Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Sloane
The hot water sluices on my skin as I let it wash away the sins of the night.
Even after my guilty self-love session, I didn’t sleep as well as I’d hoped.
In fact, I woke up at three am with a fucking hard-on that required attention. I can’t remember the last time that happened, but it was better to take care of the problem rather than ignore it, and as such, I let myself wander down that familiar fantasy again.
Of my pet, ready for me on his knees. Ready to give me what I needed so desperately. So willingly…
And now as I wash my hair, my body, I can’t help that my thoughts wander there.
If I’m not careful, this is going to become a real problem. Up until yesterday, I hadn’t masturbated more than once a day if I was lucky to get some relaxation in, and now…
Now as my cock throbs in the damn shower, begging for attention, I can’t seem to focus on anything else but coming.
Regrettably, I wrap my hand around my cock and start to stroke, knowing it’s best to just work it out and be on my way. When I leave this house, I leave this—the desire, the ache, the loneliness, behind.
Today I meet with the lab to go over the prototype issues.
Hopefully, I can get some answers as to why they keep failing.
I also have several meetings over Zoom, not to mention Oliver and I need to go over the data for the gala, and we need to get a move on with that.
We need a venue booked, and I need to get invitations sent to possible investors and donors.
Not to mention, I need to respond to Global at some point.
Though I’m not sure what to tell them, until I know better what’s causing the issue with the Phantom’s assimilation process…
I let out a groan of exhaustion when I reach my peak. Cum spurts, splashing against the black tile and my body loosens, relaxing. Though I don’t feel better.
I feel like shit. I slept like shit, and my mind is a fucking mess.
I move through my morning routine of dressing myself and making up my morning smoothie—a blend of pineapple, apple, blueberry and kale.
I rarely cook for myself, and don’t have time to leisurely mill about my kitchen. I have a business to run.
I note the time as I am headed out the door, and into my car. The radio comes on loud and I have to turn it down a notch to hear myself think. My GPS brings up my last location—Oliver’s apartment.
Which makes me think about him. I note his Chromebook on the passenger seat, and think back to last night. I’d offered to drive him home out of courtesy and nothing else. At least that is what I tell myself.
I’d vowed to get him set up with a company car, which will take some time, but hadn’t given much thought to his commute this morning.
He’ll likely take the bus again, since he claims it's so practical, and the thought of him sitting amidst all the other commuters, cramped and brushing up against them…
I decide to be courteous once more.
“Call Oliver Green,” I say out loud. My car pulls up his personal cell number as I head out of my driveway and down the road towards his apartment, which is nearly thirty-five minutes away.
He picks up on the first ring.
“Hello?” he says, his voice just as smooth and warm over the phone. And clear. It sounds like he’s been up a while.
“Good morning, Oliver. I hope you slept well.”
“S-Mr. Pierce. I didn’t expect your call… are you at the office already?”
I smirk as I relax in my seat, palming the steering wheel.
“No.”
“Oh. Do you need me to come in early or—”
“I thought perhaps we could head in early. Seeing as you have some work to catch up on.”
There’s silence between us, and all I can hear for a moment is his breath. I’ve caught him off guard.
Good.
That will make this all the more fun. Everyone is always so eager to show you their best side, but you don’t really discover who a person is until they are under pressure.
Will Oliver crack, or will he withstand?
“Right, the venues…” he says, clearly rattled. “I, uh—”
“You left your Chromebook in my car.”
“Shit! I mean, I’m sorry, Sir, I—”
“No matter,” I tell him nonchalantly. “You will have it in about fifteen minutes.”
“Fifteen minutes?” he asks, his voice elevating. “I can’t make it in in fifteen—”
“Be ready to go, Oliver. I do not like waiting.”
“Ready to go?” He sounds like he’s about to snap. I grin.
“I believe you mean Yes, Sir.” I can’t help the smile forming on my face. His flustered self sounds so… adorable.
I can only imagine that blush staining his cheeks as he runs around all unkempt and nervous.
I don’t miss the slight gasp in his voice. Nor do I miss the way my cock responds to it.
I stifle the groan, though. Now is certainly not the time. For God’s sakes, I’ve come enough in the last twelve hours to last me a week.
