Page 6 of Obey

"First of all, Sloane Harper is on every man’s radar," he deadpans. “And second, have you looked at yourself? Because if you haven’t, sweetie, I can get you a mirror. Actually, I’ll get you three, then you can form a council and figure out why you're acting like that man wouldn't look twice at you."

I glare and chuck the pillow at his perfect face. He dodges with a giggle and pirouettes out of range, silk robe fluttering.

"I'm going there for an interview," I remind him. “Besides, I’m celibate, remember that? I don’t have time for relationship drama. I need this job. You know I do.”

He just grins, slow and evil. “I give you two weeks before you’re texting me about the size of his—”

"Goodbye, Trey. Don't you have somewhere to be?"

"Fine. I'll leave you to your celibacy and denial. Some of us have real jobs to get to."

Ten minutes later, he's gone, leaving me alone with the leftovers of whatever smells so good in his kitchen and the distant sounds of traffic outside.

“You can stop pretending you’re invisible,” I murmur, shrugging off the last of my patience. “I see you, Cypress.”

A shadow moves near the doorway before Cypress finally decides to make an appearance. He gives me one lazy flick of his tail, hops onto the couch, and settles into the spot Trey just vacated.

"That's what I thought."

Scooping up my belongings, I pad barefoot into my room, a little oasis Trey carved out for me after I crash-landed here three months ago.

I strip down, tossing my blouse and skirt onto the chair in the corner. On my way to the bed, I catch my reflection in the closet mirror.

Red lace against brown skin. Full breasts, a soft stomach, and hips I've never had a problem showing off. Preston certainly hadn't complained about any of that.

It was everything I wanted him to do with it that became the problem.

Apparently, wanting sex more than twice a week made me demanding. Wanting to try new things made me insatiable. And God forbid I wanted to talk about what actually felt good without him acting like I'd insulted his entire bloodline.

I turn away from the mirror, annoyed that after three damn years, Preston's voice still manages to creep into my head when I least expect it.

My desires were never the problem.

Shimmying out of my underwear, I slide between the cool sheets on my bed. My hand finds the nightstand drawer, and I pull out my favorite toy; sleek black silicone with gold detailing, SOLAÉ stamped right on the base.

At least one thing from that company knows exactly how to get the job done.

It hums to life against my palm as I press it where I need it and start with the usual suspects. Michael B. Jordan as Smoke in Sinners, because a man who stands on business will always do it for me. Then there's Stack, because vampire or not, I would've invited that fine-ass man inside without a second thought. And Henry Cavill as Geralt in The Witcher? Please. That white-haired menace could've gotten whatever he wanted.

Usually, one of them does the trick.

Tonight? Not a damn thing.

Because apparently, my brain has decided Elias Baptiste is the only man worth thinking about.

Every time I close my eyes, I end up right back in that damn lobby, remembering the way Elias's hand closed around mine.

Your restraint was more professional than hers.

Lord, what is wrong with me?

My thumb slides the dial higher, past my usual sweet spot into territory that’s almost too much. Elias is standing in front of me again, broad shoulders filling out that tailored suit. I can almost hear his voice, deep and commanding, reminding me of exactly why I haven't been able to get that man out of my head.

My body clenches in response before my mind catches up. I clamp my free hand over my mouth, stifling the cry as my orgasm crests, deeper and longer than I ever manage on my own.

By the time it's over, I'm sprawled across the sheets, entirely too sensitive to leave the damn thing running. I switch it off and stare at the ceiling.

God help me, Trey was going to have a field day with this.