Page 3 of A New Year's Toy

He refers to himself as me instead of Daddy, but there’s no doubt in mind that he means to say it. I sure as shit feel it. Alistair prioritizes me, provides advice if I ask for it, and on rare occasions chooses my outfits.

He does it affectionately, doesn’t overstep any lines. Isn’t overbearing, isn’t suffocating. Alistair is Daddy simply because he’s the epitome of love.

“The shop is doing well. Really well.”

“I see that.” He wraps the blanket around me so other than my head, not an inch of my body is exposed. “I see you.”

I shift in his lap, tilting my head up. “Some days, I want to do everything. Then I do it, more marketing, reorganizing the shelves like I saw on YouTube, reaching out to new suppliers. It keeps me going, but sometimes it’s a lot. I should feel grateful for every minute of it. Why is that?”

“You love that shop.”

“I do.”

His arm around my shoulders tightens, the other hand slides beneath the blanket, running up and down my thighs.

His shaft hardens, poking the side of my body. My core is wet again. Yet, neither of us comments on it. Our attraction is undeniable, but so is our emotional connection.

“You can love something and still admit pouring yourself into it takes a toll on you,” he says, his voice smooth, patient, and understanding. “We can postpone the trip to Paris, celebrate New Year’s Eve at home. Taking a step back could do you good.”

“No. I’m looking forward to it.” My lips press to his jaw, ever grateful for his presence in my life. “In case I haven’t said it enough, thank you for going along with my crazy idea.”

“Nola.” My name is a demand to return his gaze. “I’m proud of you. So damn proud of you. Joining you on your business trip to Paris, to be there when you sign an exclusive contract you worked hard to get, it’s my absolute pleasure. My honor. I’m the grateful one, sweetheart.”

The beating organ in my chest pulses to an erratic rhythm. My love for Alistair, for the protector he is. For the genuine flavor of his words that never fails to translate into his actions.

I’m hot for him all over again. Want to get lost in him for days.

A luxury neither of us has... At the moment.

In less than a couple of hours, we’ll have an abundance of time on his private jet.

Alone.

He and I and no one else, tapping into one special game we’ve studied over the past two months with a splash of a couple of toys of my own.

CHAPTER TWO

Alistair

“Unless the plane is about to crash,” I say to Rory, my flight attendant, “do not knock on this door. For anything.”

“What about lunch for you and Ms. Vickers, Mr. Cromwell?”

I don’t bother correcting her to address me on a first-name basis.

There are more important matters than tending to unnecessary formalities.

My girlfriend.

My eyes skate to Nola. She’s stunning in the skin-tight gray dress and cream-colored flats I left for her next to the bed we share.

She offers me a sly smile. I smirk in return.

She loves me.

It’s a concept that continues to baffle me. Five months later, to love and to be loved remains a mystery I accept step by step.

Nola is there constantly. Regardless of my past fuckups, our rocky start.

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