Chapter Twenty-Seven
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Julian is as preppily stylish and handsome as I remember him being. Navy blazer with a perfectly tucked pocket square, sleeves rolled up to show off a brightly striped shirt and shapely wrists. He sits across the table from me, sipping a Pimm’s cup with a decidedly enquiring look playing over his regular and somewhat delicate features.
“What’s all this about, then?”
He’s lived here for ten years, but he’s still got a bit of that upper-crust accent and I don’t blame him. It’s sexy as fuck but can turn deliciously malevolent on a dime.
“You’re not trying to get in my pants again are you, old boy?”
He winks at me, and I let him see my teeth, though it’s hardly a smile. My Moscow Mule is a more pleasant place to focus my attention than on Julian’s achingly perfect face, that ridiculous swoop of shiny black hair only the English seem to be able to pull off without looking like complete and utter ninnies.
“No. Though if you ever decide to switch sides of the wicket…”
“Are you trying to make a cricket joke? That’s adorable.”
He takes another drink and regards me with the quiet, unnerving concentration Allie will flourish under. “Seriously. I haven’t heard from you for a while and you haven’t been around much. Is everything all right? Do you need a favor? Anyone giving you trouble?”
“No, nothing of the sort. In fact, I’ve got a favor I’d like to do for you.”
Julian’s perfectly arched brows inch up his forehead, and he leans forward, hands steepling over his glass. “Do tell.”
Ah, yes. I’ve piqued his interest. “I’ve got someone for you. He’s new, but I’ve worked with him quite a bit.”
Yes, worked him over. With a flogger, with a cane, with my hand, bound him in my ropes, come in his mouth, and fucked his virgin ass.
“He’s a good-looking man, little rough around the edges, but submits quite beautifully if you can earn it. You’ll have to because he could bench press you. Intelligent but not particularly educated, ex- and perhaps future military. Loyal to a fault and proud as hell. And frankly, he’s a damn fine cocksucker. Interested?”
Julian’s eyes light up, I’m sure imagining Allie on his knees fellating one of his favorite strap-ons. “Given that you’ve described every fantasy I’ve ever had, I’d say yes. Tell me more about this prize. Starting with his name.”
“Hart. Allie Hart.”
“Allie Hart.” The words roll off Julian’s tongue, between his perfect teeth and through his narrow lips. I hate the way he caresses them, as if he’s already got Allie under his control, but that’s the point of this whole thing, right? It’s time to wrap Hart back up, stick a big red bow on him, and hand him over to someone who’ll be able to play for keeps, who’ll cherish and nurture him, and yes, beat the ever-loving crap out of him.
Matthew was right to put Julian at the top of the pile. I believe he’s precisely the man for the job, but that doesn’t mean I’m ready to play kinky Santa Claus yet. I’m going to make Julian work for this, just to prove I can. And because Allie deserves that. Someone who’ll fight for him, not someone who wants to play a bizarre Pygmalion and then send him on his way.
*
A few weeks later finds us at another one of Elouisa’s soirees. She’s put on a speakeasy theme this time, and the people who work for her look darling in flapper dresses and twenties-style suits. Prohibition, you were adorable.
I’ve been taking Allie out more than usual. More parties, more clubs, “accidentally” running into Julian at more than one event and analyzing Allie’s response to him. The way Allie’s eyes linger on the places where Julian’s clean cut and bespoke suits hug his body… Matthew was right, and I’ll have to tell him so. Yes, Allie likes the look of Julian, and the feeling is mutual. If the devil himself looked more like an angel, he couldn’t be devising more wicked plans for a man than Julian is for Allie.
When we’ve not been in Julian’s presence, I’ve also made mention of the fact that Julian is trans. I wasn’t sure how Allie would react, given we’ve never discussed it, but after a momentary expression of surprise, he’d shrugged. “He’s hot.”
Yes, he is. And though I haven’t detailed what’s under Julian’s clothes—because I wouldn’t do that for any other potential partner, and Allie didn’t ask—I don’t think it will be an issue. If anything, I think Allie might delight in the idea of being able to have children with his partner without having to adopt. They’d be doting parents too, and the image has tugged more than once at my heartstrings.
