I do, however, make use of the walk-in closet. It helps me get into my role.
“Whoa,” Elias marvels as I turn on the light.
I shove my hands in my pockets and let him look around. He’s walking by the hanging suits, his back to me, when I hit the button on the remote.
He cries out sharply. His muscles seize like it’s an electric shock rather than a vibration inside him. His knees buckle and he falls, grabbing at the sleeve of a hanging jacket on his way down.
He’s in no state to notice my momentary delay as I watch his reaction, as my body reacts to what I know is happening to his. Then I rush to him. He’s on his hands and knees.
“Are you okay?” I ask, crouching, crowding him, making it impossible for him to get up even when he manages to get one foot under himself.
“Shit,” he mutters. “Fuck. I’m sorry, I—”
“Elias.” I put my hand on his lower back. He flinches, shudders. He’s in a bad position. The plug is vibrating right against his prostate.
An image flashes through my mind: Elias, stripped bare here on the floor of the closet, his wrists bound with the purple silk ribbon located in the accessory cabinet. It would be so easy.
But that’s not the game we’re playing.
I help him up. He scrambles a bit, but I keep my hands on him to slow the movement. He turns to face me. I still have my hands on him, one on his waist, the other on the crook of his neck.
“I tripped,” he tells me breathily.
I pretend to believe him. “Are you all right?”
His dark eyes are huge. He’s fighting the shudders in his body, but I can see them. Beautiful red has bloomed across his cheekbones.
Arousal doesn’t show easily in dark eyes like his, but it surely shows in mine. Can’t he tell that I want him? Or is he too worried to notice?
He is, certainly, worried. He’s in agony from his arousal and his fear. But he’s a masochist and I’m a sadist, so we both just stand there and experience his suffering.
Elias breaks first, breaks away. In my other role, I wouldn’t let him, but in this one I have to. He bends down to pick up the jacket that he dragged to the floor.
I hear his bitten-off cry as the vibrating plug tortures him with pleasure. His hands are shaking when he straightens with the coat.
“I’m sorry,” he says as I take it from him and hang it up. “I probably wrinkled it—”
“I don’t give a fuck about the suit. All that matters is whether you’re okay.”
“I’m just … embarrassed,” he admits. His eyes are begging me for mercy.
Oh, baby, never ask for mercy from someone who has none.
He says, “I just need to use the—”
My fingers settle lightly on his belly to stall him. “Help me pick something.”
“Um …”
I still haven’t fixed the “um,” maybe because I’m starting to like it. Of course, it’s pretty understandable under the circumstances. I turn him toward the hanging suits.
“Something semi-casual,” I say.
I torture him for the next twelve minutes as we look at the options: the shirts, the pants, the belts. I increase the vibration twice. I watch him shiver and sweat. The compression briefs hide his erection, but his arousal is obvious anyway. I pretend, of course, not to notice, and my own hard cock is similarly masked by compression shorts.
Elias lasts longer than I expect. He’s crouching to look at the shoes. He chooses a pair. I’ve let him choose everything, and he’s very good at it. He understands color and structure. He’s asked questions about the party and has adapted his choices to it. It’s surprising in someone with his background. But then, a lot about Elias is surprising.
He stands with a pair of shoes and finds me right in his space when he turns. I let my fingers brush his as I accept his choice.
