Firm Hand

by Nora Phoenix

  Firm Hand

  Nora Phoenix

  Firm Hand by Nora Phoenix

  Copyright ©2019 Nora Phoenix

  Cover design: Sloan Johnson (Sloan J Designs)

  Editing: Jamie Anderson

  All rights reserved. No part of this story may be used, reproduced, or transmitted in any form by any means without the written permission of the copyright holder, except in case of brief quotations and embodied within critical reviews and articles.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The use of any real company and/or product names is for literary effect only. All other trademarks and copyrights are the property of their respective owners.

  This book contains sexually explicit material which is suitable only for mature readers.

  www.noraphoenix.com

  Contents

  Three Months Earlier

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Epilogue

  Untitled

  Books from Nora Phoenix

  More About Nora Phoenix

  Acknowledgments

  Three Months Earlier

  “I can’t believe that guy had such a magnificent dick and didn’t know how to use it,” Jonas said as he and Cornell walked back to the car. “That was utterly disappointing.”

  Cornell harrumphed. “That’s one word for it.”

  He rubbed his lower back as they walked, the tight muscles informing him he’d better book a slot with both his chiropractor and his massage therapist tomorrow. God, getting older sucked. Being on his knees was a lot easier when he was twenty than it was now.

  “He was clearly more turned on by watching us play together than by fucking either of us,” Cornell said with a sigh.

  Jonas unlocked the car, the quick double beep echoing in the parking lot. “We may have to consider finding a different club,” he said.

  Cornell let out a soft groan as he got into the car. Damn, his body hurt. And not in a good, endorphins-inducing way.

  “Your back?” Jonas asked as he started the car.

  “Yeah. And my knee.” Cornell shivered in the cold car, his breath coming out in damp clouds. “Turn the heated seats on high, would you?”

  Jonas pressed a button. “You really need to make kneeling a hard limit, or at least indicate you can’t do it for longer periods of time.”

  Cornell looked at him sideways. “It’s what we do, Jojo,” he said, using the old nickname for his best friend. “Subs kneel. It’s kinda hard to put that down as a hard limit if I want to have a Dom take me seriously.”

  Jonas let out a deep sigh. “Yeah.”

  He didn’t need to say more. It wasn’t the first time they’d had this debate.

  “Are you serious about finding a different club?” Cornell asked as Jonas carefully drove out of the parking lot. They’d had more snow in the last few days, another fifteen inches or so, and the lot had only been partially cleared. But they’d both grown up in the Northeast, so it wasn’t anything they weren’t used to. That was January in New York for you, nothing but snow, and it would stay that way for months.

  “I don’t know. I hate even the thought, but this isn’t working. We’ve tried doing it separately, but that wasn’t a success either.”

  Cornell mentally cringed. “You can say that again. Apparently, being a Dom at forty-five is fine and will make twinky subs line up out the door for you, but being a sub isn’t. Where do they expect us to go?”

  This, too, was not a new topic, but tonight’s events had brought it home once again. Older subs were rare at the club since they were expected to have found a Dom by that point. A permanent one. A Dom who’d collared them. Fuck knew they’d both tried.

  Jonas had been married for years to his Mistress—and had the son to prove it. But five years ago, they’d separated, and while it had been for the best since they’d grown apart, it had been hard on Jonas. Cassie hadn’t only been his wife, but his Domme as well, and losing that stability had been a difficult transition.

  And Cornell, he’d been on his own for six years now, after Arnold had left him for a younger sub who could “keep up with him,” as he’d so subtly pointed out. Fuck him for not understanding that not all kinds of pain brought bliss. Asshole.

  No, Cornell wasn’t sorry anymore about the demise of that relationship, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss it. Not him, not Arnold specifically, but having a partner, a Dom. The intimacy. The care. The joy of obeying and submitting. Not that the whole relationship with Arnold had brought much joy in the five years they’d been together, but it’d had its moments.

  “Can I stay with you tonight?” he asked, craving the companionship in bed. Out of everything he’d lost when Arnold had left him, that had been the hardest, strangely enough. He hated sleeping alone, painfully missing a body next to him. The body pillow he’d bought was a meager replacement.

  “Sure,” Jonas said, gently patting Cornell’s thigh for a second. “I don’t feel like being alone either.”

  “Rhys won’t be home?” Cornell checked.

  “Nah, he’s with Cassie. He’s all but done with his degree and is working a few days a week in a large physical therapy practice in Albany. He’s looking for an apartment with a friend of his, but in the meantime, he moved back in with Cassie.”

  “Good,” Cornell said. “’Cause that would be hard to explain to your kid.”

  “He’s not a kid anymore, Cor. He’s twenty-three,” Jonas chided him with a laugh.

  “He’ll always be a kid to me,” Cornell said. “I’ve known him since the day he was born.”

