“I needed to know I could trust you," he says softly. “Trust must beearned.”
“You did not earn my trust,” I recant. “You showed howuntrustworthyyou are.”
Sloane grins.
“You did as I asked you to do. Because Iaskedyou to,” he whispers, his voice sinking into my ears, into my skin like poison.
“And you did it well," he says. “You should be proud of yourself, Oliver. Now, stop fucking pouting.” His lips graze my jaw, and I realize how close he is.
My blood boils. I’m not pouting, damn it! I’m—
“Because if you don’t, I am going tohaveto reprimand yourdisobedience.”
Something about his words melt my fucking skin.
They stir a dormant volcano inside me, making every hair on my body stand at attention, my cock twitching with renewed vigor.
The urge to defy him is strong.
So much stronger than anything I’ve ever felt.
I should walk away. Go back to my Chromebook and fiddle with the damn emails or fill out my papers or…
Anything but stay here and antagonize this man. Mr. Pierce. It’s like poking a snake. I want to see if he’ll bite me.
I want to see if it hurts. If I can survive the poison.
“Is that a threat?” I ask, my gaze drifting to his mouth before finding his icy blue gaze. “Mr. Pierce?”
“No," he says carefully. “A threat would be words without action.”
His body shifts into my space, and it happens so fast, I barely realize what’s happening until my ass is pressed against the edge of his desk, sending a fresh wave of pain through my body from my avid soreness. I grimace from the sudden jolt of pain.
Sloane’s hand settles on my neck, and my pulse races. I’m acutely aware of his sweaty, warm palm. Of the way his fingers rest there on my throat. They don’t grip me or choke me orhurtme.
But the indication is clear.
He could. If he wanted to.
I brace for impact. For the rush. But it doesn't come.
Instead, his fingers slide down my neck and straighten the collar of my shirt.
“I always deliver on what I promise," he says. His fingers gently smooth my collar and then he pulls them away. He steps away from me.
“Now, be a good boy and run to the copy room for me.” He smirks. “Then call the SAM and get the gala on the books," he says as I fight to breathe. “We have an event to plan.”
My entire body feels strung like a damn live wire.
“Am I making myself clear, Oliver?” he asks and I realize I haven’t moved. Or breathed.
“Yes," I say sharply.
“Try again,” he whispers darkly.
“Yes, Sir,” I grit through my teeth.
“That’s better,” he purrs and I turn, giving him my back, heading for the door.
