Nervous because hisbosswas driving him home, and he felt slightly judged, perhaps?
It’s not as if he was nervous because heknowsmy preferences.
He doesn’t. I’ve been more than careful to craft the image of Sloane Pierce as a suave playboy. I’ve spent longer curating my image than I have on Phantom. Longer than I spent advocating for the Veil. I suck in a breath as I stare at the Chromebook.
I swear I can smell the faint lingering of sweet vanilla and musk. I swear I can still smellhim.My cock jumps in my pants, and I growl in response.
“You are more trouble than you are worth,” I nip, shaking my head. I set the Chromebook down, deciding I will give it back to him tomorrow, but not before I show him what happens when he is careless.
My little pet needs to learn that as nice as I can be, there are consequences. He told me he would have the top three businesses recommended for the gala to me by eight am, and I doubt, without his Chromebook, at this hour, he will have things ready for me as he promised.
Which I am counting on. My cock hardens at the idea of punishing my little pet.
Though I try to keep my focus on the road, my mind wanders to all the ways IwishI could punish him.
His cheeks pinken so beautifully I can only imagine how his ass would turn scarlet from my palm or a whip. Perhaps a cane…
I groan as I adjust my cock with one hand, the other gripping the steering wheel.
My dick strains against my pants, and the touch does nothing to quell the ache.
I imagine Oliver, with those big green eyes staring up at me, hands on his thighs, cock jutting out, waiting for me to reprimand him.
The car accelerates as my cock throbs. I stroke myself through the fabric of my pants, feeling the rigidness I was unable to earlier.
My cock aches, needing release. The night is a blur as I race through the roads to my house, my thoughts slipping down back roads I know I shouldn’t, but fuck it.
It’s not like anyone will know. It’s not like I’m going to divulge my fantasies to Oliver. Besides, they are just fantasies. Nothing more. Nothing less.
Just because my cock likes the idea of turning Oliver’s ass red or shoving my cock in his mouth doesn’t mean I’m going toacton those desires.
Attraction or not, I don’t mix business with pleasure. Not anymore. And I should have never done it in the first place. What happened with my ex was a lesson learned the hard way. So I’ll keep my fantasies where they belong. In my head. It’s better this way. Besides, Oliver seems like he might actually be a good assistant, and I haven’t had one of those yet.
When I pull into my driveway, it’s nearing eleven. I all but rush out of the car and punch in the code to let myself in.
I don’t waste a second as I undress on my way upstairs, passing my play room. When I bought this house, I thought I’dget more use of it. Turns out, having an actual space to practice was like a sensual curse. Like investing in a guest room expecting your family and friends will stay there and then no one ever visits.
I wander into my room, taking in the sight of everything untouched.
The cross. The swing. The stocks. Even the warming massage table has never been touched.
My cock strains in my briefs as I make my way over to the four-poster bed. I climb atop the silky teal sheets that adorn it, relaxing in the softness against my skin. I slide my briefs off, relishing in the feel of the cool air and the sheets against my skin.
I curse at the sight of my cock, already dripping wet with precum.
Fuck.
I suck in a breath as I wrap my hand around my cock. It feels better than when Bruno did it, and that fact is not lost on me.
Forty minutes. I stayed in that half-hard, not-quite-there state. It was so frustrating. Frustrating because Iwantedto come so I could feel better, so I could get over this weird melancholy shit and not do or say something I’d regret to my new assistant.
But the minuteItouch myself, the minute I think about said assistant—about punishing him for taunting me with those big green orbs and that pouty mouth and hisYes, Sir’s, I find myself climbing that mountain.
My thumb slides over my slit, spreading the fresh bloom of precum over my head. My hips thrust of their own accord as my eyes close and I give myself over to the fantasy, riding it like a roller coaster as I chase my release.
I imagine Oliver on his knees—like Bruno was—staring up at me with those big green eyes as I press my cock to his pouty lips.
“You want this cock?” I bite, my voice strained to my own ears.
