True North (Compass series Book 4) (15 page)

I don’t think I have to fear for my life tonight, though. Probably.

He leads me into the club with an arm around my shoulders and leans in so only I can hear him talk.

“You know how you’ve been on a provisional membership for the last six months?”

I almost trip over my own feet going down the black-and-white tiled hall. “Uh, no, actually.”

“Oh, right.” He taps a finger to his chin, an expression of faux-forgetfulness creasing his brows. “That’s because I guaranteed you. Way to not fuck up, by the way. I appreciate you not tarnishing my record. Anyway, your probation is over, and tonight is your initiation as a full member.”

“Full member?” I echo stupidly, because what the hell else is there? Some basement of the dungeon? A dungeon’s dungeon where only the real pervs hang out? If so, I don’t know that I want in on that. I’ll stay out here with the lightweights in the antechamber, thankyouverymuch.

“Jesus, Hale. The shade of white you just turned is priceless. It’s nothing bad. Just, you know, makes you official. Gets you room rental privileges, and you don’t need a sponsor anymore, though you can’t sponsor anyone else for another six months.”

I snort. I don’t want to touch that responsibility with a ten-foot pole. And how the hell would I even go about that?
Hey, Jenkins, you seem like a pervert. Wanna come to my kink club on Tuesday and beat the ever-loving shit out of someone?
I don’t fucking think so.

“Didn’t think so.”

“Did you say something about an initiation?”

“I did indeed, my toppy little acolyte. I did indeed.”

He releases his grip on my shoulder and pushes me through the doorway to the long hall of private rooms. “It’s been a while since we got to do this, so you’re in for a treat. We usually do a few demos out front and have done with it, but tonight we’ve gone for an ‘Around the World’ theme. And this, my friend, is your world.”

He gestures to the hallway. Some doors are open and some are closed as always, but on some of them, a metallic-looking “H” has been hung.

“Those are for me?”

“Yes.”

“And what am I supposed to do with them?”

“Go inside and find out.”

“You’re really not going to give me any more information?” I narrow my eyes as his blindingly white smile spreads into a grin.

“Not this time. You know I’m as big a fan of information as the Library of Congress, but in this case I think it’s better left a surprise.”

I appreciate his ridiculous attempt at government humor, but there’s a definite tightening in my chest as I imagine what could be behind those doors. In a place like this? Fucking anything. Rey must sense my hesitation because he grips my arm and leans in once more.

“I like to give you a hard time because you could use a little humility, but I’d never let any harm come to you. Scout’s honor. This is going to be fun.”

His assurance calms me, maybe more than it should, but he’s never lied to me. Massaged the data for his own purposes, sure, but never has he outright lied. This is supposed to be fun, and if he says so, well, odds are good it will be.

“Yeah, all right. Let’s do it.”

“Lead the way, Hale. There aren’t R’s hanging on those doors.”

His dark eyebrow is cocked in a challenge, and god knows my pride won’t let me back down, even if my hands are shaking.

“Fair,” I mutter under my breath as I survey my choices. There are half a dozen of them altogether, and the doors don’t give anything away. Because they’re doors.

“One little hint, if I may?”

Oh, he’s all solicitousness now, is he? “Please.”

“I might save the one at the end for last. Just a thought.”

I’m half-tempted to head straight for it to spite him. But he’s probably thought of that too.
The Princess Bride
was one of Pressly’s favorite movies, and she must have made me watch it a hundred times. I’d like to believe I’m Westley, but I’m pretty sure I’m Vizzini in this scenario and I don’t want to end up dead.

Instead, I head to the first door on the right and raise my own eyebrow at Rey’s smug face.
Yes, yes, you got your way, arrogant bastard.
“Do I knock?”

He shrugs. “Might be polite, but no one’s going to throw you out if you don’t. You’re expected after all.”

So I take a deep breath and raise my fist to knock on the solid wood door. I’m met by a deep and somehow familiar voice saying, “Come in.”