Allie responds too to Julian’s teasing, his easy conversation. A bit nervous perhaps, looking to me for approval when they’re sitting next to each other, leaning in close to speak in each other’s ears because it had been too loud in the club to be heard otherwise. I like creating forced intimacy. And it’s working.
If that weren’t precisely my intention, I might be jealous. Or perhaps that’s what that creeping sour feeling at the back of my throat is. I take another sip of my cocktail to douse it because things are going precisely according to plan, and isn’t that what I like best of all? Getting my way? So I’ve claimed.
While I might have moments of wanting to keep Allie to myself, that’s not the natural order of things. I’d tire of him sooner or later, and it’s better this way. To make him feel cherished and precious the entire way through. To never have him doubt his worth or how fabulously alluring he is.
It’s better this way. It is.
Allie knows, when we’re at Elouisa’s, drinking’s allowed because there’ll be light if any play tonight, so when a waitress comes over with a dozen drinks in one of those trays an old-fashioned cigarette girl would carry, I caution him. “Only one.”
His eyes light up, and the corner of his mouth curls. It feels somehow as though his impish expression is connected to my stomach because it lurches. He thinks I’m promising something I have no intention of delivering. I try to assuage my guilt by telling myself Julian will give it to him. Julian is willing and able and, I daresay, downright keen.
“Then which one should I have?”
I like that he’s asked my opinion. Allie’s not much for cocktails, but his appreciation for them is growing. Given this is a twenties-themed fete, I make my best guesses about what the various concoctions are and get confirmations from the waitress.
“I’ll be having a sidecar, but for you? I’d say a Tuxedo #2 would be more to your liking.”
He nods because he trusts me to pick something he’ll like, to know his tastes, to want him to enjoy himself even if the thing looks a bit foufy. When I hand him the drink and he takes a sip, he smiles.
“It’s good.”
I hope he feels the same about Julian. As he takes another sip and grins at me, I start to feel more confident about my plan.
“No, seriously, this is really good. Think Matty could learn to make one?”
“For you, anything.”
A tentative bud of warmth starts to blossom in my belly alongside the cold cinders of disappointment. This is going to be okay. I only want the best for him, and he’s going to be able to see that. Hart’s a reasonable, if passionate, sort.
We’ve nearly circled the entire house, looking in on the various delights Elouisa’s provided for her guests, when I see Julian, doing a more than respectable Charleston with a female companion.
Why does my heart sink further into my stomach? Julian can dance too. That’s wonderful news. If I’d known, that would’ve been the clincher. When the song ends and he excuses himself from his partner with a dashing bow and kiss to her knuckles, he walks over, wiping a glimmer of sweat from his hairline with a big smile on his face.
“Rey. Hart. Fancy seeing you here.”
I hope Allie doesn’t see the wink Julian less-than-surreptitiously throws me. As it is, it makes me grind the teeth in the back of my mouth. Must have Matthew make me a dentist appointment, if he hasn’t already. I have to consciously slacken my jaw so I don’t grate out the words. “Yes, it’s a real shock, Davies. I see you’re enjoying yourself.”
“Very much so, yes. Elouisa’s a love, isn’t she?”
“Indeed she is.”
We talk for a while, and I watch Julian flirt with Allie, try and succeed to make him smile and laugh. When he manages to make Allie blush in that full-body way of his, that’s my cue. I should go and let this run its course. A course that will no doubt involve sweat and sex and pleading, finely controlled violence and loving, open-mouthed kisses. The start of a journey for them both, into a relationship that will get carried along like a leaf in a stream of inevitability because I’m really fucking good at this.
That’s what I should take comfort in as I extricate myself from this conversation, remove myself from this equation. What’s that called again? Simplifying? Math was never my particular strong suit. I’ll leave the numbers to Matthew. But yes, simplify. Neither Julian nor Allie are built for a long-term ménage, and while I don’t mind playing the third wheel—do it all the time, actually—it’s not a permanent solution.
So I withdraw bit by bit from the conversation. Watch their flirtatious conversation ping between them like a tennis ball between two evenly matched players. Attraction, check. Conversational compatibility, check. They study each other carefully, watching for the signs I taught them both to seek, and then I know it’s time to go.
