a defensive mumble, and I have to resist the urge to curl in on myself.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, sweetheart.”

He’s got me feeling like an errant child who needs to be told,
No, dear, it’s not possible to ride your bike to Mars.

I swallow hard. “But I’ve done so well in school. I don’t think I’ll have a problem finding a job.”

Joan comes with our soup, and Ben emerges out of nowhere to move the stack in front of me to a sideboard. I thank Joan as she sets the bowl in front of me. It’s spring pea, one of my favorites. When they’ve gone, Hunter starts in on me again.

“India, you’ve done well in school because I make sure you do. I wouldn’t be able to do the same if you had a grown-up job.”

Tears threaten until my anger starts to rise.
That’s not true.
Hunter could stand over me with a cat in one hand and a cane in the other to make me do my reading and study for my tests, but if I didn’t have the smarts to process the information and make a coherent argument, it wouldn’t matter. It pisses me off that he’s trying to take credit for all my hard work.

“I’ve done well in school because
I’ve
done well in school, not because you’ve been playing proctor at study hall.”

“I said you could talk to me. I didn’t say you could be rude. Consider this your warning.”

Crap. It’s a little early in this discussion for him to be tallying up my offenses.

“Yes, sir.” I lower my eyes and my tone in apology. But… “I’d like to work after I graduate. I don’t want to be a perpetual student. I want to… I don’t know, be useful.”

I don’t want to use my intelligence to manipulate a powerful man, which is what my mother seems to think the highest and best use of brains is. I’d like to be more honest about my intellect than that and maybe do something more productive for society at large than just getting my way all the time. And some recognition wouldn’t go entirely amiss. Though Hunter gives it to me in greater quantity than I have any right to expect, I don’t think I’d be satisfied by getting acknowledgement only from him and people who admire me as his conquest. Maybe it’s selfish and conceited, but I want respect and veneration from the world at large.

“You want to be of use? You could be useful to me. You don’t need to do anything after you graduate. You could be mine, all the time.”

I know I could. But it’s not the same. Hunter wants me for my looks and my submission and, sure, my intelligence, but only because it makes me a more impressive show pony—
Look what I have in my stable! She could’ve been anything, but she’s chosen to be mine. What an extraordinary man I must be!
—not because he’d actually make use of it for anything beyond party tricks. Maybe I would even acquiesce if I thought I could help him with his work, but he still steadfastly resists my efforts to talk with him about it.

I should’ve known this was about me working. Or not. This is what he wants. School was just a cover, although he’d let me do it and we’d kick this discussion down the road by however long it took me to finish my next degree. Or the one after that.

“No, I can’t.”

We’ve had this fight so many times before.

“You can and you’d be very happy. You just can’t let yourself believe it because of all of the insidious feminist nonsense your mother’s been spouting your whole life. Think about how nice that would be, how easy, how much you would please me.”

He’s right, about some of it anyway. The answer is still, “I can’t, Hunter, I’m sorry.”

‡

Year Six

“H
ello?”

“Indie, darling, it’s your mother.”

“Yes, Mom, I know.”

“Then why did you say it like that, like you—”

“What do you want, Mom?” I am so sick of her constant criticisms. I am perfectly capable of answering the phone in a socially acceptable fashion.

“Daddy and I want to take you out for your birthday.”

I frown. My parents haven’t taken me out for my birthday in years. I prefer it that way. The obligatory family dinner at home is painful enough, but at least this is the last year I’ll have to suffer through it. Come March twenty-first, I’m going to be a free woman. After twenty-five long and very trying years, I am getting access to my trust fund. Frankly, I’ve earned it. Not the ten or so million that’s in there, of course—as far as I can tell, no one has
earned
that much money—but financial independence from my parents will be sweet indeed.