Chapter 9
I’LL TOAST TO THAT
JAMIE
Back at Magnus’s penthouse, I feel like I’ve stepped into another world.
One where people don’t brown bag peanut butter and fluff sandwiches and have resorted to naming the roaches infesting their studio apartments.
His loft has enormous floor-to-ceiling windows stretching across the living room, showing the city lights sparkling below like a scattering of diamonds.
Hardwood floors gleam under soft recessed lighting.
Minimalistic furniture but warm in some intangible way—sleek leather chairs, a low coffee table, a rug soft enough to sink toes—or hooves—into.
Every corner is meticulously arranged. This is Magnus: controlled, powerful, and impossibly alluring, but somehow, in this space, approachable.
I spot a cluster of folded paper figures—little animals lined up neatly on a side table. Beside them sits an organizer filled with brightly colored squares.
“Is that… origami?”
Magnus looks over at me and tugs at the collar of his shirt. “Yeah. Helps me relax. Keeps my fingers limber.”
“The softer side of Mr. Trainor.”
He shrugs. “It’s… calming. Helps keep the stress from… spilling out.”
My chest tightens. There’s something achingly delicate in that confession, something I didn’t expect from a guy who could crush me with one arm if he wanted to.
I take a step closer. “Can I… see?”
He hesitates then takes a small, delicate frog from the collection, holding it out. I run my finger along the green paper, soft under my touch. “You made this?”
He nods. “Yeah. It’s like therapy. Back in college, I started folding origami, and it taught me something important—how to take something ordinary and transform it into something surprising, delicate, and strong all at once.
It kept me focused… and, well, helped me stop breaking things I shouldn’t.
” His eyes flick up to mine. The faint smile, the tilt of his head—it’s soft, yet my stomach flutters like I’ve just been punched in the gut.
“Well, it’s beautiful,” I say, brushing against his arm accidentally—or maybe not so accidentally. His tail flicks out and swats my leg, and he’s making not kissing him really difficult.
As we talk about origami, stress, and the absurdity of corporate life, the week’s tension begins to melt away.
When I pull my legs under me on the sofa, I glance at him and realize he’s watching me in a way that makes my chest swell.
My thoughts wander, and I catch myself imagining more than just conversation.
His tongue. His cock. But he was clear with me. Keep it professional.
“So, do you always make little animals?” I ask, nodding toward the paper menagerie.
But before he can answer, his stomach growls—loud and deep, like it’s echoing in his chest. My whole body jumps in surprise. But then, a huge laugh escapes my mouth.
“Sorry,” he says quickly, biting at his lower lip in a way that should not be that cute on someone so solid.
“Still hungry?”
“Always,” he says, patting his stomach. “Big guy, big appetite. I’ve got some bread and honey in the kitchen.” He’s up, hooves clicking on the tile. “Toast’s my favorite late night snack. Want some?”
My heart does this little flutter at the idea of him having a favorite bedtime treat. “I’m not really hungry,” I say, with a shrug.
“Suit yourself,” he murmurs, already moving toward the counter. He pulls out thick slices of bread and a jar of golden honey. The scent of warm toast fills the loft, and I watch his capable hands handle everything so carefully—like he’s making something important instead of just a snack.
When he sits back down with a plate, the toast glistening under the honey, I grin. “You’re telling me a big, important CEO winds down at night with honey on toast? That’s adorable.”
He lifts a brow. “It’s delicious. And it keeps me strong.” He flexes an arm, his shirt screaming under the fabric. “You want to tell me that’s not sexy?”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Okay, fine. It’s… sexy-adjacent.”
He tears a piece off with those blunt white teeth, and I can’t stop watching the way his lips shine with honey. My chest feels warm, too full, like maybe I'm in deeper than I realized.
“This bread...” He closes his eyes, clearly enjoying it.
“Amazing. From a troll-run bakery downtown. My freezer’s loaded.
And the honey—straight from a dryad hive out in Willow Glen.
You sure you don’t want to try it?” He tears off a corner and holds it out toward me. “Come on, Torres. Best snack ever.”
