Page 4 of A New Year's Toy

She deems me worthy of giving me her heart every day anew.

I’m humbled to be the receiver of such a precious gift, and the best I can do is give her mine in return.

Hopefully, by the end of this trip, for life.

“We’ll find you,” I address Rory, though my thoughts are centered exclusively on Nola.

“All right, sir.”

Rory stalks toward the front of the plane, passing the mahogany tables, leather couches, disappearing behind a heavy, gray curtain separating the flight attendants’ area from ours.

I turn to look at Nola. She’s left my side, already by the door to the bedroom, kicking her shoes off. She has her back to me, carrying the small duffle she brought.

Nola isn’t shy about showing me her new toys. Usually. I’m confident she carries some in her bag, and my mouth salivates at what’s inside.

At what I’m going to do to her during the ten hours we have on our flight.

“Been sneaking surprises onto the plane?” A soft click of the lock shuts the world and the rest of the crew outside.

“Since we have some time to burn on the flight…” My five-foot-seven temptress twists to me, biting the side of her lip.

Flirting.

I’m hard, my need for her pressing inside my blue jeans. The game is on.

I flick my wrist to the bag she’s holding. “Let me see what’s inside.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask for your opinion.” She passes it on to me. “And play.”

It’s heavier than I would’ve expected and now I’m not just humbled to have her share her work with me. I’m intrigued.

“New products?” I tilt my head, schooling my expression.

As proud as I am of her, as much as a smile begs to crack through my lips, I bottle up these feelings. There’s no room for them moments before I inflict a generous amount of pain on her, to make it appear like I’m any less in control.

“Yes.” Her fingers toy with the sleeve of her shirt, tugging it lower on her arm.

The thin, black strap of her bra appears. The top of the lace cup too.

“My busy little bee.”

Pretending not to notice her exposed skin, I walk past her, sitting on the edge of the bed. I’m ravenous in my want to pin her to the floor facedown, but how fucking boring would that be?

“I thought you said you were overwhelmed.”

“It’s been humming around in my head since Christmas.” She swivels in place on her bare feet to face me. “A ton of people were asking to package a few items as a gift, and it got me thinking about this.”

I pat the bag in my lap for her to join me, which she does. On her knees. Some days I feed her in this position, others I wrap my hand around her throat and listen to her strangled breaths, how she gives them to me.

Nola’s long brown locks drape to the front of her body, though they do little to hide the outline of her nipples through her dress. I want to slap them. Want to reproach her for acting without my permission for the sake of hearing her gasp at the sting of my palm.

But I sense that whatever’s inside that bag holds much more potential than a banal smack.

The zipper slides to the left. Three packages lie before me—a large one in red, a medium one in cyan, the smallest one in purple. I lift the purple one, unwrapping it and opening the brown lid of the box. It contains handcuffs, a blindfold, a suction vibrator, anal beads, and a cock ring.

“Gift boxes.” I place everything back. Another surge of delight courses through me. Most new businesses aim to survive. My Nola, she shoots for the peak of the mountain. “For Christmas, birthdays, Valentine’s.”

“Yes.” She nods enthusiastically.

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