Page 13

Mandy

I woke to the rich scent of coffee filling the cabin, seeping under the door of Thor's guest bedroom where I'd spent the night. For once, I hadn't thrashed around in restless dreams. No panic about missed deadlines or forgotten meetings. Just deep, uninterrupted sleep that left me feeling oddly weightless. The heaviness that usually sat on my chest in the mornings was gone, replaced by something unfamiliar – peace.

Stretching under the quilt, I realized I'd slept better than I had in months. Maybe years. Ever since the Serpents had made their threat, leaving that crude note on my apartment door, anxiety had been my constant companion. But here, nestled in Thor's cabin in the mountains outside Ironridge, that fear felt distant, manageable.

We'd signed the contract yesterday. The memory flooded back as I slid my feet to the cold wooden floor—Thor's serious expression as he went through each clause, making sure I understood what I was agreeing to. The way his eyes had darkened when I'd signed my name with a steady hand. A Dom/sub contract with DDLG elements. Words I'd never imagined would apply to my meticulously controlled life.

I felt liberated.

When we’d finished, I’d half-expected we’d just come back to the cabin and have mad, crazy, kinky sex. But that hadn’t happened. Thor had said that he still planned on taking it slow.

“We haven’t even been on a date yet, princess,” he’d growled. “Let’s take things a step at a time.”

It was sweet, but didn’t stop the ache I felt between my legs for him. Still, I trusted him. We’d get there in the end.

The cabin floorboards creaked beneath my bare feet as I padded toward the kitchen, still wearing the oversized t-shirt Thor had lent me to sleep in.

Thor stood at the stove with his back to me, muscled shoulders stretching his black t-shirt as he moved a pan off the heat. His blond hair was pulled back in a messy knot, revealing the tattoo that crept up his neck from his broad back. He must have heard me, because he turned as I entered, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners.

"Morning, Little One," he said, voice still rough with sleep.

Before I could respond, he crossed the kitchen in two strides, one large hand cupping the back of my head as he bent to kiss me. Not a gentle good morning peck, but deep and thorough, his beard scratching deliciously against my skin. His free hand splayed across my lower back, pulling me against him until I could feel the hard planes of his chest through the thin cotton separating us.

My knees actually weakened. I thought that was just something that happened in bad romance novels, but there I was, gripping his biceps to stay upright as heat bloomed between my legs.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes had darkened to storm-cloud blue. "You sleep okay?"

"Better than okay," I admitted, voice embarrassingly breathy. "Your guest bed is magic."

"Wait til you try out my non guest bed.”

My cheeks burned.

Thor picked up on my excitement. "Coffee's ready. Sit. I made breakfast."

The kitchen table was already set—plates of scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast waiting alongside freshly sliced fruit. It looked amazing.

"You didn't have to do all this," I said, sliding into a chair.

Thor poured coffee into a mug and set it before me, his massive hand making the ceramic look delicate. "I wanted to. First real morning with my girl deserves celebrating."

His girl. The possessive phrase made something warm unfurl in my chest.

We ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the cabin quiet except for the ticking of the old clock on the wall and occasional birdsong from outside. Thor ate with efficiency, his movements economical yet graceful for such a large man. I found myself sneaking glances at him between bites – the way his forearms flexed when he reached for his coffee, the small scar above his right eyebrow, the intensity of his focus even on something as mundane as breakfast.

"I've got something planned for us today," he said finally, breaking the silence.

"Oh?" I set down my fork, immediately calculating what deadlines I had at Prestige Partners, what files needed reviewing for the Heavy Kings books, whether Lena needed her monthly P it was about giving me something special. Refusing would hurt him in ways I didn't want to.

"Thank you," I said instead, allowing him this pleasure.

Thor ordered wine with the confidence of someone familiar with the list, then turned his full attention to me as the server departed. In the soft lighting, his face looked different—the harsh angles softened, the perpetual alertness in his eyes replaced by genuine warmth.

"So," he said, leaning forward slightly, "tell me something I don't know about you yet."

"Like what?" I asked, caught off guard by the open-ended question.

"Anything. Not work." His lips quirked. "I already know you're brilliant at that. Tell me about . . . books you love. Places you want to visit someday. Childhood memories. The stuff that makes you you."

I found myself telling him about my favorite novel—a dog-eared copy of Jane Eyre I'd read so many times the spine had cracked. How I'd secretly admired Jane's quiet strength, her unwavering sense of self even when the world tried to diminish her.

"I've never read it," Thor admitted. "Maybe I should."

"You'd probably hate it," I laughed. "Not exactly filled with motorcycle chases and bar fights."

"You'd be surprised what I enjoy reading," he countered, a hint of challenge in his voice. "Try me."

