Page 31 of Magnum, Volume 2

I liked where this was going, but I took a long drink of beer instead of responding.

“I put my house on the market three days ago. I’ve hired a moving company, but the soonest they can get to me is ten days out.”

On the one hand, this was the best news possible. On the other hand, she’d just done it, without talking to me about it.

And yes, it’s her assets and her business, but it felt like something she should’ve kept me apprised of.

“I considered using my house as a bargaining chip,” she continued, “you know, like… if only maintenance was never more than twice a year, maybe I’d sell my house and move in permanently.” She shrugged. “Maybe it would’ve worked, maybe it would’ve backfired, but either way, that isn’t where I want our power exchange to go, so I put it on the market first, and now I’m telling you.”

I set my beer down and stared at her, speechless. I needed to say something, so I said, “Okay.”

She smiled. “I do have a few things I’d like you to agree to, but this isn’t me threatening not to move in if I don’t get my way. It’s me telling you what I think worked and didn’t work about this month.”

“I have some thoughts on that, too. Mind if I go first?”

“Not at all.”

“I feel better when you have Mason with you, especially on the nighttime stakeouts the two of you did, but you were awake all night and then came home to sleep, and I wasn’t happy about how the schedule just didn’t work for us while you were sleeping days and working nights.”

She nodded while I was composing how to tell her my solution, which I hoped was a good sign.

“The new rule is that the rigid times only work when you’re working a nine-to-five workday, or even ten-to-six workday or whatever, something close. If you get too far from that, the schedule wraps around your sleep schedule. As long as I’m home to do it, you get put into your evening gear and then fucked before you go to sleep, and then fucked when you wake.”

“I want to make sure you’ll take into account how tired I am and how long I’m going to be able to sleep, but I know you will. I don’t have to ask, so…” she shrugged. “Yeah, I’m not going to argue.”

I nodded. “I once said there was no need to keep a running tally of how often the schedule gets subtracted from or added to, but I’ve changed my mind. I’m going to note it on a spreadsheet, and we’re going to assume twelve hours per day in high protocol, twelve out. The schedule normally gives thirteen hours in, meaning you can fudge an hour of it safely.” I gave her a few seconds for that to sink in, and asked, “With me on the math?”

The truth is, I’ve never accommodated a woman around my schedule like this. I like the routine to be set in stone, but that was never going to work for Storm, and if I want her in my life — which I absolutely do — then it means I have to work it around her career. However, I also realized she needed me to keep her honest, and I hoped this would work.

She nodded. “Yeah, I was actually going to bring this up, a way to keep me from…” She blew out a breath. “Again, I’m going to need to trust that you’ll allow for some deviations. If I’m following a story that truly needs every waking minute of the day from me, then you may need to lift the rules until we get past it, but for normal, everyday work, it sounds like we’re on the same page.”

“Hear me out before you ask for that, because I’m going to say that anytime you end up with a seven-hour deficit, it’ll require a meeting between us during high-protocol hours. We’ll discuss how we got here, and we will either not do anything, or I will schedule a day in the near future where you stay in high protocol long enough to wipe out the time. Totally my discretion, but the idea here is that if I realize this is just a busy period, then I can let it go until the story is finished, and then we can decide whether to spend a weekend playing catch-up, or whether it’s best for me to just wipe the time and start over.”

“And by we,” she said, “you mean you.”

I considered that and said, “We’ll discuss it, and I’ll decide.”

A nod. “Okay.”

“That’s all I had. Did you have something else?”

She sat back, finished the last half of her beer in a single long drink, set it down, met my gaze, and said, “No more safeword. Ever. Not just during maintenance.”

My dick threatened to grow hard, but I ignored it. “You needed to drink half a beer before you could ask for it?”

“Not because I’m unsure of the request, but because it’s hard to say out loud.”

Her micro-expressions and scent told me that was the absolute truth, so I nodded and said, “Done, and we’ll talk about it in six months. You can’t rescind it until then. You need to live with it a while before we make possible changes.”

She seemed surprised, but then nodded. “Yeah. Okay. You’re going to test it, probably…” she shrugged. “Such is the life of a slave. One more request, and this is probably more about the biker thing than power exchange, but I need to know exactly what your club is involved in that’s illegal. What has to happen before you can tell me everything?”

“I’ve been giving you plausible deniability,” I noted, and then waited for her to respond.

“If I’m going to share my life with you, that’s a cop-out. I need to know exactly what I’m getting into, and… again, I’ve already listed my house, and the Realtor thinks it’ll go fast. Unless you’re trafficking humans or building bombs for terrorists, I don’t think we’re going to have a dealbreaker, and I can’t imagine anyone in your club would be okay with that. I’m banking on anything illegal you do still conforming to your morals. Not yours individually, but all of you in the club.”

I decided to start with the least-bad and work up. “The strippers can take men next door to the hotel. We have rooms set aside for their use.”

She blinked at me. “How much do they keep?”