Page 56 of Magnum, Volume 1

Magnum must’ve known, because he leaned to the side, picked me up, and settled me in his lap without a word. He’s six foot four inches tall, so my five feet eight inches feel small next to him. I’m still nearly one hundred and forty pounds though — and yeah, eleven pounds of that is boob. I weighed one of them, once.

But the point is, he didn’t stand to pick me up. Just reached across, lifted me into his arms, and easily settled me into his fucking lap. Like I didn’t weigh anything. He’s strong, but damn.

No one else in the room seemed to think it a big deal, though Sloan said, “Not happening.”

“She’s careful,” Magnum said. “Has a good head on her shoulders. No one’s laying a hand on her without my say-so.”

Squatch gave us an appraising look, but Skippy was already onto the next video, and this time we were looking at the governor and her husband in their bedroom, through the French doors. It seemed really brazen, putting a bird-shaped drone on their balcony, but it paid off, because the two were talking about their next trip to Fiji and debating how much money to stash in each place — the Cook Islands and Vanuatu. They also discussed which disguises to wear when they visit each island.

The three investigators also got tons of data on guard movements at both places, but nothing to tell us where the fighters were housed outside of fight weekends.

They also filmed a lot of footage of the hunt weekend, which was more helpful than I’d hoped for. The security team was friendlier and more at ease. They still weren’t talking about anything important, but we saw them interacting with guests, and got a little more of a handle on them individually.

Two weeks before my next maintenance ass-fucking, which he had on the calendar every month, I decided we had to talk about it, so I brought it up over lunch, when we weren’t in high-protocol.

“We need to talk, and I keep putting it off, but I don’t think…” I shrugged. “I love your rules and your schedule, but the truth is, they’re only working because we know there’ll be an end date, and we’re making an assumption that’s about a month out.”

“What might not work if you were here permanently?”

I shook my head. “That’s a discussion for another day, and I’ll be honest and say I’m not prepared to have that talk until we get me out of this alive and free. Right now, my future isn’t assured. There’s a damned decent chance this group manages to kill me. Also, a really good chance we cut them off at the knees and they can’t arrange it, but neither outcome is a sure thing.”

“They aren’t going to kill you.”

“I’m happy you’re confident. What I want to talk about today, is…” I held back a sigh and plunged in. “Some people need daily maintenance, but that isn’t me. I like rules. I like following rules. I also like being reminded, every-so-often, of why it’s important I do so immediately, but for the maintenance you’ve chosen, I really feel like it should be quarterly and not monthly.”

When he didn’t say anything, I added, “I mean, it isn’t likely I’ll be around by then, but if I happen to be, that feels like the right schedule. Monthly seems like overkill to me. Sir.”

He put his burger down and leaned back in his chair. “Maintenance isn’t a subscription service you adjust based on convenience. It’s calibrated to keep your attitude properly adjusted. You don’t decide what’s overkill. I monitor your baseline, and I determine when you need a reset.”

Before I could respond, he said, “The possibility of you staying around once the danger is gone — is that completely off the table? We click, and that doesn’t happen often. I like you as a person. I mean, I really like you… and our kinks are a perfect fit, too.”

I let that sink in, the fact he really likes me, but I needed to address the kinks, first. “Not a perfect fit. You’re giving me more pain than I would accept moving forward for the rest of my life. But… I mean, it isn’t like I can demand you only fuck me twice a week, so I really can’t see an answer to that one. If I were to stay, it would be a problem, but short term, it’s…” I blew out a breath and rolled my eyes. “I mean, it’s hot, making me cry, and fuck, that’s hard to admit.”

He gave me a sadistic grin, but said, “There’s an answer, so perhaps I’ll work on modulating how things work now, to show you. No promises, but I’ll consider it. Meanwhile, as to maintenance, my plan had been to do the first two or three sessions a month apart, and then probably move to every other month.”

I stared at him. “Have I given you reason to feel like I need it again so soon?”

“Not at all.”

“Then why?”

When he didn’t answer, I told him, “You have to know that zero negotiations isn’t completely possible if this were to somehow work long term. It’s hot, but it might mean we don’t work out because of one single thing. Long term, it’ll be, in part, about finding something that works for both of us. I like you, too, but I live in Pennsylvania, and I’m used to being able to get to DC or Manhattan in two to four hours, maximum, if I need to be there fast for a story.”

I was getting off on a tangent, so I brought it back. “Maintenance frequency is going to have to be negotiated outside of power exchange. I’m not asking you to lessen the severity of it, though fuck, I wish I could find a valid reason to. However, every month is more than I need.”

“Careful,” he said, his flat, unyielding voice dropping an octave. “Don’t confuse a conversation outside protocol with an invitation to dictate terms. You don’t get to file a grievance every time I push past one of your perceived limits. Our agreement says I decide what you can handle. Not you.”

And then, like before, he focused on my off-topic tangent, and quickly added, “So maybe you get a small apartment closest to the city you get called to the most, and move here permanently. Won’t get you there from here right away, but if you know things are about to break, it’ll give you a home-base to stay at so you can be on-scene even faster. Maybe a pied-a-terre in Jersey or Virginia, a short drive or taxi away.”

I just stared at him, unwilling to drop the maintenance schedule but unsure of how to bring it up again. I didn’t want to say that I could cancel our agreement at any time, mostly because I didn’t fucking want to do that, and he damned well knew it. Plus, I didn’t want it to sound like a threat, since I didn’t figure that would go over well.

Thankfully, he ended my dilemma by saying, “You want quarterly? Prove to me why thirty days is too soon. Is it physically too much, or are you just trying to put distance between yourself and my cock in your ass because you’re scared of how much you yield when I’m buried deep in your ass and you don’t have your safeword?”

I shook my head. “It’s about balance. I’m not a SAM or a brat. I behave. I like behaving, and I get that the frequency is your decision, but monthly is more than I need, Sir.”

He stared at me a good two or three minutes, his gaze dark, before he said. “Agreed, you’re an exceptionally well-behaved little fuckslave, but quarterly isn’t often enough for a reset. At least, not yet. I’ll schedule the second session at two months, and then I’ll consider switching to quarterly, but no promises.”

I nodded. “Yeah. Okay. Not happy with two months, but it’s a compromise. As to the other, I’m not ready to talk about the future until we get me out of this alive and then look at the landscape.”