“Okay, just a taste. When in Rome and all.”
I take the piece from his fingers and pop it into my mouth.
The bread is thick and soft with a faint chew at the crust, and the honey bursts across my tongue—warm, floral, just the right amount of sweetness.
It clings to my lips, and for a second I swear the entire condo narrows down to golden honey and the way Magnus is watching me taste it.
“You’ve got something on your lip,” he murmurs.
I blush and fumble with a napkin, trying to wipe the stickiness away. “You did that on purpose,” I tease. “Gave me a messy snack.”
“Maybe.” His eyes lock with mine, steady and warm. There’s something in them I’ve wanted all week but refused to let myself hope for.
“Here, let me.” His hand is gentle as he reaches over, one thick finger brushing my bottom lip. He swipes the honey then lifts it to his mouth, sucking it off with a low, pleased sound.
My breath catches. It’s ridiculous how something so small makes my body tremble.
“You’re dangerous,” I whisper, my heart hammering.
Magnus huffs a quiet laugh, though it’s softer than usual. “I think you’ve got that backward.” His gaze lingers, searching my face like he’s trying to memorize it.
I shift, suddenly nervous and exhilarated all at once. “Magnus…”
He exhales, his broad shoulders slumping a little, as if he’s letting go of something he’s been holding tight.
“Jamie, I… I owe you an apology. For what I said. After… last time. In my office.” He glances down for a moment but then locks his gaze with mine.
“About it being only once. I thought it was the right thing. That I had to draw that line.”
He hesitates, his hand still hovering close to me, like he’s not ready to pull away. “But I can’t stop thinking about you. And pretending—it’s not fair to you. Or me.”
My heart pounds in my chest. I’ve been dreaming about this all week.
“I got scared.” He runs a hand through his mane then lets it fall to rest on the sofa between us, his eyes flicking to mine. “It’s not you. It’s me. I… I haven’t felt like this in a long time, and I panicked. And I’m the boss. That makes it even more complicated.”
I lean forward, a small smile tugging at my lips.
“Magnus… maybe being the boss just means you get to admit when you’re vulnerable too.
” My hand brushes briefly against his, not daring to linger, but enough to make him look at me again, and I swear I see some of the tension ease from his broad shoulders.
He chuckles nervously. “Being the boss usually comes with… less mess, more control. Not… whatever this is.”
I grin. “Oh, come on. You literally built a company on outsmarting everyone and keeping control. You can’t handle a little… chemistry with the new junior strategist?”
He groans, burying his face in his hands for a second, then peeks out between his fingers. “I can handle mergers, acquisitions, investor dinners… but not you, Jamie. Not like this.”
“And here I thought I was supposed to be intimidated by the CEO,” I tease, leaning back slightly, letting him see the twinkle in my eyes.
His ears, then his tail, twitch. “You’re not supposed to be afraid of me.”
“Good,” I say softly, leaning a little closer, “because I’m not.”
“Jamie,” he murmurs, and the weight of his gaze hits me, the tension in his shoulders, the pull of his tail swishing slightly.
I let my hands wander a little closer, tracing the lines of his broad shoulders. He leans into me, sighing softly, and I know we’re past teasing.
Magnus clears his throat. “I’ve been holding back all week,” he admits. “You don’t know how difficult it’s been.”
My hand hovers over his arm, unsure, then I let it drop, letting him see I’m not going anywhere. “I… I’d like a kiss,” I whisper, my throat dry.
His eyes darken, and I see that slight flush along his jawline. “Finally,” he mutters, leaning in. Our lips meet—hesitant at first, then slower, deeper, until everything else—the loft, the city, the world—blurs.
I’m kissing Magnus Trainor. Again. We’re on his enormous sofa, but that hardly matters—I’m already clambering into his lap like I can’t get close enough.
It’s a little awkward, my legs tangling, my arms stretching to wrap around his massive shoulders, but then his hands settle at my waist, steadying me, pulling me in.
My laugh dissolves against his mouth, and the kiss deepens, heat sparking low in my belly when my tongue brushes against one of his large teeth.
