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’tsmile 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.
