Page 32 of Obey

“And if the person controlling it doesn't recognize what you need?” I ask.

“Then they shouldn't be the one in control.” Her answer is immediate. “I don't want somebody who just knows how to give orders, Elias. I want somebody who understands me well enough to know when I need one.”

I forget about the prototype for a moment.

Because now I'm wondering what it would take to earn that kind of trust from her.

“So what would you change?” I ask, forcing my attention back to the interface.

“Give the Dom information, not answers. Let them see what the machine is picking up, but make them decide what to do with it. Otherwise, what's the point of having another person involved?”

I consider the interface, already recognizing where our programming has gone wrong. We've spent months perfecting the machine's responsiveness without accounting for the choices that make each dynamic personal.

Sloane has managed to identify the problem in less than ten minutes.

But my thoughts aren't entirely on the engineering anymore.

My mind fills with an image I have no business entertaining: Sloane secured beneath the Étreinte, her wrists restrained, those defiant eyes fixed on mine. The machine responds to my commands while she waits for the next one, trusting me to recognize every change in her expression. I can almost hear her challenging me, daring me to prove I understand what she needs.

The image hits low and primitive. I imagine the moment her defiance gives way to anticipation, the way she'd watch me for some indication of what I intend to do next. She'd test my patience, no doubt, and I'd enjoy finding out just how long she could keep that sharp tongue of hers—

The shrill sound of my phone ringing tears through my thoughts, making Sloane jump. Irritation surges through me as I pull the phone from my pocket, furious at being dragged back into a laboratory full of engineers when my imagination had been somewhere considerably more interesting.

“What?” I growl.

Nate's voice comes through, low and sharp.

“Step back, Elias.”

My eyes snap to the corner of the ceiling where the camera sits. The small red light was watching patiently, waiting for me to become myself again. My teeth grind together as I force myself to step back.

Sloane inhales sharply, as if she’s just realized how close we were.

“Send her home,” Nate says. “Then get your ass to my office.”

The line goes dead.

Placing the phone back into my pocket, I replace the shield over the Étreinte with more force than necessary. The soft click of it sealing feels final in a way I don’t like.

Sloane stands there for a second too long, breathing unevenly, eyes wide and sweetly confused. Like a startled doe realizing too late what kind of animal she’s been left alone with.

When my eyes pull back to the camera, I know Nate is still watching, and the pressure of his gaze feels like invisible claws between my shoulders. So I take a deep breath and tuck the beast away, no matter how much it bruises me to do it.

I gesture toward the exit. “That’s enough for today.”

She nods once and turns toward the elevator without a word. When the doors slide open and she steps inside, the polished world rushes back in. I stare at the darkened reflection in the prototype shield, pulse still too close to the surface.

Restraint has always been one of my greatest strengths. But with Sloane, it's beginning to feel less like discipline and more like delaying the inevitable.

nine

The Provocation

The penthouse door slams behind me hard enough to rattle the frame.

I don't bother checking for damage.

Nate's voice follows me from SOLAÉ, his words clinging like a second skin. She's our employee, Elias.