I take in what I can from my lowered gaze. I am excruciatingly out of place and, for the second time this morning, abruptly overwhelmed. I feel myself locking in, withdrawing from the environment—until Andre’s hand settles on my lower back.
I startle and look up. Andre glances at me as he guides me into a salon, empty except for a blonde woman waiting for us. Andre doesn’t smile or say anything, but his solid, confident presence reassures me more than a smile would anyway.
I’m surprised that he stays. He surely must have better things to do, but through the whole wash, cut, and style process, he sits in a nearby chair.
I knew my hairstyle wasn’t very good. I’ve been trimming my hair myself for years, and the style just kind of evolved into a comfortable shaggy mess. But I didn’t realize just how bad it was until I’m looking in the mirror at a completely different person.
It’s startling to see my whole face exposed. My dark hair is styled up and back in a subtle coif then faded out to show my ears and jaw and neck.
I hear a deeply indrawn breath. My eyes flick to Andre in the mirror as he gets up and approaches. The stylist backs away as he comes to stand behind me. He towers over me in the chair. His eyes are locked on my reflection. I watch in the mirror as his hand lifts, but I still startle when his fingers lightly brush my jaw.
He speaks softly, almost to himself. “That’s what I thought.”
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. Iknowthat. 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 justhappened, 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.”