“Ten minutes, Oliver. The clock is ticking,” I tell him as I hang up, unable to wipe the smile off my face the whole way there.
When I get there, I beep the horn, and watch in amusement as Oliver all but storms out the door, looking just as flustered as he sounded.
His gaze meets mine through the windshield, and I was right.
His cheeks still hold that faint shade of blush that looks so perfect on him.
I get out of the car, coming around to stand in front of it as he saunters towards me.
His jacket shifts, his hair still looks a little wet, and his green eyes are glazed with a mixture of irritation and determination.
“Ah, there he is. My little assistant. All bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, ready to take on the day.”
Oliver stands up straighter as he comes to stand in front of me.
“I do not believe I asked for a ride this morning,” he says petulantly. My smirk widens.
“No, you did not.” I shrug. “But I thought I had made myself very clear last night, Oliver.” I lean into his space, expecting him to cower, for that submissive nature that tickles me so, to kick in.
But that is not what he does.
No, what he does is so much better.
“Refresh my memory,” he bites, crossing his arms. His oversized watch glints in my headlights stream, and I note his blazer is a little short on the cuff.
Without thinking, I reach for it, and he stiffens. I unbutton his cuff and carefully roll it slowly, up his arm until I reach his elbow. My fingers graze the underside of his elbow.
“I believe I told you, you are mine, Oliver. And as my assistant, you answer to me. In all things.” My thumb slips over the crook of his elbow, and I feel his pulse.
Racing. His skin is smooth to the touch.
He doesn’t push me. Instead he stands completely still, and I get the feeling I could touch him however I want.
The thought intrigues me, but it also unnerves me.
Obedience is fun, of course, but a little spark, a little fight…
That is positively enticing.
“So if I tell you to be ready for me, you will be ready for me. Understood?”
I drag my fingers along his smooth skin and work on the other cuff, slowly rolling it up his arm to the crook of his elbow.
His light blue shirt, juxtaposed against the navy of his jacket, his creamy pale skin illuminated by my headlights…
God, I want to see it turn shades of rose and crimson.
I let go of him, noting the way he’s staring at me—his green gaze full of something I can’t quite place.
He swallows hard. “Yes, Sir.”
I smile.
“Good Boy,” I say as I slip my hand down his arm, letting my fingers graze his as I head for his door. I open it, noting how he watches me. He wordlessly obliges, folding himself into my passenger seat with ease.
I close the door and get into the driver’s side. I note the Chromebook in his hands. He stares at it as if it is going to bite him, then sets it down in his lap.
“That is your responsibility, you know,” I say as I back out of the parking lot. The sun is starting to peek through the clouds, lighting up the sky in deep orange and violet shades.
“I know,” he says. “I didn’t mean to leave it, I just, uh… got distracted.”
“Yes, home is very distracting for you. So you say.”
He shifts uncomfortably in the seat, grimacing as if he’s sat on a damn tack.
“You can adjust the seat if you like. I told you, your comfort is important to me.”
“I’m fine,” he says, though his voice is despondent. “Just… tired.”
“Rough night?”
He crosses his legs, his body almost folded in on itself. He looks out the window.
Gone is the sweet, poised man I’d seen in my office yesterday. In its place is someone else. Someone I don’t know yet, but hope to get to know soon enough.
The real Oliver. Not the one that he pretends to be, for the sake of the job.
Though I had hoped it would take me longer to break him.
“Yeah, you could say that,” he says, his voice almost soft.
“Well, perhaps if you do a good job for me, I will reward you.”
Oliver’s gaze drifts to mine. He stares at me skeptically.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that, darling. I’m not a monster.”
Well, most of the time, I am not. Most of the time I can pass as a smart, straight, functional human being.
Even if it’s not true. But truth in my line of work isn’t something that can be afforded to most. Truth is what divides. Lies are the currency of the trade.
“Mostly.” I give him a surreptitious grin. Normally, I would refrain from flirting with my assistants, not because they have been women, but because the effort of doing so seemed almost pointless before.
But we are not at the office. We are in my car. In my space. Though I’m sure Oliver could complain, I doubt he will. He doesn’t seem the type to make waves, and even if he did, I doubt HR would believe him given the carefully constructed image I’ve created.
No man has ever blown the whistle on me, and they never will.