That led to a discussion of books we'd both read—discovery of shared appreciation for Stephen King's storytelling, good-natured disagreement over whether Jack London's Call of the Wild was better than White Fang.

Our wine arrived, followed by appetizers Thor had ordered without consulting the menu. Fresh bread, a selection of cheeses, and something involving prosciutto and figs that tasted like heaven.

Conversation flowed as easily as the wine. Thor told me about places he'd ridden to—the Grand Canyon at sunrise, the Pacific Coast Highway with fog rolling in from the ocean, a tiny town in New Mexico where he'd waited out a thunderstorm in a bar owned by a former rodeo clown.

"I've never left Colorado," I admitted, feeling suddenly small. My life had been so focused on career advancement, on financial security. "Pathetic, right?"

"Not pathetic," Thor corrected gently. "Just a different path. But now you've got someone to show you those places, if you want."

The casual promise of a future together made something warm unfurl in my chest. We ordered entrées—pasta for me, a steak for Thor—and continued trading pieces of ourselves between bites.

I learned that Thor had broken his arm at twelve trying to jump his bicycle over a homemade ramp. He learned that I'd been on the math team in high school, my copper hair pulled back in a tight ponytail as I competed in speed calculation events.

"That explains a lot," he said with a laugh. "No wonder you’ve added so much value to the club."

"Just applying principles," I shrugged, secretly pleased by the compliment.

"Principles and talent," Thor insisted, reaching across to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.

I was about to respond when my phone buzzed in my purse. I'd silenced it earlier but left the vibration on—force of habit as someone who was always on call for three different employers. Normally I would have ignored it during dinner, but the buzzing continued, indicating a call rather than a text.

Thor noticed my attention shift. "Problem?"

"No, just my phone," I said, trying to refocus on our conversation. But the buzzing continued, stopped, then immediately started again. Someone was trying hard to reach me.

I pulled my purse onto my lap, intending just to check who was calling. Martin's name and the Prestige Partners logo flashed on the screen. Martin rarely called after hours unless something was urgent with a high-value client.

"I should just check what he wants," I murmured, forgetting Thor's first rule for our date day as anxiety flared. The Peterson account had been in a delicate state when I'd left yesterday, tax implications hanging in the balance of decisions that needed to be made soon.

I answered before fully thinking it through. "Martin, what's up?"

"Mandy, sorry to bother you after hours," Martin's voice came through clearly. "I can't find the Peterson tax shelter documentation. Is it in your files or the shared drive?"

Such a simple question. Nothing urgent at all. "It's in my desk drawer, left side, blue folder. I hadn't digitized it yet because we were waiting on the final signoffs."

"Perfect, that's all I needed. Enjoy your evening."

The call lasted less than thirty seconds. When I hung up and looked across the table, Thor's expression had changed. The warmth remained, but something else lurked beneath—the Dom asserting himself through his steady gaze.

"That was work," he stated quietly, no question in his tone.

My stomach dropped as I suddenly remembered the first rule he'd laid out this morning. No work calls or emails. Not one.

"I'm sorry, I forgot—" I began, feeling a flush of embarrassment heat my cheeks.

Thor shook his head once, cutting me off. Not harshly, but with unmistakable authority. "We'll discuss consequences later," he said, his tone gentle but firm. "For now, let's enjoy the rest of our meal."

That single statement sent an unexpected thrill through me—not fear of punishment, but anticipation of his care expressed through discipline. Our contract had outlined this aspect of our relationship clearly: rules were meant to protect and nurture, consequences were meant to reinforce boundaries that helped me thrive.

I swallowed hard, nodding my acceptance. "Yes, Thor."

His expression softened slightly at my submission. "Turn off your phone, princess. Not just silent—off."

I complied immediately, powering down the device and returning it to my purse. The simple act felt strangely liberating, like cutting a tether that had kept me constantly available to others' needs.

Thor must have sensed my internal shift because his next words were gentler. "The Peterson account will survive one evening without Amanda Wright's brilliant mind."

There was no mockery in his compliment, only sincere appreciation of my professional capabilities.

Dessert arrived—a rich chocolate torte with two forks that we shared between us. Thor insisted I take the last bite, watching with undisguised pleasure as I savored the dark chocolate.

"Good?" he asked, voice deeper than usual.

"Decadent," I admitted, licking a smudge of chocolate from my lower lip.

Thor's eyes tracked the movement of my tongue with such heat that the temperature in the room seemed to rise several degrees. "We should head back soon," he said, his intention clear in his tone.

The anticipation building between us made the simple suggestion feel charged with promise—not just of pleasure, but of the consequence awaiting me. The combination should have made me anxious. Instead, it created a delicious tension that hummed under my skin.

And as my skin hummed, I couldn’t help but wonder what the consequences for my rule-breaking might be.