Uncharted Territory (The Compass Series Book 3) by Tamsen Parker Page A
Authors: Tamsen Parker
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aren’t any buts about this, India. Do as you’re told.”
Part of me takes affront. Back it up, yo. But sass and stubbornness aren’t the way to handle this. They never are with Hunter.
“I have class, sir.”
“Then make your excuses to your professor. You’ll have a doctor’s note.”
Now that is just too far. “Hunter—”
“Don’t you dare ‘Hunter’ me right now. That little shit hurt you. Your wrist could be sprained or broken, and I know you haven’t done anything about it. You’re coming with me. I take care of what’s mine. I protect what’s mine. You are mine. So unless you’re prepared to safe out, you’re getting changed into something that reflects that and you’re coming with me. I will be the judge of whether you’re fine.”
I could argue with him or say the word, but there’s a part of me clawing at my rational mind, begging to please let Hunter take care of me. He was the first person I’d wanted when I was hurt, and now he’s here, a wish come true. I want to surrender to his overprotective impulses, let him coddle me, and revel in his indulgence. Please. So I give in.
“Yes, sir. But I have a midterm due tomorrow.”
“You’ll dictate it to Ben when we get home.” He lifts my hand to his mouth and lays an open-mouthed kiss on the underside of my wrist, his tongue stroking the bruises. “Now let’s get you dressed.”
He strips me, careful to hold my sweatshirt’s elastic wristband open as he guides my sleeve off. When I’m completely naked, he orders me to bend over the bed.
I’m not surprised by the first crack of the ruler and the subsequent strikes that set fire to my ass. “In the future, you will tell me immediately if you’re injured or if someone is harassing you. I shouldn’t find out from Rey. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir.”
I will. I want him to punish me for being vulnerable, for making him worry. Beat the imperfection out of me. Make me smooth, strong, and fierce. Impenetrable to anything but him.
But I don’t just want him to hit me, make me hurt. I deserve it and I’ll take it, but I also want him to promise I can be better, that he’ll help make me better. That he won’t make demands and leave me alone to figure out how to please him. I want his hands to guide me, and I pledge to be malleable like clay. For him. Only for him. Otherwise, I’ll be untouchable and face the world as he does: like I own the damn place and whatever I want is my due. Like I’m not a mere mortal.
Teach me how, Hunter.
He continues to berate me and beat me, the wood of the ruler making contact with every inch of my behind. When it’s red hot and glowing and he’s still not satisfied, he starts on my thighs. Those blows hurt more and my eyes water with tears of pain at the same time my heart swells. This is how upset he is. Someone hurting me made him this crazy. I can’t say I’m wild about the form his protectiveness is taking, but the sentiment is making me gooey and supple inside. I would do anything for him.
So when he orders me onto my back on the bed with my knees bent and my feet spread as wide as the twin mattress will allow, I don’t hesitate. I only whimper and clench my hands in my duvet when he takes the ruler to the inside of my thighs. When my whole bottom half is throbbing, he touches me. The contact of his skin with mine makes my back arch and I sigh. He presses my knees further out from where they’d drifted together and holds up the ruler. “This will stop when you come.”
And then he hits me—a sharp, stinging swat right over my clit. I barely have time to react when he hits me again. And again. I want to tell him to stop, that it hurts, that I’m never going to be able to get off from this. But the gathering heat inside swamps the thought. How does he know ?
It’s half a dozen more spanks before I’m begging and pleading to please, please, be allowed to come. But he says no and keeps at me, knowing I can’t hold out
Part of me takes affront. Back it up, yo. But sass and stubbornness aren’t the way to handle this. They never are with Hunter.
“I have class, sir.”
“Then make your excuses to your professor. You’ll have a doctor’s note.”
Now that is just too far. “Hunter—”
“Don’t you dare ‘Hunter’ me right now. That little shit hurt you. Your wrist could be sprained or broken, and I know you haven’t done anything about it. You’re coming with me. I take care of what’s mine. I protect what’s mine. You are mine. So unless you’re prepared to safe out, you’re getting changed into something that reflects that and you’re coming with me. I will be the judge of whether you’re fine.”
I could argue with him or say the word, but there’s a part of me clawing at my rational mind, begging to please let Hunter take care of me. He was the first person I’d wanted when I was hurt, and now he’s here, a wish come true. I want to surrender to his overprotective impulses, let him coddle me, and revel in his indulgence. Please. So I give in.
“Yes, sir. But I have a midterm due tomorrow.”
“You’ll dictate it to Ben when we get home.” He lifts my hand to his mouth and lays an open-mouthed kiss on the underside of my wrist, his tongue stroking the bruises. “Now let’s get you dressed.”
He strips me, careful to hold my sweatshirt’s elastic wristband open as he guides my sleeve off. When I’m completely naked, he orders me to bend over the bed.
I’m not surprised by the first crack of the ruler and the subsequent strikes that set fire to my ass. “In the future, you will tell me immediately if you’re injured or if someone is harassing you. I shouldn’t find out from Rey. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir.”
I will. I want him to punish me for being vulnerable, for making him worry. Beat the imperfection out of me. Make me smooth, strong, and fierce. Impenetrable to anything but him.
But I don’t just want him to hit me, make me hurt. I deserve it and I’ll take it, but I also want him to promise I can be better, that he’ll help make me better. That he won’t make demands and leave me alone to figure out how to please him. I want his hands to guide me, and I pledge to be malleable like clay. For him. Only for him. Otherwise, I’ll be untouchable and face the world as he does: like I own the damn place and whatever I want is my due. Like I’m not a mere mortal.
Teach me how, Hunter.
He continues to berate me and beat me, the wood of the ruler making contact with every inch of my behind. When it’s red hot and glowing and he’s still not satisfied, he starts on my thighs. Those blows hurt more and my eyes water with tears of pain at the same time my heart swells. This is how upset he is. Someone hurting me made him this crazy. I can’t say I’m wild about the form his protectiveness is taking, but the sentiment is making me gooey and supple inside. I would do anything for him.
So when he orders me onto my back on the bed with my knees bent and my feet spread as wide as the twin mattress will allow, I don’t hesitate. I only whimper and clench my hands in my duvet when he takes the ruler to the inside of my thighs. When my whole bottom half is throbbing, he touches me. The contact of his skin with mine makes my back arch and I sigh. He presses my knees further out from where they’d drifted together and holds up the ruler. “This will stop when you come.”
And then he hits me—a sharp, stinging swat right over my clit. I barely have time to react when he hits me again. And again. I want to tell him to stop, that it hurts, that I’m never going to be able to get off from this. But the gathering heat inside swamps the thought. How does he know ?
It’s half a dozen more spanks before I’m begging and pleading to please, please, be allowed to come. But he says no and keeps at me, knowing I can’t hold out
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