Chapter 13 Andre
THIRTEEN
Andre
I did fine watching Kristen cut Elias’s hair, but I have a lot harder time watching Eric measure him for clothes. I go still. Too still. To the point that I don’t initially hear Elias when he looks over his shoulder at me and asks, “What do you think?”
He just keeps watching me, his expression growing more uncertain, until I break myself from my stillness and approach.
Like Kristin, Eric gets out of my way. He’s fine.
He’s just doing his job, expertly pinning the clothes to show the adjustments he’ll make.
I know that. But it doesn’t change a fundamental fact: the only hands that belong on Elias are mine.
He shivers when I slide my fingers into his collar, pretending to fix it.
Color blooms in his cheeks when I reach around him and check the fit of his waistband.
I pretend not to notice when he starts breathing harder, when horror crosses his face, when his cock starts to press against the front of his pants.
“Perfect,” I whisper.
“C-can I go change?”
In my other role, I would say no. I would tease him, torment him. I would fuck him, right here in the store in front of Eric, in front of anyone. But I’m not in that role, so I tell him, “Yes, but we’ll choose one more when you come out.”
I let him go. He hurries away from me, disappearing into the changing room. By the time he emerges in his jeans and t-shirt, Eric has discreetly withdrawn and I’m looking at the belts.
My fingers trace the leather straps. Elias comes to me. Anyone but Elias would have avoided me after what just happened, the way his body spoke for him, but he can’t help it. He knows, instinctively, what he needs.
My hand closes on one of the belts. Would he cry out sharply if I cracked it across his ass? Would he come?
What if I wrapped it around his neck?
* * *
We spend the remainder of the afternoon in my office. At the desk adjacent to mine, Elias is studying the floor maps for The Axis and reading personnel files to familiarize himself. I angled things right. I can see his face without being obvious.
I’m reviewing the tax return my accountant prepared. Usually when I do this kind of boring work, I need additional stimulation, like music or a language learning program playing. I was worried about exposing that with Elias here, but I’m finding that I don’t actually need it with him here.
I should have known. I focused so easily while stalking him. Having him here with me is even better. I feel … calm.
Until I hear his stomach growl.
“When did you last eat?” I ask.
It takes a second for Elias’s attention to shift. He’s such a hard worker. Smart too. Why the hell was he wasting himself in that bodega?
“Um …” He looks unsure.
“If you have to think that hard, it was too long ago. What do you want to eat?”
“Oh. Gosh. I don’t know. Are you hungry?”
“It doesn’t fucking matter if I’m hungry.” At his flinch, I soften my tone. I remember my role. There’s no reason for him to be in trouble with this version of me. “Pull up the menu for The Uppercut and pick something.”
I watch from the corner of my eye as Elias gets stressed out looking at the menu. At first I think he doesn’t like the options, but then he asks for the hummus plate and I realize that the problem is the prices.
“Pick an entrée,” I clarify, half amused, half annoyed. He takes so long that I almost decide for him, but I gave him an order, and he needs to obey it.
He finally says, “Could I … maybe get… the salmon?”
Ignoring his questioning tone, I call the kitchen to order the hummus and salmon for him, plus a steak sandwich for me.
“I didn’t need both,” he tells me softly when I hang up, as though I didn’t see him shaking his head and trying to silently object while I was talking to Javier.
“Then you can share with me.”
I’m annoyed when I say it, almost sharp, but the soft smile on Elias’s face takes that edge right off. I get back to work.
I enjoy eating with him. I enjoy, too, showing him the toiletries for his use in the office bathroom.
More than anything, as evening darkens my office, I enjoy his attempt to keep working when I say to quit.
It means I get to rise from my chair and watch him shiver at my approach.
I get to lean down over him, cover his hand on the mouse with mine, and press his finger, forcing him to close the open files.
I get to whisper in his ear, “Do what I say.”
I give Elias his room number and door code, but I don’t go with him. I’d rather watch him when he’s alone so I can see his reaction unfiltered.
I pull up the various camera feeds on my tablet while the elevator is taking Elias down one floor.
With his backpack slung over his shoulder, he walks out from the private elevator’s alcove and down a short stretch of hallway.
His head is angled down slightly, but he doesn’t have his hair to hide behind.
I can see everything. His worry. His uncertainty. His beauty.
He punches in the code and enters the apartment.
He stops dead. He stands there for a long time in the entryway.
He doesn’t smile or look excited. He looks …
alarmed. Maybe I should have gone with him, turned on the fireplace for him, poured him a glass of wine from the well-stocked kitchen.
But there’s no role in which I could do that.
When he gets his feet moving, he keeps the backpack over his shoulder. I know what’s in there. I saw the outline of the box I delivered to him weeks ago. It pleased me that he kept it.
