The rest of him, the part that had wanted this man since he was seventeen years old, typed two words.
Jules:Yes, sir.
No response came after that. Jules didn’t expect one. Connor had gotten what he needed. Confirmation of submission before Jules ever walked through the door.
“You good?” Davis asked from the other end of the couch without looking away from the screen.
“Yeah.” Jules pocketed his phone. His pulse raced at the thought of what was to come. In less than twenty-four hours he’d be under the command of Connor Thorne. “I’m going out tomorrow night.”
Davis turned to face him, brow raised. “Are you now?”
“I am. Don’t wait up for me.”
His friend stared hard, doing some type of silent analysis. Whatever he saw made him nod once and turn back to the movie. No follow-up. No interrogation.
Jules loved that man like a brother.
714 Winlet Drive looked a lot different up close.
Admittedly, the first time he’d thought of where Connor stayed, he’d pictured a high-rise apartment. Something sleek and impersonal that matched the version of his professor the world got to see. The kind of place that looked curated rather than lived in.
Instead, he’d discovered the opposite. A sensible home, larger than average, with dark brick and clean landscaping. The night of his arrival, a porch light was on, but no other signs of life existed. Even the street was silent, as if it understood the weight of what was to come. The nearest neighbor was far enough away to mind their own business, a fact Jules was thankful for.
He wanted to be able to cry out Connor’s name without worry. Wanted to have that man take him apart in every room, every inch of the home until Jules could barely stand.
Connor hadn’t chosen a restaurant or a hotel. He’d given Jules his home address. The place where his walls came down, the professor and the businessman disappearing to his true self.
Jules sat in his car for a full minute, engine off, staring at the front door.
He wasn’t nervous. That wasn’t the right word. He was aware. Hyperaware of the fact that whatever happened on the other side of that door would be irreversible.
A few steps and his world would change.
Jules checked his reflection in the rearview mirror. He looked good. Calm, even, which was a spectacular lie but at least his face was selling it.
He took a deep breath and climbed from the car. In a blink he stood at the door, hand raised, pulse a galloping beast inside his chest.
Connor answered on the first knock. Jules was thankful he didn’t have to wait, yet he was completely unprepared for this version of the man.
His professor looked different. Not in any way Jules could physically point out. It was subtler than that. He wore dark slacks and a black henley pushed to his forearms, no layers to hide behind. His hair was slightly less controlled than the classroom version. His feet were bare.
Jules had never seen anything more disarming in his life.
Connor stepped aside without a word to give him room to enter. As Jules passed him, he took a deep breath in.Ah, yes. There he is.
The interior matched the exterior’s quaint confidence. Warm wood floors. Books everywhere, not decoratively shelved but instead stacked on surfaces and tabbed with sticky notes. A kitchen visible through an open archway, clean and organized. The whole place smelled like that same clean, woody scent from the office Jules knew could only ever be found with this man. Except here it waseverywhere. He felt as if he had a direct supply to his addiction of choice.
Jules wanted to explore the home more. Wanted to read every spine, open every drawer, map the private landscape of this man’s life the way he’d been mapping his public one for years.
Connor closed the door behind him, locking it with a resounding click of the deadbolt. It should have startled Jules.Maybe made him wary. Rather, his entire body sank into acceptance.
We’ve made it,he thought to himself.We’re here and he’s ours.
“Do you want a drink?” Connor asked.
“No, thanks.”
Connor studied him. That same grey-eyed assessment as he always did, though tonight it didn’t feel clinical. It felt like hunger wearing an ill-fitted mask of patience.
