She melts against me, and I hold her against my front, taking her mouth in a long, lingering kiss that makes her like putty in my hands. When I pull back and let her go, her eyes look almost drugged, glossy with arousal.
“Take off your shirt,” I order, and she doesn’t hesitate. She crosses her arms and grasps the hem of her shirt, pulling it over her head and tossing it next to me. My nostrils flare with immediate rage until I turn my head to see it landed perfectly inside the laundry hamper. When I look back at her, she’s fighting a smile. My eyebrow quirks, and she instantly schools her features. “Bra next.”
She reaches behind her, even as her cheeks turn a pretty shade of pink in the dim light, and she curls her shoulders forward, allowing the straps and cups to fall into her hand. My heart thuds in my chest. She’s so good at this. Knowing how I am, how I crave tidiness, she doesn’t drop it to the floor, but she doesn’t move. I can tell she’s considering what to do with it, but since I haven’t given her another order, she doesn’t want to break her role and just keeps it in her grasp. Since she’s not tossing it into the hamper, it must go somewhere else. And if it’s anything like the rest of her house, there’s a place for everything, and she likes everything in it’s place. Maybe not as obsessively as I do, with measured precision, but still, good enough that even I could live with it.
I hold out my hand, and she places the delicate lace in my palm. “Where does it go?”
She licks her lips, and my cock twitches. “Top right drawer.”
I turn around and pull it open, seeing a vast number of bras in a multitude of colors, fabric, and shapes, all lined up neatly in rows. I see the exact spot she’d pulled the one she wore tonight from, and I carefully replace it, then close the drawer. With my mind not obsessing over the garment, I finally take in her bare breasts. Each one is the perfect mouthful, and I can’t wait to suck those little pink nipples between my teeth, to watch her react like she had in her library when I pinched one for having a smart mouth.
I could have her undress me, but I don’t want to waste time with her wondering what I’d want her to do with my clothes, so I’ll do it this time, so she’ll know how I like it. I make my way over to her bed to sit on the end, untying each of my shoes before toeing them off. I take off my socks, folding each in half and tucking one inside each shoe. I stand and walk back over to her dresser, setting the pair neatly on the floor in front of it. I unload my pockets, aligning my wallet, keys, and phone in a straight line on top of the dresser next to her jewelry box, liking the way my stuff looks along with hers. I face her again, unbuckling my belt and pulling it from the loops of my jeans, winding the black leather until it’s a tight circle that with fit neatly beside my things on her dresser.
I unbutton and unzip my jeans, holding the waistband while I step out of them. I fold them crisply and lay them next to the belt. Finally, I hook my thumbs in the elastic of my black boxer briefs. When I pull them off, my cock springs free, and I hear Evie’s gasp, but I can’t look at her until I’m done with my ritual or I’ll have to start all over, getting it perfect. I fold the underwear once then a second time, placing them next to the jeans, so when it’s time to redress, all I’ll have to do is follow down the line until my pockets are filled. No scrambling to find a missing shoe, no worry about some chick trying to make off with my fucking hoodie or wallet. If this were anyone besides Evelyn, I’d take the time to go out to her library where I left my shirt to put it in line atop her dresser, but her presence is soothing enough to make me not care about it. In fact, the thought of Evie stealing my shirt to wear it and sleep in warms my chest in a way it never has before.
With everything perfectly aligned with an inch of space between each item, I turn to face her, completely unashamed of my nudity. Why would I be? I spend most of my free time honing my body into a machine, trying to achieve perfection with working out, a healthy diet, and by not putting stupid shit into it. It’s why I refused to take the meds the doctors tried to prescribe me for my OCD. And if what Evelyn said is true about the lifestyle being enough of a remedy for her own mental health issues, then it makes me wonder if it’ll be enough for mine.
“If ever I order you to undress me, this is how I prefer my things,” I tell her low, letting it hang in the air that this won’t be the only time we’ll be together.
“Yes, Mr. Black,” she replies, and I can see in her eyes she
