Chapter Thirty
Cassius
Harmon gave me Monday off since I had to work Friday and Sunday. I told him I was fine to keep working, but he insisted. I won’t lie—I am disappointed.
However, I do appreciate the extra time I get to spend with my sisters.
Cammy and I go out for breakfast after dropping Chrissy off at school.
Then we drive an hour to the mall to spoil the hell out of Chrissy for her birthday since it’s next week.
She has no idea what we have in store for her—we’ve never been able to celebrate birthdays before, but this year, we’re going all out.
She’s already at the age where a birthday party won’t be the cool thing to do, but it will be her day, and we can do everything and anything she wants.
We spend way too much money on her. Clothes. iPad. Headphones. Makeup. Jewelry. Everything we see that we think she will like, we get it. Because we can.
“Oh my god,” I say with a laugh, pointing to a cut-out of a model outside of a luxury clothing store. “I met that guy.”
“I’m sure,” Cammy says with an eye roll.
“No, seriously,” I say as I stop at the cut-out. “I met this guy this weekend. He was one of the models trying out for Harmon’s commercial.”
Cammy gives me a look like she doesn’t believe me. “Funny. I’ve heard about this weekend about five times already today, but I didn’t hear anything about meeting a bunch of models.”
I groan as we keep walking, our arms full of bags. “That’s because you can’t take your eyes away from your phone for a second to listen to me.”
“What was that?” she says, holding her hand by her ear.
I give her a shove, and we both start laughing.
We make our way to the car and get to school just in time.
“Can we please get coffee?” Chrissy asks once we’re in the car.
“Girl, you’re an addict,” Cammy says.
“It’s just good!” Chrissy argues.
“I went to this awesome coffee shop in New York,” I say.
Cammy groans so loudly. “If I have to hear about New York or Harmon one more time today—”
“What are you talking about?” I ask as I pull out of the parking lot.
“You haven’t stopped!”
“I hardly said anything.”
“Cass, I heard about the show three different times. The alcohol you drank. The model you met. The chocolate cake. The crazy guy trying to sell someone’s ashes on the corner. Now you’re talking about coffee?”
I scoff. “It was an exciting weekend, Cam. If you’d gone to New York, you’d be talking about it too.”
She looks into the back at Chrissy. “I don’t think it was New York. Pretty sure it was just Harmon.”
“What the hell does that mean?” I turn left onto the main road and try to pay attention to where we’re going even though I’m distracted by whatever the hell Cammy is trying to get at.
“It means you can’t stop talking about him.”
“I’m with him all the time. It’s literally my job.”
“Uh huh… job.”
“Cam, what the hell?”
“Hey,” she says, holding up her hands. “I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with you liking him, but—”
“As a boss,” I say.
“I’ve had the same boss for two years and I never talk about the guy.”
“Because he smells like cheese and dirty sneakers,” I add. “Oh, and guess what? I know that because you told me.”
“Yeah? What else can you tell me about my boss?” she asks, crossing her arms and looking at me. I see Chrissy with excited eyes watching us in the rearview mirror like this is the best bit of gossip she’s ever heard. Sad because she’s in high school and there’s drama every day.
“His name is Lance. He’s not married but has three kids. He doesn’t work on the weekends. He, uh… He’s… uh—”
“Uh huh,” she says, as if she’s won something.
Then she starts rambling, counting off on her fingers as she goes.
“Harmon is forty-six. He’s the CEO of Stone Timeworks.
His favorite color is blue, and he has this tie that matches your eyes perfectly, and he was wearing it the first night you met him.
He doesn’t have any family. His father was an asshole.
They’re from Texas. He gave you a fancy watch that came out of some secret vault in his office.
His favorite breakfast food is pancakes.
He works out regularly. His personal assistant’s name is Oliver. He has a private jet. He—”
“Okay! I get the point.”
“Do you? Because I don’t think you do.”
I don’t say anything. But Chrissy does.
“I think you like him.”
“What do you know?” I snap back.
“Just that you talk about him all the time.”
“I do not.”
“You do!” they both shout in unison.
I pull into the coffee shop parking lot and get out of the car. I don’t wait for them. I go inside and stand in line.