  Jonas rubbed his thigh again. Jonas had always been a tactile guy, often hugging and touching Cornell, and he loved the constant casual touches. “Don’t make us feel even older.”

  They were silent for a bit as Jonas navigated the narrow, winding country road to his house. Unlike Cassie, who’d opted to stay in Albany after their divorce, Jonas had moved into the countryside. The boonies, as he called it. He’d bought an old farmhouse, a sprawling ranch with several outbuildings as well, which had been updated and modernized. The house was completely private, the nearest neighbors far away, and Cornell had to admit it was a little piece of heaven.

  “So, a new club,” Cornell said. “Any ideas?”

  “There’s more than a few in the city we could try.”

  Cornell scoffed. “You wanna drive three hours to New York City every other weekend?”

  “No, I really don’t, Cor, but what’s the alternative? Boston is equally far, and we’ve exhausted all the local options.”

  He had a point there, Cornell had to admit. “Ugh, I hate it when you’re right.”

  “We’ll stay together the first few times to see if we like it and feel safe,” Jonas said.

  Cornell hummed in agreement. It was funny; they’d been best friends since college but had never played together till after Jonas’s divorce. They’d been in the same clubs, the same parties, but never in the same scene until then. And even now,
it was more out of necessity than a deep desire for each other. They were both too submissive, too needy for a strong, dominant partner—and in Cornell’s case, for bottoming, since he didn’t like topping—to ever be happy with the two of them. Theirs was a unique relationship: best friends with the occasional benefits, without sex ever getting in the way.

  “We’ll try it,” Cornell agreed. “Because I know you have to be as desperate for a good scene by now as I am.”

  Jonas let out a half-laugh. “Honestly, I’d settle for a good, hard fuck by now. Just give me a guy with a good-sized dick who knows how to use it.”

  “Amen to that.”

  Cornell had stopped shivering, the heated seat sending a lovely warmth through his ass and back. Now that the engine was warm, the cold had been pushed out of the car, replaced by a comfortable heat. And god, how depressing was it if that was the thing Cornell appreciated most about Jonas’s brand-new BMW? Jonas’s big pickup truck was robust and perfect for hauling timber and everything he needed for his business, but this car, this was pure pleasure.

  He noticed Jonas had slowed down. “Is it icy?” he asked. They were only five minutes out now, but the roads here were narrow.

  “Yeah,” Jonas said. “Felt the wheels spin a little. Must be some ice.”

  Cornell didn’t need to tell him to be careful. They both knew how dangerous black ice could be. In the distance, headlights popped up, announcing an oncoming car.

  “I love this car,” Jonas said, a ring of pride in his voice. No wonder. He’d worked his ass off on his handmade wooden furniture business, creating and selling custom-made chairs, tables, picnic benches, cabinets, and more. He was good at what he did, and Cornell couldn’t be more proud of him. A deep sense of gratitude filled him that despite everything he yearned for in life, he had this. This friendship, Jonas, meant everything to him.

  “I love you,” he blurted out. “I’m so happy we’re still us after all this time, Jojo.”

  Jonas’s laugh tinkled. “I love you too, you big sap. We’ll make it, you and I. We’ll find our happy ever after.”

  They turned the curve, and Cornell’s breath caught as he felt the wheels spin, the back of the car drifting a little to the side.

  “Dammit,” Jonas cursed, pumping the brakes and steering to get traction again.

  And then the headlights of the oncoming car were suddenly close, way too close. Cornell screamed in horror, his terror mixing with Jonas’s. He screamed until the crash came, and then there was nothing but silence and darkness.

  1

  Cornell stared at his doctor, swallowing painfully. “You’re saying that this is it? That I’m never gonna get more mobility than this?”

  The doctor’s look changed into one Cornell had become all too familiar with over the last few weeks. Professional pity, he called it. It was the look people got when they realized what had happened to him but weren’t close enough to actually care.

  “I’m saying you’re lucky you can even walk again,” the doctor said. “Your prognosis was a lot worse when you were admitted here.”

  Here was the rehabilitation center he’d spent the last few weeks in after being discharged from the hospital, learning to walk again, discovering that his limitations were so much more severe than he’d ever considered.

  “Lucky is not the word I would use,” he said, his tone sharp.

  The doctor’s face softened even more. “I can respect that, Mr. Freeman, but believe me when I say you’ve progressed much further than I ever thought possible.”

  Cornell let out a sigh. “I’ve always loved beating the odds.”

  “And that fighting spirit certainly helped your recovery. But this is as far as we can take you, I’m afraid.”

  “But I can’t use stairs,” Cornell protested. “Not without pain, at least. How will I manage in my house if I can’t even handle stairs?” he asked, fighting to keep the anger out of his voice. “And I still can’t walk farther and longer than a few minutes.”

