Chapter Eight #5
Jesse’s heart stuttered as those words seemed to reach inside him, brushing something—some fear, some truth about who he was and who he had once been and who he wanted to be—and threatening to bring that something forth.
But then Arthur hummed next to his ear and the soft vibrations sent little tremors of pleasure rippling over every inch of his body, making his muscles shake and banishing all thoughts from his mind.
“Yes, that’s it,” Arthur whispered as Jesse teetered on the precipice of release. “Almost there.” He kissed Jesse’s cheek. “Oh, what a pretty man you are, sweet Jesse.”
Arthur’s ridiculous compliment set Jesse’s soul ablaze. Letting out a moan, Jesse began to come.
“God, you are so beautiful like this,” Arthur said.
Once Jesse knew his cock was spent, he permitted himself to close his eyes as an unwelcome mixture of embarrassment and unease and fondness washed over him.
Arthur swiftly began to pepper his lips over every inch of his face, and then Arthur’s mouth finally found his, finishing this otherworldly experience with the most passionate kiss.
“Do you mind me calling you that?” Arthur asked, finally breaking their kiss. “Pretty?”
Jesse blinked a few times, trying to bring reality back into focus, but he was still lost in a haze from the intensity of his orgasm and the experience as a whole.
“I, uhm . . .”
His mind was still too muddled to know how to answer.
“I mean it in every sense of the word,” Arthur whispered warmly. “If that helps.” He kissed Jesse’s lips once. “Manly.” Another kiss. “Skillful.” Another. “Elegant.” Another. “And, of course, very, very pleasing to look at.”
Jesse’s stomach swooped. He knew that he’d better try to respond.
“It’s . . . fine, Arthur. You can call me that. If it’s something you like.”
Muscles tensing, Jesse prepared for Arthur to push back, to ask Jesse if he himself liked it, but, either because Arthur had noticed the unease in Jesse’s eyes or because he’d heard the slight quiver in Jesse’s voice when he answered, Arthur instead only smiled and said, “It is something I like.”
He leaned forward and caught Jesse’s mouth in a long kiss.
After they parted, Arthur rolled onto his back with a sigh, and Jesse forced himself to take a couple of cleansing breaths to try to loosen the knots that had formed in both his stomach and his shoulders.
But Arthur’s earlier words began to replay in his head, the postorgasmic fog lifting as Arthur’s voice reverberated in his ears like the echoing, metallic clang of a platen, each repetition inking the sentiment into Jesse’s brain.
Let me see you.
And Jesse had let Arthur see him. He had welcomed Arthur Hughes, one of the richest men in Chicago, into his little home.
Arthur had seen Jesse’s struggling neighborhood.
He had walked Jesse’s rickety staircase, had smelled the lingering stench of cooked cabbage and pickled vegetables, had felt the scratchy linen sheets covering Jesse’s bed.
He had seen Jesse naked, had watched him in the throes of pleasure, had seen the pathetic reaction he’d had to being called perfect and pretty and other terrible, wonderful things.
And now, Jesse couldn’t help but wonder if, regardless of the fact that Arthur had only bedded one other person before, he might be the type of man to take his pleasure and leave.
Jesus Christ, why had he brought Arthur here?
Arthur was a man who wanted for nothing.
And a man who wanted for nothing certainly couldn’t continue to want someone who was so far beneath him.
Arthur lolled his head to the side and met Jesse’s eyes, which were now watering slightly from the shameful acknowledgement of his foolishness.
“Are you nervous, Mr. O’Connor?” Arthur asked, crooking one of his eyebrows.
“Not nervous, exactly . . .” Jesse found a loose thread in the sheets and began to twirl it. “But I was thinking that perhaps you should go.”
“Go?”
“I’m sure you have places to be. I can walk you to the streetcar now. Or you can see yourself out. Whichever you prefer.”
“Jesse, I’m lost. Why would I want to leave?”
“You’re a busy man and—”
“I’m really not. I often keep myself busy, yes, but right now, I’m keeping myself busy here, with you. I only have to try to be back for dinner later, and even then, my family wouldn’t be surprised if I missed it. Emma wouldn’t be very happy, probably, but that’s nothing unusual.”
Emma. Oh God, Arthur had a family. He was wealthier in every possible way, wasn’t he?
Jesse knew that he ought to make Arthur leave, if only to save himself from having to continue to feel such shame over this important man seeing his meager little life here.
Before Jesse could reply, Arthur said, “If you’re thinking that I want to leave, I have to inform you that you are mistaken. Honestly, there’s nowhere I would rather be right now than here in this bed.”
He sat up on his elbow again. Jesse lifted his gaze to see Arthur inspecting the room, and his stomach soured.
“I mean, I like it here,” Arthur said. “It’s cozy.”
Jesse swallowed thickly. It wasn’t cozy. It was small.
Arthur continued. “You know, I’ve always been curious to know what it was like in the space above some of these shops, especially for the smaller buildings like this one.
I thought that maybe the area was used for storage or something, like at Putnam Press.
But it’s nice that some of them are homes like this one instead.
Did the, ehm, the building owner have to change the space or was it built like this? ”
Jesse cleared his throat.
“She changed it,” he managed. “She and her late husband used to live here, but now she has a, uhm, a real home. Some streets over.”
Arthur frowned. “I know what you’re trying to say, but this is a real home.”
Jesse wrinkled his nose. It wasn’t a home. It was a tiny rental space above a mediocre clothing store.
Arthur touched Jesse’s cheek. “I’m sure you think those are empty words coming from someone like me, but I mean them.
You live here. With your friend. And from what I can see, it’s well taken care of, within the means that you and your friend likely have for that sort of thing.
So, that makes it your home. And I’m so happy you wanted to show it to me, Jesse.
I hope I can show you my home sometime as well, though it isn’t as comfortable in some ways.
Because of my servants, we would have to be more careful, for example, even though they’re very lovely people.
Even having you come stay for a meal, my neighbors might wonder who you are if they happen to spot you.
Everyone knows everyone in my little circle. It’s . . . exhausting.”
Jesse tried to take comfort in Arthur’s words, tried to see his life, his home, through Arthur’s eyes. But even if Arthur was being sincere, it really only confirmed that what they had was finite. Because Arthur was Arthur Hughes. And Jesse . . .
Jesse was a man whose name—new or old—had no importance.
“I truly like being with you here,” Arthur said.
But Jesse couldn’t make himself believe it.
Sooner or later, if this thing between them continued, Arthur would realize how strange, how ridiculous, even, it was that they were together.
And when that happened, Jesse would be out of work.
He’d be back where he started before even enrolling in college.
Because someone as smart as Arthur wouldn’t let Jesse keep working at Putnam Press.
Only a fool would keep a scorned ex-lover on their payroll, especially an ex-lover who was a man.
“Oh, Jesse,” Arthur said, threading his fingers through Jesse’s hair and pulling Jesse out of the pit of self-pity, “I think that maybe I will have to leave soon, probably within the next hour or so. But I would love to see you again. Can I?”
Jesse looked into Arthur’s eyes—those spectacular oceanic pools that shimmered with mischief and care and playfulness—and found that he couldn’t say no.
Despite knowing how foolish it was, Jesse wanted nothing more than to let himself fall into them. Even though he might never resurface again.