Because I cover my ass. With contracts and NDAs.
Even Robert has kept quiet, likely because he knows I can and would utilize our former contract against him should he ever try to slander me.
Honestly, I’m surprised he hasn’t tried to make my life a living hell, seeing how he was so keen on being a victim.
But I digress. The last man on Earth I want to think about—especially with Oliver in my presence, is my ex.
“Any man who gets up before six am is by definition a monster,” Oliver touts.
I chuckle.
“Is that why you are so sour, darling? Not a morning person?”
“Not before I’ve had my coffee," he says, shifting in his seat again.
The grimace returns.
“Hmmm. And does the coffee… help? Does it make you sweeter?”
Oliver twists his lips. “I suppose.”
“I take it you haven’t eaten, yet?”
“I had a Pop-Tart," he bites.
I laugh. “A Pop-Tart. Fucking hell, Oliver, that’s not breakfast. That’s a last resort.”
“I like Pop-Tarts!” he says, crossing his arms. “They are fast and easy, and—”
“Toddlers eat Pop-Tarts.”
“And what do you classify as a suitable breakfast, Sir?” His tone is sharp, and I half consider getting rid of the espresso machine altogether if only so I can get this version of Oliver every day.
Every day.
That is… if he stays. If he does not decide I am too much to handle. Though for one hundred and twenty grand a year, I would hope he can handle a little flirting and some banter.
Truthfully, I can’t remember the last time I felt intrigued enough by a person to flirt with them like this. Privately.
Even Robert was not like this.
Yes, he was petulant and disarming, and a bit of a brat, but…
It felt different. It felt almost antagonistic.
But Oliver… Oliver feels fun.
I like pressing his buttons more than I should. I need to be careful.
Not for his sake, but for mine.
“A suitable breakfast would be full of protein for one, not sugar. Sugar will only make you crash. You need nutrients to keep that brain going in that pretty little head of yours.”
“Then I’ll eat some nuts from the break room," he snips.
My cheeks flush at his words, though I know he doesn’t mean them scandalously. I can’t help that my cock twitches and the thought of feeding him my nuts and giving him a healthy amount of protein runs through my one-track mind.
I shift in my seat, trying hard not to draw attention to my damn dick with a mind of its own.
Oliver shifts again and grimaces, his body tense and his eyebrows furrowed. Something shifts inside me as I sense his discomfort. I reach out and settle my hand on his thigh, and he nearly jumps.
“Relax, Oliver,” I tell him. “I am just fucking with you. Pop-Tarts are delicious.”
He settles a fraction, shifting towards me. I pretend not to notice, but… I do.
I notice the way his body instinctively seeks my touch when I settle my hand there. Notice the way his body relaxes, and the small gasp from his throat.
That can’t be hidden.
He likes men. But does he like me?
He might be attracted to me, if his body language is anything to go by, but Oliver doesn’t know me. Not yet, anyway.
And as badly as I want him to, I need to tread lightly.
Still, the need to make sure he is comfortable is prevalent.
“Seriously?” he asks.
“Yes.” I soften my voice a fraction. “S’Mores are my favorite.”
Oliver shifts again, his movement making my hand on his thigh slide up just a bit. I wait for him to push my hand away, as my fingers trail dangerously close to his groin.
I’m tempted to move my hand, my fingers, higher. Tempted to stroke his cock through his pants until I can feel the outline of his hardness in my hand.
I bet he’d let me do it, too. Something tells me Oliver wouldn’t mind my touch one bit.
The thought makes me want it all the more, and that’s why I pull my hand away.
I don’t need that kind of trouble. Neither one of us does.
“Mine too," he says softly.
I give him a smile as we pull into my private garage.
“Well, isn’t that interesting,” I say softly as I turn the car off. Oliver looks at me with those big, green eyes, and my heart skips a stupid beat.
“Turns out we have something in common," I say with a smirk as I get out of the car. I open his door, and I think he’s going to say something. Protest. Tell me I’m out of line, something. But he doesn’t.
Instead, he rises, Chromebook clutched to his chest, and the motion puts him smack against me and my body. I have to shift so he won’t feel my damn cock.
“Come," I say, my voice darker than it should be. “I believe you have much work to do.”
And with that, I leave Oliver Green in my midst.