He glances around the kitchen and living room then wanders into the bedroom. The open closet door catches his eye. He walks over there.
His request for his clothes was mostly respected. A few things were replaced with similar items, and two of the new suits are already hanging there. He doesn’t seem worried about any of it. Possessions don’t seem to mean much to him.
I didn’t put a camera in his bathroom, so I don’t get to track him in there. While he’s showering, I shut down my computer and take the elevator up to the penthouse.
I take my own shower, though I keep glancing at the tablet where it’s propped up by the sink.
Elias emerges from his bathroom in sweats and a t-shirt.
He goes to the kitchen and starts looking through the cupboards.
When he finds the tea, a higher-quality version of what was found in his kitchen, he smiles. Finally.
I feel myself smile too as he opens the box.
I go to my own kitchen. I drink wine instead of tea, but I sit at the counter like he does.
I don’t realize that I’m mirroring him until he accidentally mirrors me by grabbing a crappy old laptop from his backpack and retuning to the counter with it.
Sipping his tea, he starts trying to research me.
The way he scrolls past the first results tells me this isn’t his first attempt. He tries a lot of different keywords but doesn’t get anywhere. I’ve been very careful to hide my early life and create a vague background that suggests family money.
My mood sours when he starts researching Peter Grange instead. I can’t see everything on Elias’s screen, but I easily recognize Grange’s picture.
When his computer freezes, Elias sighs like this happens a lot and does a hard shutdown. He doesn’t bother turning it back on.
He eats one of the chicken Cesar salads and some crackers, then he finds the desserts. I’m curious what he’ll pick. When he goes for the dark chocolate torte, I smile. Thought so.
He makes soft little appreciate sounds as he eats. My vague arousal intensifies. If I were there, I would start kissing his neck.
It’s a strange impulse. I’ve never kissed anyone, not … well, not really.
Halfway through his dessert, he starts touching himself, though just through his sweats. He’s uncomfortable in the new space. By the time he’s cleaned up the kitchen, his cock is tenting his pants. My own cock, fully hard by now, throbs at the sight.
I grumble in frustration when he turns off the lights and heads to the bathroom. I instantly regret the privacy I gave him. If he gets off in there where I can’t see him, that privacy will vanish tomorrow.
I grind my teeth as I listen to the water running, wondering what I’m missing, but when he emerges, his cock is still tenting his sweats. He hasn’t touched it. I relax and sip my wine.
It’s still early, but he’s had a stressful day and probably didn’t sleep well last night, so I’m not surprised when he eyes the bed. First, though, he goes to the closet. Kneeling, he digs into the backpack. His back is to the camera, so I don’t see exactly what he’s doing, but I can guess.
He strips off his t-shirt then stands to shuck off his sweats, baring the delicious curve of his ass. He kneels again, leaning forward with one hand planted on the ground.
“Jesus,” I breathe at the sight of him arched and receptive. His hole is exposed and waiting, and he reaches back to it, pushing one of my lubed plugs inside.
At the wave of arousal going through me, my eyes try to close, but I force them to stay open so I can watch Elias shudder and rock.
He gets up then bends down to snag his t-shirt from the floor.
All the movement has the plug shifting inside him.
He pitches sideways and leans against the doorframe, shuddering.
Then he turns toward the camera, showing me his flushed face and all the beautiful lines of his body.
His build is lean and athletic, well-portioned.
His cock is straight and stiff and perfect.
Precum glistens at his tip. He doesn’t touch himself, though, not yet.
He walks to the bed, cock stiff, eyes half drugged with arousal.
He gets in with a soft little cry. He pulls the covers up and stuffs the t-shirt down by his cock.
Oh, baby, you don’t have to do that. You can come on the sheets.
But he’s containing everything. His cum in the t-shirt.
Himself in the small space of the bed, then in the darkness as he turns off the light.
As he starts to touch himself, he contains even his vocalizations, keeping them soft, cutting them off.
I frown, not liking that. I know what he’s supposed to sound like.
He moaned and shouted when I fucked him. He was loud and emotional, uninhibited. This is different. Not as good.
I turn off my kitchen light so I can see the dark screen better. All I can make out is the dim outline of him shifting under the covers, but I can tell that it’s not just his hand working. He’s twisting, shuddering, grabbing at himself. He’s imagining something.
His cries start to get away from him. He keeps cutting them off, but they’re louder. Sharper.
Fuck, he’s going to come.
I leave my kitchen counter and start pacing through my darkened living room with the tablet. My cock is stiff and aching, but I don’t touch it. I just watch.
When Elias comes with a broken cry, I shudder with some kind of shadow orgasm. Then I settle on the couch and listen as he cries himself to sleep.