Fix It Up (Torus Intercession 3)

“Yes, I know, dear. Why do you think I’m getting your room ready?”

It was useless to ever try and surprise her.

It was early in the morning when we made it home. I made sandwiches while he packed, and then he cleaned up after me while I packed. Afterwards, we both took a nap for a couple hours and were back up by seven. I emailed everyone I was supposed to see on Monday, gave Marisol the week off, gave the bodyguards the week off, and told Callie what I needed done at the house while Nick and I were in Arizona. Brent, the little fucker, was given the week off too; he was going to have it much harder when he came back. If I let him come back. Him not vouching for Isai at Frost Warren’s after-party, and Nick getting hurt because of that decision, was a critical error I couldn’t address right now. Bodily harm to him was not off the table. We drove to the Santa Barbara Airport, left the Toyota in long-term parking, and took the chartered flight to the Flagstaff Pulliam Airport just north of Sedona. I would confess to liking the whole private jet piece of being rich, avoiding the traffic and crowds at the major airports being a huge part of that.

Taking a seat beside Nick, I was promptly offered something to drink by the flight attendant.

“Just a bottle of water, please.”

She brought it back for me, and a glass of orange juice for Nick.

I took my water and then turned to him. “You had quite the night last night,” I assured him. “I’m proud of you for not ordering that with a shot of vodka.”

“I think, eventually, I could handle it,” he told me, “but I want to put a little more time and space between me and my old habits.”

“Okay,” I said, smiling at him, so much more than simply proud now.

He placed his hand on my wrist, his fingers sliding over the bezel and crystal of my watch.

“Maybe you should get you one, huh?”

“What?”

“The Rolex,” I said, my voice catching, because again, I had those gorgeous eyes of his focused on me. I wasn’t immune to his charms. When he was smaller, more delicate, nowhere near a suitable playmate, I had dismissed him, put him squarely into the kid zone, too young for me, but now, suddenly, it was different. He was different, and the way he touched me, grabbed hold of my bicep when he’d led me from long-term parking to the terminal, placed his hand on the small of my back as he steered me to the plane, and now gripped my wrist in a hold that was gentle and firm at the same time, all of it, the care and control at the same time, was a big turn-on.

It was not something I shared with many lovers.

The men I’d slept with wanted to submit to me, begged me to use my size and strength to control them. I was good in bed. It wasn’t me bragging. I worked at it and made sure they were satisfied before I let go. I had never been accused of being selfish in the sack. Other places, God yes, but not there.

The thing was, I loved being manhandled and held down. I got off on it. Out of bed, I had to be in control of most everything, but in bed, my preference was to give myself over to someone else. So yes, from the start, I could say that Nick Madison, obviously, was beautiful. I understood why the legion of fans swooned over his gorgeous eyes, lush lips, sinewy form, and deep, sexy vibrato, but those things hadn’t affected me. Until now.

Now, crowded up against me, I couldn’t imagine pushing him away. He had guided me, physically, onto the plane, and I’d felt my body respond to that, flushing with heat even though my mind had sent up all kinds of warning bells.

“I like how this looks on your wrist,” he told me. “I think I need to get you something for the other, like some beads or a heavy cuff.”

“You don’t need to get me anything,” I assured him.

“We’ll see,” he said, his eyes flicking to my face, then away.

We landed, and as we made our way to the car rental counter, I was stunned that, with nothing more than a flat-top hat and a pair of Wayfarers, Nick Madison went entirely unrecognized.

“How do you think Clark Kent did it all those years?” he asked me in the parking lot when we reached the Land Rover he had rented.

“Get in the car,” I ordered him.

His snickering was good to hear.

“We really didn’t need anything this big,” I told him.

“I like to ride in luxury,” he explained. “And this way I can get in the back and take a nap while my driver does all the work.”