One compliment on defensive architecture, a subject they were both passionate about, and Dillon had eyes only for him.
“Not one time in the twenty-three years I've known you, have I ever seen you hold a woman's hand.”
So intent on staring after Dillon like a puppy, Nasa hadn't noticed Teague standing beside him, looking in the same direction with a frown on his face, and his hands tucked into his pockets.
“Has it been twenty-three years?”
Teague nodded slowly. “I remember our first meeting fondly. You, thirteen years old, sitting on the bench in the hallway, waiting to see the principle after you'd busted apart three of the school computers to make one big one because they were too slow to keep up with the project you were working on.
“Me, on the bench waiting for my mom—the ever-cool high school counselor—to finish up so I could go home and watch Xena.
"We struck up a conversation, and I couldn't believe you were a senior, or that it was possible for us to be the same age or that you were already over six feet tall.”
Nasa barked out a grunt of laughter. “You called me a liar, and I beat the shit out of you in front of your mommy.”
Teague grinned, chuckling right along with him. “You did, and once the teachers got us separated, Mom made us hug it out. I'd never felt so emasculated in my life.”
“I really miss your mom,” Nasa confessed with genuine fondness.
Terri Thompson had been warm and generous with her affection and her praise, serious about her hugs, where Nasa's own mother had been about as warm and cuddly as a Saguaro cactus.
No matter how far Nasa advanced, it was never far enough for Ingrid Magnussen, nor was it enough for his father, the great Sig Magnussen who had immigrated to the US to build the most advanced robotics and tech company of his time.
Even when Nasa had worked his way into a prestigious and coveted position at DARPA, Sig hadn't given his only son a clap on the back or a single word of pride for accomplishing something no one his age had accomplished before.
All Sig had to say was, 'You should have come to work for your father.'
When Nasa had gone to prison, his parents disowned him and refused to entertain the idea he might be innocent.
Nasa hadn't known until after his release that both his parents had died in a freak car accident on their way home one night.
There was no way to know if he would have been welcome home after his exoneration, but Nasa doubted it, seeing as dear ole' dad had completely left him out of the will.
Truthfully, the death of Teague's mother as a result of undiagnosed ovarian cancer hit Nasa harder than his own mother's passing.
“Me, too,” Teague answered quietly. “Tell me about Dillon.”
Nasa would rather talk about his alleged paranoid delusions of being watched by satellites than discuss what he was starting to feel for Dillon.
It was private, intimate, and even though Teague had seen him in all manner of intimate situations— hell, he'd seen Nasa balls out naked on several occasions getting sucked off by an eager submissive—talking about Dillon when Nasa wasn't sure how to quantify his feelings felt... wrong.
“I met her a little over two weeks ago. Ghost broke into her home, drugged her and the dog, and wrote me a message in permanent marker on her chest.”
“What message?” Teague asked, all of the warmth gone from his voice.
Raised by a single mother and taught from a young age to respect and protect women, Teague took the news of her attack personally.
“'Stop searching for my little bird, or you'll have more than one Ghost haunting you.' Ghost sent her to Perdition for protection, and we haven't figured out his motive yet.”
In an effort to keep Teague focused on the outside forces threatening Dillon, Nasa told Teague everything that happened since meeting Dillon.
Everything, minus the feelings growing between them. Nasa also kept the details of the torture Dillon had suffered at the hands of a rogue FBI agent to himself, not wanting to betray her confidence.
When he finished, Teague stood beside him in silence for a good, long while, processing in his quiet, reserved manner.
“She's important to you,” Teague finally said. As it wasn't a question, Nasa didn't answer. “Are you going to train her as a submissive?”
The very idea of someday proving himself worthy to a woman like Dillon, worthy enough to be called her Master, made his cock surge to attention.
The desirewas there. The need. The hunger to introduce her to his world of dark, sensual delights. To teach Dillon to crave what he could do for her, and where he could take her.
Unfortunately, there was every possibility she would reject him and all he had to offer because of everything she'd suffered.
“I'm not sure she can handle it, given her situation.”
Teague made a rude sound of disagreement. “You don't give women your hand or your affection beyond the aftercare you provide post-scene. I've seen your play partners crawl after you and beg for more, and you don't even bat a lash.
“You engage in a scene and you give it your all, but anyone looking close enough can tell you find little joy in it anymore.
"You're just going through the motions, and still the women are willing to crawl after you if it means another opportunity to kneel at your feet.
“You would offer to help any woman if they were having trouble getting an appointment with Collette, but you wouldn't personally drive them here or hold their hand.
"If you offered to wait for them and they told you they were fine, they could handle it, you'd leave without a second thought. So, I say again: she's important to
