“Me too," I say as I guide him into the passenger seat. I carefully strap his seat belt in if only to placate my own sense of security, but Oliver does not protest.
When I get into the driver’s seat, I look at him for a moment and reach my hand out to settle on his thigh. He relaxes, settling his hand over mine as I start the car.
“I do still owe you a dinner,” I tell him softly, my thumb stroking his thigh.
“Yes, Sir," he says, squeezing my hand.
When we arrive back at my place, Oliver is already asleep in the passenger seat. I’m tempted to wake him, but I settle on not doing so. Instead, I unbuckle him and pick him up, careful to avoid agitating my fresh stitches. It’s not an easy feat, but I manage to carry him into the house and up the stairs into my bedroom. I lay him down in my bed softly, brushing the hair out of his eyes and exhaustion hits me. So I crawl into bed and pull Oliver against me, and close my eyes and breathe a sigh of relief knowing all the security I’ll ever need is right here in my arms.
And I’m never letting it out of my sight again.
Epilogue
Two Months Later
Oliver
“Stop,” I whine, shoving Sloane away from my neck.
His fingers twist in my tie as his lips graze my skin.
“No,” he whispers, his lips grazing over my throbbing vein.
“We’re going to be late, Sir,” I bite.
“I am the CEO. They wait for me.”
“They will get restless…” I groan, my fingers sliding beneath his collar, over his emerald green tie.
I let my fingers trail down to the bottom and pull it, yanking him forward. He pushes my jacket—the blue one with the diamond buttons—off my shoulders.
“Sloane…” I groan as his hands slide down my shirt and he sets to unfastening my buttons.
“I am restless,” he growls. “You can not parade around this house with your fucking restraints tied around your wrist as anaccessoryand not expect me to want to tie you up,” he bites. “Metaphorically and physically.”
His hands make quick work of unbuttoning my shirt, and I shake my head.
“It’s almost like you’re begging to be punished, Oliver,” he drawls, kissing my lips.
“Who me? I don’t beg," I say, kissing him back.
“Mmm, Ibegto differ. You are clearly asking for it,” he whispers, his hands finding my pants and undoing my button.
We’re never getting out of this damn house. That’s for sure.
“I’m going to give you two choices, Sloane,” I tell him, my voice confident and unwavering.
“Oh goody,” he says with a chuckle.
“You can suck me off right now, and we will be late to the party, and for that, I will reprimand you.” I narrow my gaze. He holds it with humor and love.
“Tempting,” he says, kissing the corner of my mouth. “What is the second choice?” he asks, his voice smooth like fudge.
“You can put me back together and take me to the fucking party and dance with me in front of all those people…” I tease him. “And I will reward you handsomely.”
After the events of what the media refers to as the Veil Breach, it was impossible to avoid the truth about our relationship, with all the footage of us kissing and hugging and crying. Though Sloane worried the shareholders and Global Skies—who launched Phantom officially last week—would balk at having an openly gay CEO, the response was oddly supportive. Though I think most of that acceptance comes from the footage of Sloane fighting off a deranged psychopath by using his dom voice and threatening to kill him—which Parker Porvacci, lawyer extraordinaire, said was an adrenaline-induced stressresponse, and when forced to take a psychological examination, determined Sloane to be of sane mind, which meant his acts under duress were just that. Duress.
Though Sloane, Chicora, and I know the truth—Sloane would have pulled that trigger if the police didn’t show up.
