Page 10

Burn that bridge when you get to it.

“All right then. I’ll do my best. You decide if it’s enough.” To prove I was worthy of being owned.

“Good, Omocha.” When he shifts away from the counter, I see this whole conversation has his cock straining at his trousers. “If you’re ready. Get on your knees.”

God, it’s sick how much I like it when he commands me. “Of course, Ito-sama.”

****

When Van sends me to gather the team for a pre-rehearsal production meeting, I find our green room, which doubles as the costume room, triples as Carlos’ favorite spot to nap. He sprawls on a couch that can easily fit six children, but the memory of little girls in pink and glitter is utterly obliterated by vivid fantasizes centered around all the variety of sexy ways to wake this lazy techie. His ankles are crossed and jut past the couch’s arm. His sweatshirt is balled under his head with the hood over his eyes, which makes his mouth and chin much more formidable until he gently smiles in his sleep. One arm is slung over his chest, and the other hangs on the floor, palm open in quiet invitation. His t-shirt rides up on his chest, showing his abs and the elastic band of his red boxers under his ripped and paint-stained jeans.

It’d be easy to yank his jeans off. Easier to open them and start sucking his cock. Easier to quietly take out my own cock and rub it along his slack mouth, to brush my head over the sleeping lips. Even a kiss innocent enough to wake Sleeping Beauty seems obscene because of that exposed midriff, that thin red line of his underwear.

Why this sudden lust? It’s not like I lack sex. Mr. Ito has worn down and rubbed raw every single part of my body since I’ve been staying with him. Not that I’ve seen his face. Or that we’ve had many conversations. I’m just there every night, instead of when he calls me.

Carlos should not weaken my usually strong stance. Carlos is… I mean obviously, he’s hot. You don’t get wibbly-wobbling just because some tech’s gotten lazy in the green room.

Except … maybe it is the softness. The vulnerability. Usually, Carlos is stoically building or straight-backed in a computer chair, muddling the lights and scowling at Vectorworks. To see him so relaxed … un-relaxes me.

“Yo, Carlos.” I tap his foot. What if somehow Mr. Ito is watching this greenroom? What if he knows I’ve been ogling my napping coworker?

Carlos opens his eyes. So sleepy under the dark lashes that his eyes are cuts of shadow. He smiles when he sees me. “Hi, Harp.”

“Come on, Sweetness. Time to talk shop.” I feign indifference, hoping to conceal the melting in my belly at least from him if I can’t ignore it myself. “Production meeting in ten.”

“Thank you. Ten.” He yawns and snuggles into his hoodie.

I laugh at him. “Dude, you’re going to fall asleep again.”

Carlos makes a little dismissive sound and absolutely falls asleep again.

****

Van fetches him, herself, ten minutes later, and we all gather in the lobby while the cast warms up onstage. Van, a bit like a drill sergeant, calls on the lesser board members. She’s already chewed out Scissors for lagging on costumes, and Joanna sweats bullets because the postcards she’s ordered haven’t arrived yet.

“Mercy, I know you’ve got this handled.” Van’s tone implies he absolutely does not. “But you’ve talked to Ali about her absences, right? I don’t want us missing our flute on the night of the performance.”

How did Mr. Ito even know about Carlos? It’s the most unreasonable thing about this arrangement. Denying me… I mean Carlos is straight, off-limits, not my type.

“Vanessa, she’ll be there.” Mercy’s had this conversation at least once. “She’s not a flake; it’s one scheduling error.”

Mr. Ito is testing me. Just one of his games. Make me fixate on someone I’d never even thought about before by forbidding him.

Mr. Ito likes his games. Right from the start. That first night. Sitting at the desk in the corner as if he’d been at work. Wearing the mask. As if that was normal.

It had been so subtle on his part; the penthouse’s luxury, the view, the dim lighting, and soft music had done most of the seducing. I’d done the rest. All he had to do was languidly agree to my terms; I’d penned the script.

But he’d directed the show. From my flirting to the distance closing between us, nothing caught him off guard. But it was all so subtly done that any moment, he could have scoffed and said I’d misunderstood.

Right until I’d dropped to my knees before him and opened his trousers. No walking back from that. No denying what was happening when he bent me over the window-seat, forcing me to look down at the city, dizzy from the height while he fucked me long and hard. No other explanation for the arrangement when he showed me his donation to the kick-starter and told me to come back next week. I’d told him as often as he wanted until the end of the run. I’d never imagined I’d be going to his house every—

“Harper!” Van glares at me over the top of her clipboard. Everyone watches me with a mix of amused disapproval and vindictive pleasure. Except for Carlos. Sweetness looks concerned.

“We just have some Velcro left on the trick pants and tassels if you still want them for the elves.” I rub my neck. “We have time to add them.”

Van looks up from her checklist. She ought to be angry. “I was asking about rehearsal time. For the pole-dancers?”

“Oh.” The pole-dancers are from one of my classes. Volunteers just in it for the kicks and most donated to the show. It’ll be obvious they’re amateurs, but it’s fun and improvised. The choreography obviously looks sloppy to a precision dancer, but Van knows that. “We’re rehearsing during class times. You can come if you like and watch.”