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Caleb rose and took it, his grip as firm as hers.
“Thank you, ma’am,” he said again, a sense of purpose solidifying within him. “You won’t regret it.”
She led him back to the exit, and he remained calm as he said goodbye. He walked out, each step measured, betraying none of the storm brewing inside. Behind him, the door closed, the click like the cocking of a gun. He had two days. Two days to prepare for the role of a lifetime—surviving in enemy territory.
Cheers went up when he got back to the mansion—after making sure his car had no trackers and no one followed him—and announced he’d gotten the job.
“Congrats, kid,” Wander said, the gruff edge to his voice not quite masking his concern. “You’re playing in the big leagues now.”
“Damn straight.” Caleb shot back, a half-cocked grin tugging at his lips despite the gravity of the situation.
Relief flooded through him, a sweet release after the tension of the interview. Yet beneath it simmered an undercurrent of something else—pride, maybe, or the thrill of the challenge ahead. It was a feeling he savored, one that reminded him of why he fought, why he played the game.
“Let’s toast to the man of the hour,” Ryan called out, and glasses were raised in salute.
Caleb’s gaze flicked to the empty chair, Roman’s absence a silent scream in the celebration. Soon, he’d seek him out, address the worry he knew would be etched in those dark eyes. But for now, Caleb let the camaraderie wash over him, anchoring himself in the present, in the victory.
The celebration had waned, the last echoes of laughter and clinking glasses fading into a quiet blanketing the mansion. Caleb’s sense of triumph was a receding tide, ebbing away as he felt Roman’s absence. The weight of what had been left unsaid pulled at Caleb’s gut.
He found Roman in his room, the space dimly lit, the air heavy with an unspoken tension. Roman sat on the edge of the bed, his hands clasped tightly, the knuckles white. He’d hung his jacket over a chair, loosened his tie, and rolled up his sleeves, his usual impeccable appearance like a shield discarded.
“Roman,” Caleb whispered, but it was enough to draw those deep brown eyes up to meet his.
“Judging by the cheers, I assume you got the job?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Caleb.” Roman’s use of Caleb’s name now bore a different tone, one laden with concern. “You sure about this?”
Caleb nodded, but the certainty he’d felt earlier was a flickering flame in the draft of Roman’s worry. He closed the distance between them until he stood before him. Without a word, he dropped to his knees, the gesture raw and telling.
Roman gasped, his gaze locked on Caleb’s submission. It was a silent conversation, but this wasn’t about play or power exchange. This was comfort, connection, Caleb’s way of saying he understood the risks and the fear that shadowed them both.
“Jesus, Caleb,” Roman muttered, the words rough around the edges. He reached out his hand, hovered, then gently rested it atop Caleb’s head. The tremble in that touch showed a vulnerability rarely seen in the stoic DA.
“Hey,” Caleb said softly, looking up, “I’ve got this. I’m not some rookie.”
“I know. I’m an ass. I should’ve… Fuck, Caleb, I should’ve handled this better.” Roman raked a hand through his short dark hair, a gesture of frustration that Caleb found both endearing and heart-wrenching.
Caleb’s throat tightened, but he managed to keep his composure. “You don’t have to apologize for caring.”
“Yeah, but…” Roman sighed heavily as if the weight of his words was almost too much to bear. “I’m worried about you taking this job, stepping into the lion’s den. It’s not just the risk. It’s the thought of you…of anything happening to you.” His voice dropped to a whisper, a confession torn from somewhere deep within.
Did that mean Roman cared for him? Like, truly cared for him? Caleb was afraid to ask. Instead, he placed a tentative hand on Roman’s forearm, the warmth of his skin grounding him. A storm of feelings swirled in Roman’s gaze. Caleb’s heart thudded against his ribcage. For a moment, time seemed suspended, the world reduced to the space they shared. Then Roman exhaled, a surrendering breath that seemed to carry the weight of his fears.
“Caleb, my sweet boy,” Roman said. The unexpected term of endearment sent lightning sparks through Caleb’s body. “I know you’re competent and skilled.” He lifted his hand to Caleb’s shoulder but didn’t touch it as though afraid the contact might shatter them both. “I’m scared for you. Scared shitless. I can’t mask that with pleasure or pain. Not this time. I need?—”
His voice broke, a rare crack in Roman’s composed facade. He swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing. “I need more than that.”
The words stung like a slap of reality cold against Caleb’s cheek. Wasn’t his surrender enough? “More?”
“I need you. Not Caleb the sub. Caleb the man. No games, no play. Just you and me.”
Caleb’s breath hitched, the sting blooming into understanding. This wasn’t a rejection. This was Roman laid bare, stripped of the pretense that their games could outrun reality. Caleb rose, closing the space Roman’s fear had carved out.
“Okay,” Caleb said, voice thick. “Tonight, we’re Caleb and Roman, not sub and Dom.”
“Christ,” Roman murmured, relief mingling with the turmoil across his features. “You have no idea how much I needed to hear that.”