He kisses like he means it—like he’s been starving—and the way he holds me makes it easy to forget everything else.
When we finally pull back, breathless, I grin. “You’re relentless.”
“Maybe a little,” he teases, eyes soft. There’s a quiet intimacy in the way he’s looking at me that makes my heart stutter and my groin come to life.
“Can we… move somewhere with more room?” I ask.
And then, without a word, he lifts me in his arms like he’s carrying the smallest, lightest bag of groceries and brings me into his bedroom.
The room is huge, but simple—a big bed built sturdy enough for him, plaid blankets folded neatly, and a stack of books balanced on the nightstand beside a lamp that looks comically small for the space.
It feels lived-in, warm, a little shy and cozy, like him.
He lays me gently on the bed, the mattress dipping beneath his weight even though he’s barely touched it.
Then he steps back, giving me a look that makes every nerve in my body come alive.
My breath catches as his hands move to the buttons of his shirt, slow and deliberate, like he’s letting me savor every moment.
One by one, the layers come away until it’s just him—broad shoulders, powerful chest, thick thighs, cosmic cock, every inch of him as breathtaking as I remembered and more.
I prop myself up on my elbows, unable to look anywhere else. There’s something reverent in the way he peels himself bare, not just stripping off clothes but walls too.
“Magnus…” I whisper.
His lips twitch, a faint smile, but his eyes never leave mine as he kicks his underwear off. “Keep looking at me,” he says, voice low, like a promise and a command all at once.
I do as I’m told, my pulse thundering in my ears.
He comes closer, each step heavier than the last, until he’s standing over me.
His hands are careful when they touch me, tugging at my shirt, easing it up and over my head as if he’s unwrapping something fragile.
The brush of his fingers against my skin sends sparks racing across my torso. I’m so turned on, my body quivers.
“Perfect,” Magnus murmurs, almost to himself, before his hands slide lower. “Mine.” He makes quick work of the rest but doesn’t rush—each movement deliberate, each touch reverent, like he’s memorizing me piece by piece.
By the time I’m bare beneath him, I can hardly breathe. He leans down, bracing one sizeable hand beside my head, his breath warm against my cheek. “Still with me?”
“Fuck yes. And actually, speaking of… I have a confession.”
His eyebrows scurry up his forehead, and I take a breath and spit it out.
“After what happened in your office, I was… curious. And, uh, horny for more.”
One side of his mouth turns up slightly.
“There’s this little shop downtown that sells all kinds of toys. Every shape and size you can imagine. I may have found one that was… well, similar.”
He’s fully smiling now and completely handsome.
“I’ve been practicing with it all week. Took me a couple of days to, uh, get the hang of things.
” His tail swishes once, pulling my attention, and I notice my admission has made him rock hard.
“Anyway… I guess what I’m saying is, I’ve been training.
Like… actually training for this. For you. That.” I nod to his enormous erection.
“You make it sound like you’ve been studying for a test.”
“Yeah, and I’m really hoping for an A-plus.”
Magnus laughs and says, “Fuck, that’s actually hot.” He closes his eyes. “Thinking about you taking a big ol’ Minotaur-sized dildo up your perfect ass.”
“And wishing it was you.”
He lets out a low growl, and for a split second my chest tightens with concern—until he pulls me against him, crushing me to his burly torso and kissing me hard. I melt into him, doing my best to hook my legs around his thick waist as he lowers himself onto the bed with me clinging to him.
“How about we start with you sucking my dick? And then I’ll open your sweet little hole up with this.” He kisses me softly, and my stomach flutters knowing he won’t be so gentle with my ass. “And then, well, if you want, we can…”
“Fuck.”
“Yeah, fuck.”
“Do you have lube? We’re going to need… lots.”
Magnus squeezes his eyes shut, and yeah—unlike me—he clearly wasn’t planning or prepping for this moment. Heck, I even made sure I was… ready back at the office before we went to dinner. Honestly, at this point, it’s like I’m the one doing all the work for the group project.
But then his face shifts, brow slanting, and I swear the gears are turning.
“Um, I’m all out of lube, but… I have another idea.”