  “There are certain adaptations you can make to your home to make it easier. A stair lift, for example. A special bathtub. But really, Mr. Freeman, considering your age, you may want to consider moving into a ranch or an apartment so everything will be on the same level. We have a consultant who will be more than happy to help you make any arrangements to make your current or future home more accessible.”

  Moving. He hadn’t even considered that option, never realizing it would become impossible for him to return to his own home after his rehabilitation. A deep stab pierced his heart at the thought of having to buy a house without Jonas’s advice. He’d always been the practical one with a sharp eye for detail. Well, Cornell was detail-oriented as well—he had to be, as an estate lawyer—but in a completely different way.

  “I’ll need some time to consider my options,” he said, feeling defeated.

  “I understand. Perhaps you could make temporary arrangements with family or friends? You will be discharged tomorrow, so you need to make sure you have a suitable place to stay.”

  Cornell almost choked on his own breath. “Tomorrow? I can’t make arrangements on such short notice!”

  The professional pity look returned. “Mr. Freeman, we’ve told you several times your release date was coming up. Maybe you can stay with a friend?”

  A fresh wave of grief rolled over Cornell, clenching a cold hand around his throat. “My friend died,” he whispered. “He’s gone.”

  Tears welled up in his eyes all over again. He was surprised he hadn’t run out by now. Lord knew he’d cried enough to end a drought in a few small countries. There had been days when he’d barely been able to see through his swollen eyes.

  “Have you talked to our grief counselor?” the doctor asked.

  Cornell waved his hand, not bothering to wipe away his tears. “I have. She says to allow myself to grieve and to give it time, so here we are.”

  The doctor shifted in his seat, apparently at a loss for words. “I don’t think there’s anything else we can do for you,” he said, his tone changing from hesitant to conclusive. Cornell recognized when he was being dismissed. He’d done it himself with clients often enough.

  “I’ll make arrangements,” he said.

  He’d book a damn hotel if he had to. He’d probably need a live-in nurse or something as well for the first few months. There was still so much he couldn’t do himself. Even getting dressed was a struggle some days, especially when his shoulder refused to cooperate.

  For a fleeting second, he debated asking his sister, Sarah, if he could move in with her and her family, but he rejected that idea as quickly as it came up. He’d go mad in a house with three teenagers, two dogs, and four cats, if he remembered correctly. There might be a rabbit as well, and maybe some kind of parrot? It was easy to lose count since she kept rescuing pets. Plus, Sarah might end up killing him in his sleep, so there was that.

  He shuffled out of the doctor’s office, then lowered himself on a chair in the waiting room to wait for the orderly to accompany him back to his room. As he sat down with a groan, his phone rang.

  “Hey,” he greeted Rhys, Jonas’s son, who called every day to check in on him. He was a sweetheart, so worried about Cornell.

  “Any news?”

  “They’re discharging me tomorrow,” Cornell said. “The doctor feels I’ve gained as much mobility as possible.”

  He tried to sound positive, not wanting to burden Rhys with his troubles. The kid had it hard enough, losing his father so unexpectedly.

  “You can’t go home,” Rhys said firmly. “You don’t have the mobility and functionality yet to manage living on your own, let alone in your house. It’s gorgeous, but it’s a death trap for you.”

  Right. Cornell had forgotten for a second that Rhys actually knew what he was talking about, considering he was a physical therapist who was about to get his master’s degree in…what was it again? Kinetics? Cornell couldn’t remember, but something about body movements. Kinesiology, th
at was it.

  “I was thinking about trying to find a suite in an extended-stay hotel,” Cornell said. “Or I could rent an apartment for the time being.”

  “You’ll still need round-the-clock help,” Rhys said, as practical as his dad had been.

  “So, I’ll hire a nurse?”

  Rhys made a disapproving sound. “You know how much you hate having strangers around you all day.”

  Cornell suppressed a sigh. The kid knew him well. “I do, but I’ll suck it up. Can’t think of another solution that wouldn’t suck just as much.”

  It was quiet for a few beats. “Come live with me,” Rhys then said.

  Cornell frowned. “What?”

  “You know I moved into Dad’s house. It’s a ranch, so it will be much easier to navigate for you. And I’m done with my classes and only work part time, so I’m home a lot, and I can take care of you.”

  Take care of him? Why did that sound so damn appealing? It spoke to that deep need inside of him, even bigger after months of struggling and being alone. How he longed to surrender right now, to have someone step in and take control for a bit…but of course, that was a pipe dream.

  Dozens of thoughts stormed through Cornell’s head, but all that came out was, “Rhys, I can’t…”

  “Why?” was the immediate question. “Because the house holds too many memories? Because you’d feel guilty of taking advantage of me? Because you’d feel beholden to me?”

  The quick list of arguments showed Cornell that Rhys hadn’t made this offer spontaneously. He’d prepared this, had considered Cornell’s possible objections in advance. Rhys had known Cornell would have a problem, and he’d already worked out a possible solution. It warmed Cornell’s heart.