I ran my thumb over the fabric.
"What’s yours, Euan?"
He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. "Logic. Optimization. Service."
"Service," I echoed.
I thought about the air scrubbers. The coffee at 62 degrees. The custom visualizer code. Euan didn't want to tell me what to do; he wanted to ensureIcould do whatever I wanted, perfectly.
I looked over at Alfie. "Alfie, sit on the bed. Don't speak. Just watch."
Alfie scrambled onto the bunk immediately, pulling his knees to his chest, his eyes darkening with voyeuristic hunger. "Copy. Muted."
I turned back to Euan.
"Wednesday slot," I said, referencing the schedule we’d joked about but were now rapidly turning into doctrine. "Let's run the beta test."
"Confirm parameters," Euan rasped.
"Dominance inversion," I said. The technical term felt right in my mouth. "I don't want you to tell me what to do, Euan. I want to watch you lose control. Slowly. On my timing."
His breath hitched. A flush crept up his neck, staining the pale skin above his collar. "You want to... direct?"
"I'm the Producer," I reminded him. "You’re the machine. I want to see if I can red-line you without you breaking the hardware."
He stared at me, his pupils blowing wide, swallowing the grey. "That is... acceptable."
"Coat off," I commanded.
He stripped it off in less than three seconds, dropping it to the floor. Underneath, he wore a fitted black t-shirt that clung to his frame. He wasn't as broad as Kit, but he was wired with lean, efficient muscle.
"Sit," I said, pointing to the chair Kit had used for the whiteboard easel.
He sat. Even seated, he looked ready to bolt, kinetic energy thrumming under his skin.
"Hands on your knees," I ordered. "Palms up. Open architecture."
He arranged himself. His fingers twitched.
I stepped back, retreating to the edge of the nest on the floor. I sat down, leaning back against the bunk where Alfie was perched, using Alfie’s legs as a backrest. I adjusted my position, spreading my legs, the denim of my jeans pulling tight.
"Here's the workflow," I said, my voice steadying into the cool, detached tone I used when mixing a difficult track. "I’m going to touch myself. You are going to watch. You are not going to touch yourself until I enable that track. Do you understand?"
Euan’s grip on his own knees tightened until his knuckles went white. "Understood."
"Good."
I slid my hand down my stomach. I didn't close my eyes. I locked them on Euan.
"Unzip your jeans," I told him. "Just the fly. Reveal the hardware."
His hands flew to his belt. He fumbled, just once, a glitch in his dexterity, before undoing the buckle and lowering the zipper. He pushed his jeans down and dragged his boxer briefs with them, freeing himself.
He was hard. Beautifully, painfully hard. His cock leaped as the pressure released, twitching with his heartbeat.
"Don't touch," I warned sharp and fast as his hand hovered.
Euan froze. He forced his hand back to his knee, gripping the bone. "Holding."
