“Um… I am good, I think,” I say, though I am not sure that is the case. My damn legs feel like Jell-O.
“Alright then.” He steps away, giving me the chance to move and I take it gladly. I get halfway down the sidewalk before I turn around, noting he’s still standing, leaning against his sharp BMW, hands in his pockets. Watching me.
Like a damn hawk.
“Thank you,” I say softly.
“Good night, Oliver,” he says, and with that he slips into his shadowed car and leaves me alone with a racing heart. And a strained, aching hard-on.
Fucking hell.
Chapter Nine
Sloane
My head falls back on my shoulders as I let out a heavy sigh. Bruno’s tongue laves around my cockhead as he groans deeply. I thrust into his mouth on instinct, though it’s not helping me reach this pinnacle one bit. It’s been ages since I’ve had a session, but usually it doesn’t take thislongto get off. But tonight, I’ve been here for nearly forty minutes already and though we’ve gone through one of my usual scenes, I still haven’t been able to find the release I need. Usually my focus is better. Though for some reason, I can’t seem to keep my concentration right now. My mind keeps wandering to work and these blasted failing prototypes. To my new assistant, Oliver…
Who likesmen.Apparently.
What are the odds? Chickadee said he was qualified, and he certainly seems like he can handle my workload. First impressions aren’t everything, but he seems dedicated enough to stay late, and eager to do as I say, which are precisely the reasons I should not be thinking about him in any way, shape, or form that isnotprofessional. Driving him home was a mistake. I’d watched him leave, of course, from my office and out the door, torn over the need to follow him like some stalker. I told myself it was justified—I just wanted to make sure he was okay. So I pulled up the cameras. It’s not like anyone would know and even if they somehow found out, I own the company. I own the fucking building for God’s sakes. Reviewing security footage technically falls in the wheelhouse for me.
But I noticed Oliver was not seen going down to the garage and so I followed the security trail until he walked out of my building and turned left.
I admit I was surprised to see him sitting there, underneath that ramshackled plexiglass hut, Chromebook tucked under his arm and eyes engrossed in his phone. He looked so innocent, so utterly perfect. Those long arms and legs. Shoulders hunched. Golden hair messy and hanging over his beautiful green eyes…
And I couldn’t help myself. I swear it is like a compulsion. TheneedI felt to scoop Oliver Green up and collect him like a prized hockey card.
So I did what any good boss would do…
I pulled his file to get his address and offered him a ride. It was purely professional. Today it was a ride home. Tomorrow I’ll set up a flex account for him and get him arranged with a company car. I get the feeling my new pet is not used to having money, especially if his former employment includes the damn library. Old habits can be hard to break. I know that better than most, which is why I intend to make sure Oliver has everything he needs to be able to do his job properly.
And if that includes a car and a little extra money so he doesn’t have to worry or take public transportation, well then, it’s money well spent.
Bruno continues his onslaught, working my shaft, which brings me back to the here and now. All thoughts of Oliver and his big green eyes and pouty lips dispel, and a disappointed growl escapes me.
Bruno isn’t a terrible looking man by any means. He’s perfect, by Paramour standards. Not overly muscular, but toned enough, you can see his definition everywhere, even under harsh lighting. His tight, cropped dark hair accentuates his trim beard and his amber eyes are quite pretty in natural light. He’s an attractive man, but it’s his demeanor which entices me, or which used to entice me.
Bruno is good at playing whatever role I desire him to play for me. Most often, it’s been the role of a submissive, which he isn’t terrible at, but it’s not something that isnaturalfor him. Even in these moments—the ones where he is on his knees, providing for his master, there is a disconnect. Bruno sucks my cock not with eagerness, but with purpose. Because it’s aboutmypleasure. It’s about giving me what I’m paying for.
It’s not what I really want, but it’s what I have to do to keep the monster fed and at bay.
Lest I want to find myself indulging in doe-eyed former librarians that likemen.Which I can not do…
But tonight… tonight I am off in more ways than one, and I don’t like it.
Bruno’s touch isn’t any different than usual, though it has been months, but something about it pulls me out of the moment. He grips my ass with one hand and starts to pump my shaft with the other, as he groans around my cock and I shove him off.
“I didn’t say you could touch me,” I snap. It’s a cheap cop-out since Bruno is well aware of my limits and safewords. He drops his hand, pulling back from his attention on my cock. He looks up at me from where he is kneeling, the red light of the room bathing him in its hue. His eyes cloud with uncertainty, and it pisses me off. Because he looks at me, like I just told him I ate the last cookie.
“I’m sorry, Master.” His voice is remorseful, soft, and full of guilt. But it’s notreal.It’s practiced. Rehearsed.
“I know you are,” I bite, and I hear him shifting, a deep sigh escaping him. “But sorry is not good enough. Not tonight.”
I close my eyes because his tone, and even his words, are making my skin crawl. I open my eyes and back away, fixing my gaze on him.
“PUP,” I note, shoving him away as I pull my cock and myself back from him.
“Master, I—”