I text Matthew on the sly, though it’s easy with Allie and Julian so distracted by each other, and wait the seconds it takes him to do as I’ve asked. My phone rings, and I excuse myself. The men barely acknowledge my departure, though Allie tracks me with his eyes. His attention is called back to his new golden god by a touch of Julian’s hand on his shoulder.
Placing my cell to my ear, I sigh. “How are you, Matthew?”
“Good, sir. Did you need something?”
“My phone to ring.”
“Yes, sir. Should I expect you home soon?”
“In an hour if things go well, which I anticipate they will. Are you there already?”
“Yes, sir. Finishing up some things.”
“Very good. I’ll see you soon.”
I don’t wait to hear his confirmation, which is a bit rude and I make a note to apologize for it if Matthew noticed, which he may not have. I’ll be able to tell when I see him. Now it’s time to finish this puppet show.
Allie and Julian are still flirting when I get back. Julian touching him frequently and in increasingly intimate places and Allie not backing away from his touch. Perhaps even moving toward it. Good, good.
They both turn at my approach, but not until I’m almost on top of them. If this is going so flawlessly, why does it feel like a nightmare instead of a dream? I shake it off and offer an explanation in response to their curious expressions.
“Matthew.”
“Everything okay?” It’s Julian, his eyebrow cocking while he studies me.
“Not an emergency, but I should go.”
Allie’s face falls, and it makes me take a hard swallow. This is what you want, this is what you’re getting. Don’t be unhappy.
“No need for you to go too,” I say to his crestfallen face. “In fact, why don’t you stay? I’m sure Julian would be happy to keep you company and bring you home at the end of the night. Wouldn’t you, Julian?”
He nods with a roguish smile, and images of Allie and Julian together flash through my mind. Images I wish I could block out. I know it’s going to happen. I should be happy it’s going to happen, but some selfish bit of me resents them.
The solution for this is clearly a binge on decadence and kink and hedonism, beating and fucking as many people as I can get my hands on for the foreseeable future. It shouldn’t be difficult. I’m in demand and not often available.
Allie grabs my arm, and his gaze is hot on me. “I’ll see you tonight, though? You mean home like your house, right?”
Those words I’ve ached for. Yes, I’d love for Allie to use his key when he’s had his fill and crawl into my bed where I’d do…well, whatever I pleased. Instead I smile and lean in.
“I think Julian would be more than happy to have you in his bed tonight.”
“But—”
I hold up a finger, and out of habit, Allie clamps his mouth shut, lovely boy.
“Give us a minute, Davies?”
Julian is all solicitousness when he drops an elegant bow and sweeps out an arm. “At your service, Walter.”
Both Allie and I watch him stroll over to a friend who he greets with a handshake and an easy smile. Handsome devil, he is.
Then Allie shoves me. Plants a palm roughly in my shoulder and pushes. It startles me, and though he hasn’t done it hard enough to elicit the reaction, I step back because of the shock.
“I beg your pardon.”
“What the fuck is this?”
His eyes are blazing, and not with the passion and desire I like to stoke. He is ripshit. I’ve made him angry before, certainly, but nothing like this.
“What does it look like?” I force my voice calm and collected, wipe all emotion from my features.
“It looks like you’re passing me off. Throwing me away. Is this your way of saying we’re done?”
My chest feels tight, like I can’t quite get air all the way down to the bottom of my lungs. I don’t care for the shallow inhales and exhales it forces. Makes me uneasy.
“I wouldn’t say throwing you away. I’d never…” Never throw you away. Never discard you. I want to keep you locked up for my own self, but I can’t. I’m not what you need, and I’m trying to give you that because you’re wonderful and you deserve that. I don’t say any of that, though. “But setting you up? Yes. I think perhaps we’re done here, and I’ve made some arrangements. I think you’ll find Julian to your liking. In fact, you seem to already.”
His face crumples in anger and incomprehension. He’s livid and confounded, and it’s not a good combination for him. Noxious, in fact, because he resorts to his fists instead of his words, pushing me again with palms at both my shoulders. This time I’m prepared and I don’t move an inch.
I let the emotions rage on his face, biting my tongue and fighting the urge to grab him by the collar, drag him past Julian to whom I’d offer a “Sorry, made a mistake, this one’s mine,” but I can’t. This is the right thing to do, and in a few days, perhaps a few weeks, we’ll all see it was true. Except maybe Allie, who looks as if I’ve ripped his soul out and am stomping on it. I’m a sadist to be sure, but soul-stomping is not one of my kinks. Nor is the devastated look on his face.
