3. Jules
JULES
Jules changed his shirt a dozen times before settling on the one he’d started with.
He decided not to look too closely at what this meant. He understood the value of presentation. It had been ingrained in him from a young age.
First impressions were currency, second impressions were credit, and a third impression, which this technically was, had to prove the first two weren’t flukes.
It was strategy. Good sense.
That was what he told himself, anyway, instead of admitting he’d stood in front of his mirror trying to figure out which shade of blue made him look best.
Davis had given him a hard stare on his way out. It said I know you’re being weird you little shit and I expect details later. Jules appreciated that he’d held back. An interrogation before his plans would destroy his confidence.
The walk from his apartment to campus filled him with far too much time to overthink. Whatever the professor had planned, he needed to be on his A-game. This was a battle he wanted to win. He needed to.
Despite their age difference, Jules knew Connor was meant to be his. He knew it just as well as he knew his father would disown him the minute he found out. He’d accept the black mark on his life if it meant getting to keep his professor by his side.
Jules arrived about fifteen minutes before the end of Connor’s office hours window. Early enough to be punctual. Close enough to the deadline to follow instructions.
The office was on the third floor, down a hallway that was far too pristine. It looked as if no one ever came this way except the professors themselves. Honestly, it was a possibility. Most students would rather send an email than go in person to ask a question.
He was the exception. Especially since he didn’t want a paper trail for what he hoped to happen.
The nameplate on the door read Prof. C. Thorne — Visiting Faculty in brass lettering that was too permanent for a man on a temporary contract. It further proved how much power this man had over others. Schools didn’t do this for everyone.
The solid wooden door was closed tight. Jules raised his hand to knock, paused, and listened. Nothing from inside. No voices, no typing, no sign that another student was finishing up.
Good. He wanted Connor alone. And he suspected the professor wanted the same.
He knocked twice, impatience leading him before the set time.
“Come in.”
Jules’s pulse went haywire as he pushed the door open.
The office was small and neat. Dark wood desk, cleared of everything except a laptop, a single pen, and a short stack of papers aligned with the edge of the desk so precisely it sent a shiver down his spine. What he wouldn’t give for the professor to give him that level of attention.
Bookshelves lined the wall behind Connor, filled with titles Jules couldn’t read from the doorway but desperately wanted to investigate.
More intel on this man was always a bonus.
A single window let in the pale grey light of an overcast afternoon.
While it may have seemed ominous to some, Jules viewed it as the perfect setting.
Connor sat behind the desk. He’d lost his suit jacket.
The charcoal waistcoat remained, fitted close over a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled to the forearm.
The same forearms Jules had salivated over in that first club encounter.
The same ones he’d thought about at once an hour while trying to pay attention in his other classes.
Connor looked up from his laptop. His expression gave away nothing. “Mr. Goode. Sit.”
Jules sat in the chair across from the desk.
It was lower than Connor’s by a deliberate few inches.
The difference was enough to force anyone sitting in it to look slightly upward.
A power play baked into the furniture. Jules didn’t mind the position one bit.
In fact, he’d love to be on his knees...
“You wanted to see me,” Jules said, pulling himself from the daydream.
“I gave you the information about my office hours. What you chose to do with that information was entirely up to you.” Connor closed his laptop, folding his hands on the desk. “You chose to be here.”
A reframe designed to put the weight of initiative back on Jules. As if Connor hadn’t specifically told him when to arrive. As if the instruction had been a suggestion instead of a forward command.
Two could play that game.
“I did,” Jules agreed. “I had questions about the syllabus.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
The honesty landed like a stone dropped into still water. Connor’s jaw tightened a fraction. It wasn’t annoyance in the move. It was understanding. Maybe even curiosity.
“Then why are you here, Mr. Goode?”
“Because you told me to be.” Jules held his gaze.
“You didn’t tell me to come during office hours.
You told me to come at the end, when everyone else would be gone.
So, either you have something to say that requires privacy, or you wanted to see if I’d follow instruction.
” He leaned back in the chair slightly. “Which is it, Professor?”
