I feel like shit. I slept like shit, and my mind is a fucking mess. I move through my morning routine of dressing myself and making up my morning smoothie—a blend of pineapple, apple, blueberry and kale. I rarely cook for myself, and don’t have time to leisurely mill about my kitchen. I have a business to run.
I note the time as I am headed out the door, and into my car. The radio comes on loud and I have to turn it down a notch to hear myself think. My GPS brings up my last location—Oliver’s apartment.
Which makes me think abouthim.I note his Chromebook on the passenger seat, and think back to last night. I’d offered todrive him home out of courtesy and nothing else. At least that is what I tell myself.
I’d vowed to get him set up with a company car, which will take some time, but hadn’t given much thought to his commute this morning. He’ll likely take the bus again, since he claims it's sopractical, and the thought of him sitting amidst all the other commuters, cramped and brushing up against them…
I decide to be courteous once more.
“Call Oliver Green,” I say out loud. My car pulls up his personal cell number as I head out of my driveway and down the road towards his apartment, which is nearly thirty-five minutes away.
He picks up on the first ring.
“Hello?” he says, his voice just as smooth and warm over the phone. And clear. It sounds like he’s been up a while.
“Good morning, Oliver. I hope you slept well.”
“S-Mr. Pierce. I didn’t expect your call… are you at the office already?”
I smirk as I relax in my seat, palming the steering wheel.
“No.”
“Oh. Do you need me to come in early or—”
“I thought perhapswecould head in early. Seeing as you have some work to catch up on.”
There’s silence between us, and all I can hear for a moment is his breath. I’ve caught him off guard.
Good.
That will make this all the more fun. Everyone is always so eager to show you theirbestside, but you don’t really discover who a person is until they are under pressure.
Will Oliver crack, or will he withstand?
“Right, the venues…” he says, clearly rattled. “I, uh—”
“You left your Chromebook in my car.”
“Shit! I mean, I’m sorry, Sir, I—”
“No matter,” I tell him nonchalantly. “You will have it in about fifteen minutes.”
“Fifteen minutes?” he asks, his voice elevating. “I can’t make it in in fifteen—”
“Be ready to go, Oliver. I do not like waiting.”
“Ready to go?” He sounds like he’s about to snap. I grin.
“I believe you meanYes, Sir.” I can’t help the smile forming on my face. His flustered self sounds so… adorable.
I can only imagine that blush staining his cheeks as he runs around all unkempt and nervous.
I don’t miss the slight gasp in his voice. Nor do I miss the way my cock responds to it.
I stifle the groan, though. Now is certainly not the time. For God’s sakes, I’ve come enough in the last twelve hours to last me a week.
“Ten minutes, Oliver. The clock is ticking,” I tell him as I hang up, unable to wipe the smile off my face the whole way there.