I’m expecting cutting words when he opens his mouth again, and I get them. Oh, do I ever.
“Do you not have feelings? Or do you not feel emotional pain, either, you freak?”
This is the other shoe. Usually I expect it to drop, but this one’s kicked me in the face. Or someone else’s whom it would actually pain. As it is, it would injure my vanity.
The tears gather at the corners of my eyes, but I clench my jaw and hold my voice steady. “I have feelings. I feel things very deeply. The only pain I’ve ever felt is emotional pain. Those are the only tears I’ve ever cried, the only ache I’ve ever felt, the only anguish I’ve ever experienced. So fuck you, Hart.”
Never do I lose my temper. Ever. I’m always patient, always in control. Whether it appears that way or not, I am always getting my way. This…this poking of holes in the walls of domination I’ve built, the complete and utter lack of being able to handle him… It’s nothing short of infuriating and confirms for me what I’ve long known to be true but put off because I was enjoying myself so much. I have to let him go. Have to send him away to be with someone who’s better suited.
Will they have the same volume of raw passion? I almost hope not, but what they will have is something more than I can ever give. Julian is a good choice for him. They’re well-matched in their kinks and intellect. They have a good shot at being compatible in the long-term, and Julian is willing and able to give Hart a family. Julian can make him happy. I’ll find my next project. And the one after that. Until my chessboard is cleared, until everyone is settled down and satisfied—however that might look for them—and I’ll be able to watch from on high and enjoy it all.
Who am I kidding? There will always be someone else in need. I’ll just have to help them all until the day I draw my last breath. Because helping people is the best, most important thing I can do. This is what I’ve chosen to be faithful to instead of whom.
I take a deep breath and close my eyes for a few seconds to settle myself, find that more comfortable mantle of managing pieces. That’s all Hart is—another project for me to manage—and my work here is done. It’s time to send him on his way. Not like this, though.
“Look, Hart. It’s been fun. I’ve enjoyed you. But…that’s all it’s ever been. I told you from the beginning I don’t play for keeps. I play for pleasure and for helping people reach their full potential. We’ve done that here, so there’s nothing more I can offer you. You have my word Julian will take excellent care of you, and if he doesn’t, call me. I’ll find you someone new.”
“At your regular rates, I suppose?”
The sharp offense in his tone strikes me at my center, and I nearly suck breath through my teeth at the impact. I hide my tell and go on because I need to go before the shell of my composure cracks. I give him my most charming grin. “Don’t be silly. For you? Gratis. Always.”
Foolishly, I reach out my hand in the hopes I’ll get to touch him one last time, feel his skin on my skin, steal one last memory of the strength of his touch. He looks at my invitation as though it’s poisonous. As if it’s hurting him by being offered. He doesn’t even snap at me again, but his mouth tightens as he turns away, as if there was something he wanted to say but didn’t.
I watch him as he walks back to where Julian is waiting for him. They do make an awfully handsome couple, Julian all golden and slight, Allie so dark and powerful. Knowing behind closed doors, Julian’s dancing eyes go flinty and hard and he’ll have Allie at his feet, panting and begging to be hurt more.
The bloom of jealousy in my chest is surely for that—the feeling of having a man like Hart submit to me. Nothing more. When Allie reaches him, Julian lays a hand on his biceps, his slim fingers looking strange against Allie’s bulk. They talk for a few minutes, Julian stroking him all the while over the worn cotton of that goddamn Henley. Then they’re turning, Julian’s touch going from the relative innocence of Allie’s arm to the intimate small of his back to lead him away and back into the inner sanctum of Elouisa’s den of iniquity. Julian looks over Hart’s shoulder toward me right before they turn a corner, his expression asking in silence, Are you sure about this?
Though I can’t quite breathe normally, I give him a raise of my chin and mouth, “Godspeed.”
He smiles back like the cat who got the canary before they disappear out of sight.
As for me…I slip out to the long drive to find my car. I’ll call Elouisa tomorrow and thank her for having me and to apologize for not saying so in person. For now, I start my car and drive off, feeling as though I’ve left something behind.