Connor studied him. The silence stretched long enough that Jules could hear the faint hum of fluorescent lighting and the distant thud of a door closing somewhere down the hallway.
“You’re bold,” Connor stated.
“You already knew that. One doesn’t approach you like I did without bravery.”
“I knew of your behavior in a setting where one can put on any mask they so choose. This is different.” Connor’s eyes moved over Jules’s face with that same assessing quality from Veil.
He took apart what he saw, filing each piece into whatever mental notes he was making.
“You’re in my office. In my department. And you’re sitting there telling me you didn’t come to discuss coursework despite that being what office hours are for. ”
“Is that a problem?”
“It’s a risk.”
“For whom?”
The question sat between them. Connor didn’t answer it.
Jules let the quiet do its work. He’d learned the man communicated as much through silence as speech. Connor’s silences weren’t empty. They were structural. Load bearing. His lack of words gave more away than if he gave an entire seminar on his thoughts.
At that exact moment, Connor’s avoidance was loud enough to fill the room.
“You looked me up,” Jules said. “After the club. You found my last name, connected it to your class roster, and you still let me sit in the front row without saying a word until the room was empty.”
Connor’s face didn’t change at all. At first glance he would seem unaffected. But his fingers… those gorgeous, long digits pressed together harder, changing them from tanned to nearly white.
“That’s a presumption on your part, Mr. Goode.”
Jules tilted his head. “It’s an observation, which is not the same thing. You teach that to your classes, right?”
The energy of the space shifted. Jules didn’t know if he’d issues a challenge to an angry bull or if he’d passed some secret test. He only knew he’d fight tooth and nail until he got a proper taste of his professor.
He needed it. He craved it.
Connor stood from his chair in a controlled motion. Slowly, he came around the desk and stopped before he reached Jules. Leaning back against the front edge of said desk, he crossed his arms.
The new position made him hover over Jules in a way that forced the younger man to tilt his head back in order to make eye contact. Connor was above him, far closer than he needed to be. He was close enough Jules to pick up his scent a clean, subtle fragrance that screamed money and power.
Jules felt like a bloodhound. Like he’d caught the scent of his prey and he needed to run, need to chase the object of his desire until he caught them. Except Jules wasn’t the true predator between them. Not by a long shot.
His body bypassed every rational thought and went straight to a part of his brain that did not care about syllabi or professional boundaries.
Jules thought of nothing but what his professor’s skin might taste like.
He wondered if the cock tucked away by thin layers of fabric would be as delicious as he’d hoped.
“Let me be clear about something,” Connor started.
His voice had dropped to a register closer to how he sounded in the club. It was controlled. Though Jules suspected just barely so.
The sexy professor continued after a long pause. “I don’t do this.”
“This?”
“Students. Men.” The second word landed harder than the first, as if it cost him something to say it. “Whatever you think happened at that club—”
“Something happened at that club. You know it did. That’s why I’m in this chair, and that’s why you’re standing closer to me instead of staying behind your desk.
This pull isn’t my imagination. It isn’t one sided.
” Jules let the full brunt of his need shine through.
It was vulnerable yes. But it was also necessary.
Connor’s arms stayed crossed, but Jules could see the tension in his hands. He was holding back, keeping himself in check
“You should leave.”
Jules’s brow rose at the statement. “Is that what you want, Professor?”
“It’s what’s appropriate,” he replied quickly.
“That isn’t what I asked. I want to know if it’s what you want?”
Jules stood slowly, giving Connor time to stop him, knowing he wouldn’t.
They were close now. Close enough that Jules could see the slight dilation of Connor’s pupils, the almost imperceptible shift in his breathing.
Close enough that the few inches Connor had on him in height felt less intimating and more like a challenge.
“Tell me to leave. Say the words and I’ll walk out that door and sit in the front row of your class for the rest of the semester and never mention Veil again. I’ll be your student and nothing else. But you have to actually say it.”
The words didn’t come. Jules knew they wouldn’t because he doubted Connor could lie to him convincingly in that moment.
Gorgeous, dark eyes dropped to Jules’s mouth for less than a second. While quick, it wasn’t fast enough for him to miss.