I’m not mad. There’s nothing to be mad about. I’m just… flustered.
I don’t like Harmon. I told him we could do this without feelings, emotions, and expectations. And that’s what I’m going to do because it’s really good.
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” Cammy says. “I was only messing around.”
“I talk about him because he’s my boss, and he’s changed our lives.”
“Okay. Fine. Just… don’t get mad when I say I told you so later on.”
“Can I help you?” the girl at the counter calls out, and the three of us move forward. We give her our orders. Cammy and Chrissy both get donuts, but I couldn’t eat anything if my life depended on it.
I’m lying in bed playing a game on my phone, recalling the bath Harmon and I took in the hotel and wishing I had a bathtub big enough to fit in.
Despite what happened in the bath, it was relaxing.
Not that there was anything wrong with what happened in the bath, I don’t hate anything that happened all weekend, but when I think about that, my dick gets hard and I try really hard not to jerk off while not with Harmon because I love the look on his face when he gets my cum.
I play the block game for a while, half paying attention while my mind wanders to Harmon now and then. A text comes through and it’s almost like he knows I am thinking about him.
Harmon
Remember our hours change tomorrow.
I smile to myself.
Me
Oh, I remember ;)
Why the winky face?
Because I was thinking about jerking off for you.
Were you now?
Yes.
The phone rings and my stomach does a flip when I see it’s him.
“Hello?” I answer quietly.
“Are you hard?” he growls into the phone.
“A little,” I answer honestly.
“Touch it.”
“I—what?”
“Touch your cock, Cassius.”
“Uh, I—”
“Do as your Master tells you, slave.”
It shouldn’t be so sexy when he says that word in that tone, but something about him using the word slave in such a derogatory tone gets me so hot.
“Okay, I need a second. Hold on.”
I put the phone down and tip toe to my door to close it gently and flip the lock.
I haven’t locked my door since we moved in.
Carefully, I make my way back to the bed and pick up the phone.
“Are you still there?” I ask.
“I am.”
“Sorry, I had to close the door.”
I get comfortable on my bed and shove my pants down, freeing my dick and wrapping my hand around it.
“Now what?” I ask.
“Now stroke your cock and tell me how badly you wish it was my mouth.”
“Fuck,” I breathe out. “I wish it was your mouth on me right now. It feels so good, Master.”
“That’s right, slave. Keep going.”
“I miss your mouth on me. I think about it all the time.”
“Be specific.”
“The sounds you make. The heat of your mouth. How soft your tongue is—” I groan, moving my hand faster. “My favorite is the look on your face when I come.”
“I love your cum.”
“I’ll give it to you whenever you want it.”
“I want it right now,” he growls.
I whimper, his tone sending sparks through my chest. The demand. The dominance. It’s so sexy.
“Then maybe you should be here instead of there. Fuck—I’m close.”
“Hm, maybe…”
“Harmon—” I gasp. “I’m going to come. Can I? Please?”
It’s silent on the other end of the phone, and I keep moving my hand, holding back as best I can.
“Harmon, please—”
“I don’t know if you deserve to.”
My balls tighten and I grit my teeth. “I do. I’ve been so good today.”
“Have you?”
“Yes. So good. Please tell me I can come.”
I grasp my dick, squeezing to stop myself from coming, waiting on his word so I can.
“Harmon—”
“Say ‘Master, please, tell me I can come.’”
“Master, please tell me I can come!” I growl
I brush my fingers along the underside of my cock. It twitches. Precum spills from the tip. I’m so close. Right on the edge.
“No. Mean it more.”
“I do mean it,” I snap. “I mean it so fucking much.”
“Try again.”
“Master,” I breathe out, my voice trembling. “Please, please, tell me I can c-come,” I beg.
He hums a sound of approval. “Much better, slave. You may come now.”
I grab my dick again and start stroking. I erupt, cum landing on my stomach and chest in long ropes. I try to hold back the sounds, but the heavy breaths still escape me.
“Did that feel good?” he asks.
“So good.”
“Go to sleep, Cassius. I’ll see you in the morning.”
I smile to myself, my eyes already falling closed. “Night.”
“Good night.”
It’s the last thing I hear before I fall asleep.