I squeeze my eyes shut to try to prepare myself, but give up. And give in. This will all be okay.

*

Two hours later,
I’m about to knock on the last door. So far I’ve been given private lessons on Florentine flogging (awesome); suspension (too fussy and stressful for me, I’ll leave the fancy stuff to Spider); caning (I was bizarrely flattered Scooter offered his body for me to practice on and, yeah, that was fun); needles (which I appreciated the gesture, but the sight of blood…there’s a reason I never even considered med school); and last but not least, the violet wand (super cool, but I enjoyed it more as a spectacle than something I’d like to regularly do).

So what’s this going to be? Gags? Clamps? Whips? Pony play? Something I don’t even know that I don’t know about?

I slide a glance over to Rey, but he’s not giving me any hints, of course. I could be imagining it, but there might be a slight curl at the corner of his mouth. Whether it’s because I’ve adhered to his wishes and saved this door for last or whether because he’s looking forward to what’s behind the door, I couldn’t say. Implacable, self-satisfied, infuriating man.

As my knuckles hit the wood, I take a deep breath and prepare to be fucked with.

The voice that answers is muffled, but I could swear…

I open the door and look around, finding who I’m looking for lounging on a chaise. My mouth opens to say I don’t know what, because Pressly is the last person I thought I’d find in here. Not that I hadn’t hoped, but that’s what it had been: a pipe dream. I hadn’t expected her to talk to me again, never mind participate in my initiation.

But here she is, dressed in a—for her—relatively conservative outfit and reclining prettily on a silver velvet chaise.

The whole room’s plastered in rich purple damask wallpaper with huge gilt mirrors hanging on the wall, thick rugs gracing the dark hardwood floors. It’s beautiful, a fairy tale, and all the usual trappings of these private hideaways must be contained in the intimidating armoire in the corner or the massive trunk gracing the foot of the ornate four-poster bed.

Press looks like she belongs here.

An impossibly high stiletto dangles from the foot that’s draped over the side of the chaise, and the rest of her is swathed in a black silk robe. It parts in the middle of her chest to reveal a swell of her cleavage and a hint of what I’m hoping is one of those gorgeous corsets she seems to have a fondness for.

Her hair’s all done up in a way that must require ridiculous amounts of styling product and should feel like a rock, but I know when I touch it—if I’m allowed to touch it—it’ll be soft. Because Press is good at stuff like that.

Her eyes are surrounded by black and silver, and her mouth is a soft shade of pink. She looks amazing.

My blatant gawking is interrupted by Rey nudging my shoulder. “She’s been waiting for you.”

“Waiting?” You know what would be awesome? If I could locate some words in my head he didn’t supply me with first.
Get your shit together, Lewis.

“Yes. Sitting here for hours, waiting for you.”

Normally I don’t think anything of keeping people waiting. Unless it’s someone who outranks me, that’s what they’re supposed to do. I’m a busy and important man, and more junior people have got to respect that. They stand when I tell them to stand, and when I say jump, they ask how high. It’s just how things are, and while I can’t deny that I enjoy the thought of someone like India Burke sitting there, getting all testy because I’m so blatantly disrespecting her, this is different.

Pressly’s been sitting here. For two hours or more. Waiting. For me. The thought zings straight from my brain to my dick, which starts to stiffen.

Rey hasn’t bothered keeping his voice down, nor has he addressed Press directly, so I take his cue.

“Doing what?”

He looks at me sideways, and this time I know I’m not imagining the gratified smirk on his face. “Nothing.”

Why is that a thing that makes me harden? I love that Press is smart, that she’s a social butterfly, that she likes to read and watch movies. Hell, I even love all the girly shit she enjoys—facials and manicures and god knows what else she does all day at the spa with Ma Allwyn. But the idea of sacrificing two hours of her life to be at my beck and call is delicious.

I’m a fucking caveman.

