Chapter Twenty-One #2
“Up you go, son,” Eddie says, pulling me from my thoughts as he nods to the platform.
I sigh, but figure it’s best not to resist. This will be over sooner if I go along with it.
So I do as he says. When I get up on the platform, I see Sloane, leaning languidly against the door, blocking the entrance to the fitting room.
Draped over his arm is a small selection of clothes—jackets, pants, ties.
I expect him to go into one of the rooms, but he doesn’t.
Instead, his gaze fixates on me. I can’t look away.
Eddie pushes my legs apart and measures my inseam, my waist. When I step down, he measures my shoulder to wrist, and my chest. I let him move me like a damn mannequin, both somehow aware of my body but not at the same time.
When he’s done, he excuses himself and stops in front of Sloane. They speak in hushed tones and Eddie lets out a chuckle as Sloane smiles, and then he leaves.
“This isn’t necessary, you know,” I tell him, crossing my arms.
“Oh, but it is," he says, that smooth, silky voice returning as he pulls off the clothes on top of his small pile.
He hands them to me. “You are my employee, are you not?”
I look at the clothes. The dark blue jacket with the diamond studded buttons.
I let out a heavy sigh.
“Yes, Sir.”
“And as my employee, you represent Veil Technologies. Inside the building, and out of it.”
He nods to the clothing offered. I carefully take it, relishing in the feel of the fabric against my fingertips. It’s so fucking soft.
“This is simply just part of your job," he says carefully. “It is no different than when I ask you what you would like for breakfast.” His voice drops an octave.
“There is a big difference between breakfast and a suit that costs more than my fucking apartment.”
The minute I say the words, I regret them. Sloane’s gaze doesn’t waver, though.
“Not to me," he says. “I am only doing my job, Oliver. And that is making sure you have everything you need to do yours.”
It’s the way he says that word. Need. The way his gaze drops to my mouth.
“Now, stop being a little fucking brat and put on the damn suit.”
A mixture of emotion builds within me. The desire to obey. The desire to defy. It’s confusing, but there is also something about his tone that makes me feel a little turned on, too.
“Fine," I say, noting the clothes in his hands still. “Asshole.”
Sloane chuckles as I head for the fitting room, and when I turn around, I see he’s taken a seat in one of the chairs surrounding the platform.
“Aren’t you going to try yours on?” I ask.
He appraises me with a smirk.
“Show me yours, and I’ll show you mine.”
My cheeks heat, and I shake my head, letting out a sigh of defeat.
His words instill images in my brain of showing him more than myself playing dress-up.
It’s a strange feeling. This frustration, but also this deep-seated desire to do as he says.
To obey his command. In the fitting room, I take my time getting changed.
I carefully adjust my cock, which seems to have a mind of its own, judging by the semi-stiff state it’s in.
The trousers are surprisingly snug and fit almost perfectly, except they are a little long, but could easily be hemmed.
The shirt—a pale blue—is so smooth against my skin, it’s almost orgasmic.
It’s cool to the touch, but soft and silky.
Comfortable, even though it’s fitted tighter than my usual button downs.
And the jacket—I hold it in my hands, trying to get over the price.
I know Sloane said it doesn’t matter to him.
I’d fucked up by my admission, but Sloane didn’t seem to give a shit, though I suppose for a man like him, this is an inconsequential thing.
But it’s not to me. I know he says he doesn’t mind—that providing me what I need for my job is his job, but it feels like this is more than just my boss buying me a uniform or something. It feels more than generous.
I slip the jacket on over my shirt, the diamond buttons glinting in the light and take a look at myself in the mirror. The jacket fits like a glove, and I swear it’s the most comfortable piece of clothing I’ve ever worn.
I gasp slightly at the sight. Aside from my pants being a tad long, everything else looks perfect. And the pale blue… shit, it makes my eyes stand out like emeralds. The dark shade of the jacket juxtaposed with my hair makes it look almost gold in the light.
I look like a million bucks. And I won’t lie, I feel like it, too.
“Do you need some help in there?” Sloane calls, his voice tinged in apathy.
But beneath it, I hear the faint edge of humor.
“No,” I say, clearing my throat as I suck in a breath and open the curtain.
Sloane’s expression is mostly stoic, save for the faint twitch of the corner of his mouth. He appraises me with a sexy gaze, looking at me from head to toe and all the way back up again. He takes his time. Drinks me in like I’m a hot cup of espresso. It makes my cheeks heat and my damn cock twitch.
