“Then a shower and breakfast,” he said. “Done by 7:30.”
Sebastian scribbled more notes on the paper in front of him.
“Do you go into the office or work from home?”
“Depends.”
“Work at eight,” Remington continued. “Until twelve, when you’ll have lunch. Away from your desk.”
Sebastian made notes.
“Do you work eight hour days?” he asked.
Sebastian shook his head. “Rarely.”
“Off at two,” Remington continued. “The gym for an hour on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”
“Are you saying I’m out of shape?” Sebastian raised a brow.
“I’m saying the gym for an hour on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”
Sebastian wrote the times down and looked up at him expectantly. “And the weekends?”
“I want them to be mine,” Remington said, his voice scratching as he spoke. He hated how insecure he sounded, hated the way his voice trembled with the ask.
“What time?” Sebastian’s question trembled too.
“Ten on Friday to ten on Sunday.”
Sebastian studied him, with relaxed shoulders and a smooth expression, then he wrote it down and waited for his next instruction.
Chapter Eighteen
Sebastian Wants a Demonstration
“Are you seeing Remington tonight?” Callahan tipped back his wine glass, pouring the rest of the contents into his mouth before smacking his lips together with a satisfied sigh.
It had only been two days since he and Remington had drawn up the list, and Sebastian missed drinking already. The lists and the check-ins from Remington had worked to soothe him and also to leave him with a 48 hour-long semi, but nothing calmed his nerves the way a drink did. He missed being able to unwind and ignore his brain for a few hours. But he was trying to be good, trying to do what he’d been told.
He knew he liked that part of things, because when they’d been role playing George and Allan, the instructions and the scheduling could have been enough to get him off untouched half the time. Knowing the face behind the order now, knowing Remington was, or could be, available for touching or kissing or…whatever, made it harder. What they had wasn’t enough. He wanted more.
But Remington was a virgin, and so was Sebastian.
Technically.
“I am,” he answered, trying to bring himself back to the conversation.
“How has that been going?” Callahan asked. “You haven’t said much about him.”
“It’s going.”
“Is that all I get?”
“For now,” Sebastian answered, tracing his finger over the rim of his water glass. Things with Remington were exceedingly new and delicate, and with their first weekend together upon them, Sebastian knew things could still go either way. He didn’t want to count any chickens before they hatched.
“Alright.” Callahan leaned back and propped his feet up on Sebastian’s coffee table, crossing them at the ankle and bumping him with his shoulder. “Have you told him about the donation yet?”
“What?” Sebastian stuttered, eyes widening. “No. Why would I tell him?”