But Rey doesn’t seem perturbed. Point of fact, he seems to enjoy it too. And sometimes when it comes to this stuff, it’s better to substitute his judgment for my own.

This doesn’t make me a bad person. I wouldn’t expect her to do this all the time, but even if I did, I wouldn’t force her into it against her will. No, this is a game that, judging by the flush gracing the apples of her cheeks, we both like to play. Has she been sitting on this chaise, squirming and getting wet thinking about what I might do to her when I get here? Every time she heard a door open in the hallway, heard our voices drift under the door, would she get a little bit more turned on? Did she wonder if—hope—she’d be next?

I don’t want to ruin the game with my uncertainty, so I lean over to Rey and try to pitch my voice so it sounds like I’m plotting instead of wondering what the fuck I’m supposed to do. “Now what?”

Her wide blue eyes blink and her lips part, and there’s the tiniest shift of her hips rustling the silk. She moistens her lips between her teeth. She feels this too.

Rey tips his head in the same manner and doesn’t look away from her. “We’ve talked about humiliation, but you haven’t gotten much of a chance to practice. Most of the people I know who’d be willing are men, and I didn’t think that would be as fun for you. Sprite here volunteered as tribute.”

My heart seizes. She volunteered? “Her idea or yours?”

“When she heard what we were putting together for you, she suggested it.”

Fuuuuck.

She’s regarding us intently, and I can practically see the words gathering in her mouth because she’s a chatterbox and patience isn’t her strong suit. But she’s biting her tongue and waiting. For me.

“Don’t want to disappoint her, do you?”

“No.” That is the last thing I want to do. I’ve done it too much already.

“Then let’s get a move on. I was going to help get things started, if you don’t mind.”

“Please.” He’s got to know I have no fucking clue what to do with myself, but I appreciate him pretending otherwise. Even more that he’d stand against a wall and let me screw up unless I did something unsafe so I could keep my pride. Fuck pride, I want this to be good and I’m happy to learn from the master.

I don’t know if humiliation is Rey’s thing. I mean, I saw him with Matthew, but while he was really fucking good, he didn’t seem particularly enflamed by it. Maybe he’s always that composed, but I doubt it. However cool he appears to be most of the time, I’ve seen a few bursts of passion. Mostly when he’s telling me not to be an asshole. Someone’s got to know how to elicit that level of response, but with pleasure instead of protectiveness.

Or perhaps it’s part of his professional deportment. Truth be told, he’s never given me any indication whatsoever about what he enjoys or doesn’t. I expect his expertise has little to do with what he actually likes, but more a responsibility to his clients to be able to answer any outlandish questions or desires we might have.

Actually, I can picture the phone call in my head: “
I had this idea involving barbed wire and a toilet brush.
” “
Cool. Let me get back to you on that
.” Because that’s how Rey Walter rolls. And he’s rolling now.

He takes a step toward her, and with a look at Pressly, she’s on her feet, hands clasped behind her back.

“I’ve got some good news for you, Sprite,” he says, staring down at her. Even in her stilettos, she’s shorter than he is, and though she’s covered to the knee by her robe, she may as well be naked in the face of our suits. “Hale’s consented to consider allowing you to serve him this evening.”

Her face brightens, and it’s ridiculously sweet. That gets her excited?

“However…” Her face falls while Rey’s eyebrow kicks up. “You’ll need to submit to the customary inspection first. And if you don’t meet with his approval…well, there’s an entire hallway of subs waiting to fulfill his needs.”

A slight movement makes me think she’s wringing her hands behind her back, and she stands straighter. “Of course, sir.”

I want to tell him to hell with whatever this ridiculous inspection might consist of because there’s no way she’s not going to pass, but there’s a reason he’s doing this and I should let him. I might learn a thing or a million.

“Then up you get.” He gestures to a slightly raised platform in the corner that’s surrounded by an opulent three-way mirror, the kind you might find in a crazy-upscale bridal shop. Or, you know, a kink club.