Those eyebrows of his raise, and he slowly reaches forward and taps the desk in front of him: two taps, a clear command.
I want to argue some more, or ignore him. I want to make him angry, but curiosity is a weakness of mine, so I stomp over there. “What?”
He just taps his desk again. I frown in confusion, but he’s waiting me out. I hate that. But I must not hate it that much because I finally get it and put my palms back on the desk, and lean over it just like I was before. His desk is massive, a gargantuan monster, so it’s not like I’m only an inch away from him or anything, but we’re certainly closer now, our faces almost level.
“What?” I ask again, but even I can tell that my tone is decidedly less angry and more cautious, curious, maybe even… sullen and pouty. Pathetic. Needy.
With a long, slow movement, one I can see coming and could dodge if I want to, he reaches up and takes my chin and jaw into his hand, just like he did on the plane. He tilts my head down this time, since he’s sitting, but it feels no less overpowering and controlling to be the one above him when he can so easily move my face the way he wants. Leaning over the desk like this I suddenly feel very vulnerable and off balance and small… and I don’t hate it, even though I want to.
“This isn’t just a transaction, Tommy. This is a contract. Long-term, committed, and involving my very important and only niece.” His deep voice soothes me and riles me up at the same time and my breathing gets choppier. “There’s a difference between what you used to do, and what we’re doing now. You know that.”
“I’m bought and paid for,” I manage to get out, my face feeling hot. “That’s all there is to it. I’ve sold myself before, and I did again to Kira, and now to you. That’s all this is. It’s no different.”
He’s so hard to read. I can’t ever tell if my stubbornness makes him angry or amused, or maybe both. Either way, his eyes flash with something I can’t decipher before he continues.
“In the car, you mentioned that my warning about soap in your mouth wasn’t valid because I said it in the jet, and we aren’t on the jet anymore.” He’s being casual, almost idly chatting as he runs his thumb over my bottom lip like he’s picturing putting a bar of soap on my tongue right now. A blast of heat travels through my whole body at the silent promise and the heated touch. “But I promise you that it doesn’t matter where we are. If you lie to me, or to yourself, I’m going to call you on it. You said you’d behave, Tommy. So be good. Tell me the truth.”
Holy shit.
I’m struggling to breathe; my lungs are shaky as lust and helplessness and fear and a terrifying giddiness floods mysystem and short-circuits my brain. I swallow hard, and I know he feels it with the hand holding my jaw.
“I… I don’t… I…” I shake my head slightly, but not enough to dislodge his hold. I don’t want him to let me go. Then, abruptly, I realize what I’m doing and yank myself backward. I stare at him like he’s a psycho killer about to plunge a blade into my heart, and he looks at me–his hand still holding the air like he’s inviting me to rest my chin there again–like he always does.
With an awkward laugh, I brush my shirt off like I got something on it and shrug. “Yeah, whatever you say.”
He drops his hand and lets me retreat so I can compose myself at the table Yosef brought in for me. I steal a glance at him and catch his gaze running down my frame and back up again, and I wonder why he studies me so closely. Before I can be a brat about it and let my defensiveness translate into rudeness and bad behavior, Yosef returns.
I slouch in my chair casually. Yeah, nothing to see here. Just me, definitely not getting brat-tamed.
I say a soft ‘thanks’ when Yosef places a notepad and some pens in front of me, along with a couple magazines and someone’s unfinished sudoku puzzle. I wonder if he yanked it right out of their hands.
Young-gi’s laptop chimes and he pulls out some headphones, but spares a moment to say, “be good.”
I mutter and grumble but eventually nod, and he nods back like we’re equals making an important agreement and not just a washed-up rent boy and his rich buyer.
Picking up the pens, I fiddle with them, my eyes running over Young-gi as he starts his virtual meeting. I find myself putting the nib to the paper before consciously deciding to do so, and before I know it, I’m making my first mark.
Chapter 13
Tommy
I come back to myself abruptly, unexpectedly, like getting caught off guard by a power outage or walking off a curb without realizing the ground was about to be several inches further down than I expected. Like all of a sudden, I’m instantly very aware of myself, and the present moment.
One guess as to why.
Seems like, no matter how hyper-focused I am, there’s no way to miss the full-body, tingling realization that Young-gi is behind me, leaning down to look over my shoulder. I can feel him, hear him; it’s practically fucking supernatural the way I can sense him near me like he’s got static electricity all over him. Like the molecules between him and I are sparking and sizzling and drenched with that feeling before a storm, that hair-raising sensation before lightning.
How long have I been doodling for?The bright afternoon outside the giant office windows has faded to dim twilight, leaving us at the mercy of the fluorescents overhead rather than sunlight. My neck and spine take a moment to remind me that they exist, unfortunately. The sore bruises down my back are complaining, and I’m stiff from holding one position for so long, which I’m not accustomed to doing. I want to sit up straight and work out the kinks in my muscles, but Young-gi is so close to me that if I lean back, I’ll bump into him. My back to his chest.
And while I’d love to have him grab me by the throat and whisper naughty things into my ear, I don’t think that’s what would happen.
“You’re talented,” he says, when I’d really prefer it if he told me to bend over for his dick. Especially with that low, husky voice.
“Mm.” I fidget in my chair, unable to sit still now that I’m not focused on drawing. I can feel myself blushing, and once again thank god that my dark skin won’t show it. Because of course, I was drawing him.
Nothing sexual, just him at his desk. A still frame of what I could see from my table. I paid careful attention to the details of his somber expression and vivid eyes, his stern mouth and the width of his shoulders, the way his hands look strong and capable on his desk, the way his tie is folded. I hope he can’t tell that I was embarrassingly invested in making him just right.
“And you did it in pen, too. That’s impressive.” He picks up the paper without asking first, and I huff, but let him take it. Once he has it, he finally backs off and gives me some room to stretch and breathe. “You’re really quite good. Did you take classes?”