*
When I get home, Matthew is there. He’s on the phone, and he’s laughing. Something I’d rather not call jealousy alights between my shoulder blades because it must be Peter. Peter’s made my Matthew happy in a way I’d never be able to, in a way I’ll never make anyone happy, and it all suddenly seems unfair.
I didn’t make this choice. I was born the way I am, and I’ve fulfilled the role I’ve been assigned. Sometimes, though, I’d like to trade. I would give up this superpower if I could have a normal life, a normal love. If I could come home at the end of the day to someone I could call my own. Someone I wouldn’t have to give up and send away.
Allie’s face flashes across my memory, the pain in his eyes when I nudged him into Julian’s firm grip. It’s better this way. Better to give him up now before he gets too attached and convinces us both this is something we’re allowed.
Matthew’s hung up the phone with whispered goodbyes. When he turns to me, the easy smile on his face disappears.
“Are you all right, sir?”
No. I’m not all right. I’d guess this is what it feels like to have your heart ripped out of your chest. Or to stub your toe really hard. Or get a paper cut and then touch a lemon slice or a pickle. Maybe a kidney stone. Perhaps childbirth. All of those things people seem to know are excruciating. Maybe that’s what this would feel like if I weren’t a freak like Allie said.
“Nothing for you to trouble yourself with, Matthew.”
“Yes, sir.”
He eyes me suspiciously, as if he knows I’m lying through my teeth, and opens his mouth to say something, but then thinks better of it. Something I’ve always liked about Matthew; he knows when to shut the hell up.
“Are you ready or is there something you need to finish up?”
“I’m ready if you are, sir.”
“Lead the way.”
I watch Matthew’s slim hips sway slightly as he climbs the stairs, and when we get into my room, I stand in the middle of the floor so he can attend to me. It should be relaxing, Matthew serving me in this familiar and comfortable way. I should be finding pleasure in the elegant way he strips me, almost like a dance, in the economy of his movements. Instead I find myself watching him, studying him. I want to ask him a question, but I’m not sure I’m going to like the answer.
As he kneels to unzip my pants, I can’t keep it in anymore. So much for self-control.
“Matthew?”
“Yes, sir?”
He looks up at me, and regret streaks through my body. “Have I… Did I ever…”
“Sir?” Concern creases his forehead, and his gorgeous long lashes flutter against his cheeks in alarm. Poor, sweet boy. Stuttering is not something I do, and it’s distressing him. So I reach out a hand, smooth the springy mat of his hair, and his eyes close. Relief in the form of physical contact even if I can’t get my shit together to complete a fucking sentence.
“If I had—” His eyes blink open, and I want to stop talking, keep petting, keep us both in this place where everything’s the status quo. I don’t. “—asked you to stay. With me. When you told me about Peter. Would you have?”
His pink mouth, not as full as Allie’s but just as sweet, widens into a reluctant grimace.
“No, sir.”
My heart beats harder, faster, and I have to rein in the insult attempting to run away with my voice. You asked the question, asshole. “Why not?”
“Peter is… He’s not perfect. Not like you. But he wants me and he tells me so. I know I’m important to you. You make me feel valued and cared for. I love serving you, and I loved playing with you. You’ve taught me so much, and I have a lot more confidence than when I met you. You’ve always held yourself apart, though. Like you’re up there and everyone else is down here. Which makes sense. You’re a god. I’m not fit for a god. I belong with another mortal. Peter’s human. You need someone who feels they’re worthy of climbing Olympus, and that’s not me.”
“Matthew, I—”
“I don’t feel that way because of anything you’ve said or done. Not on purpose, anyway. It’s how you are, and I wouldn’t want you to be any different. It’s not anyone’s fault. And I’m happy. Peter makes me happy.”
“I’m glad. I am. You deserve all the happiness in the world.”
Matthew smiles—that lovely beatific smile that still gives my dick ideas—and proceeds with his task, sticking his hand down my pants to deal with the zipper. “So do you, you know.”
I make some gruff noise in response and stand still as Matthew finishes his work. When I lie down on the bed in anticipation of getting massaged, I can’t seem to find a comfortable spot. Nothing hurts, because it can’t, but it doesn’t feel quite right.