Fuck.
“Absolutely perfect," he says, his voice dark. “How do you feel?”
It’s the way he asks—how I feel. Not if I like it or if it fits okay. Something about that distinction makes my heart skip a beat.
“Comfortable," I say carefully. “Now, you show me yours.”
Sloane smirks. “So demanding for a man who is supposed to cater to my whims.” His voice drops an octave, and he gives me a surreptitious grin.
I give him a knowing glare, my own lips turning up in the corner with a smirk.
“I am just holding you accountable to your word, Sir.”
Sloane rises slowly and steps up to me. I can see us out of the corner of my eye, reflected in the mirrors around us. See how he looks down at me. How I’m drawn to look up at him.
The air thickens as my heart races and my cock twitches. My cheeks heat again, embarrassment and arousal flooding me.
How does he do that?
“Good thing I have you. To hold me accountable," he says as he brushes past me, his face coming within inches of mine. It’s a quick movement, but a deliberate one all the same. It’s a challenge. An invitation. One I find myself considering more than I should.
I watch as he heads into the fitting room, my heart in my throat.
Desire thrums inside me. My cock jumps with interest.
And then I get an idea. It’s not a good idea, by any means, and I know that, but…
Part of me feels like if I don’t, I’ll regret it. I’ll regret never taking the chance to throw Sloane Pierce off guard. If he wants me to be demanding, I can be demanding.
I look around the fitting room, making sure no one is around. They could very well come by any second, so I won’t have a lot of time, but that’s precisely what I’m counting on.
I carefully slide through the curtain and close it, and Sloane jumps back; clearly not expecting me. He’s down to nothing but his underwear, and I take in the sight.
I’ve seen photos of Sloane in magazines, clothed and shirtless, but the sight of him inches away from me, those defined tan abs and broad shoulders, his perfectly shaped golden-kissed thighs speckled with dark hair… and his tight, form-fitting briefs that leave nothing to the imagination…
Fuck, he might be the hottest man I’ve ever seen in my life.
Or maybe it’s his icy blue eyes widening with shock that makes my heart race because I have really thrown him off guard. And something about that makes me feel more validated than a $2,000 jacket ever could.
“Oliver, what are—”
I step forward, backing him against the mirror in the fitting room. He doesn’t push me or try to stop me. Instead, his gaze drifts to my mouth, and his hand comes to rest on my hip. It’s warm, almost sweaty, but not quite.
I lean into his space, my lips hovering inches from his, and I don’t hesitate. I lean in and kiss him.
Sloane stiffens, but within seconds, he relaxes. He kisses me back, his hand on my hip pulling me against him. He opens his mouth for me, and the reaction makes my cock throb and my heart race. Because he opened his mouth for me.
It’s a strange feeling, this rush of power. Knowing that he responds to me like this. I’ve never felt like this with anyone before. Ever. It’s like a switch inside me has flipped and there’s no going back.
His dick moves against mine, and I let out a soft groan as he pulls away slightly.
“Do you remember your safeword?” he asks, his voice dark and raspy. I nod.
“Uh-huh.”
He licks his lips. “Say it.”
“Jabberwocky,” I say, my voice low, husky.
“Good Boy," he says, settling his other hand on my hip. “Don’t be afraid to use it.”
“I won’t need it," I say, emboldened by this feeling. This rush running through me…
Sloane lets out a dark chuckle, his grip tightening on my hips.
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that," he says darkly, and then it happens. He flips me and slams me against the mirror, my back hitting it with a thud. I gasp, the rush of adrenaline surging through me as one hand finds my neck, and the other finds my pants.
My breath comes in rapidly as he leans his face against my neck on the opposite side, his breath warm on my skin.
“You good?” he asks, my heart racing.
I nod, trying to find my voice.
“Words, Oliver. I need your words.”
“Yes, Sir,” I whisper as he single-handedly unbuttons and unzips my pants.
I feel the faintest bloom of precum at my tip, and a shiver runs through me.
“Good. Now, did you think you could come here, like this, and I would not reprimand you for your action?”
His gaze holds mine, and I feel my entire body go limp.
My breath catches as he strokes my throat, his grip warm, but not harsh.
He doesn’t push me. He waits.
My heart rises into my throat as I find the words.
“Did you think you could buy me an expensive suit and I would just take it? Give in without a fight?”
Sloane purrs, licking his lips.