Chapter Seventeen
Jesse
Hours later, Jesse was wandering through Arthur’s house in search of the library.
Earlier, Arthur had told him where to go, promising that he’d meet him there soon.
But now Jesse was feeling a little lost. Unless Jesse had misheard, Arthur had said that the library was on the first floor, but the room that Jesse had first poked his head into seemed more like a parlor or study, rather than a library, though it did have one small bookcase in the far corner.
Did one bookcase constitute a library? Jesse couldn’t be sure.
After all, his own “library” only had one bookcase.
Jesse thought that he might try the next room over. His muscles tensed as he leaned forward to peek inside, and he breathed a sigh of relief once he saw the many, many bookcases filled with books. He had found it.
Quickly, Jesse went in and closed the door behind him.
He walked toward the center of the room, his eyes flitting from one area to the next as he took in the space.
Even more impressive than the sheer number of books was the craftsmanship of the beautiful bookcases, which were embellished with little wooden flowers, not unlike the ones he had seen on the banister before.
Jesse walked over to one of them. After a pause, he reached out to touch the books with his fingertips, brushing them over the spines, and then plucked one of the books off of a shelf at random.
The Portrait of a Lady by Henry James. It sounded familiar.
As soon as Jesse flipped open the book to the first page, he realized why.
He’d read this book before. Not in this format, though.
One of the corner stores in his old neighborhood had stocked the magazines where the story had originally been published.
Back then, before Jesse had begun venturing to the public library on a regular basis, he’d worked his way through every single one of the books and stories and magazines that their corner store mini-library kept on hand.
And then, much later, Jesse had worked in that very corner store himself in order to save up for room and board at Illinois Industrial. How much time had passed since.
Mind adrift in memory, Jesse ran his fingers over the text.
Back when he’d first begun reading so much, he’d wished so fervently to be able to have his own library someday.
One that was made up of more than a single wobbly bookcase half-filled with books.
But books were expensive. Half of the books that Jesse currently owned were textbooks that he’d needed for school, rather than ones he’d wanted to read for fun.
But Arthur Hughes . . . holy hell, the man owned so many of them.
Self-reproach twisted in Jesse’s stomach.
Long ago, he’d lost his chance at ever coming close to having his own library, even one that was one-tenth of the size of Arthur’s.
Hell, maybe he’d never really stood a chance of ever having something like this at all, even if he had finished school.
Jesse could barely comprehend the level of Arthur’s wealth for him to have a home like this one.
Or even in order to have a library that consisted of more than a handful of half-filled shelves.
Jesse’s blood spiked with resentment, and he set the book back on the shelf.
As he turned, his cheeks flooded with warmth, embarrassment over his pathetic past and his mediocre present and his inevitably still-mediocre future mixing with the fiery fury he still felt toward Chicago’s elite on a whole.
He needed to leave.
But then, before Jesse even made it halfway across the room, Arthur came into the library, his beautiful blue eyes shimmering with what looked like fondness and regret in one.
“Jesse,” Arthur breathed as he shut the door. Reaching behind his back, Arthur locked the door without breaking eye contact, and then he took two large steps forward before suddenly stopping. “God, Jesse, I’m so sorry.”
Jesse froze. He simultaneously wanted to run into Arthur’s arms and curl into a little ball so that Arthur couldn’t continue to look at him in his ready-made suit.
“Do you forgive me?” Arthur asked.
Jesse’s eyes fell to the floor. He spotted his scuffed-up shoes and winced. Arthur took a couple more steps toward him.
“I want to fix things between us,” Arthur said. “And I hope I still can?”
After two more ticks of the clock, Jesse cleared his throat.
“Arthur, this party, it’s very sweet, but I’m still not sure that I . . . belong.”
“What?!” Arthur spluttered, recoiling a little. “Of course you belong.”
Jesse shook his head. “I work in a print shop.”
“I love that you do.”
“I live in Bridgeport.”
“And I love your home.”
Dammit, this was so much harder than Jesse had imagined it would be.
Shutting his eyes, Jesse said, “I’m not enough for you. I can’t be.”
Shame flooded his cheeks. Fuck.
Within two beats of Jesse’s heart, Arthur closed the gap between them. He took Jesse’s face in both of his hands and forced Jesse to meet his eyes.
“Oh, my sweet Jesse, you are more than enough.”
“I’m not,” Jesse said, his voice cracking in the most humiliating manner possible.
“Arthur, look at your life. And then look at mine. You were right to send me home that night. If not because of my shoddy clothes, then to spare me from future heartbreak. Heartbreak that will come when the newness of our relationship wears off and you realize how ridiculous it is for someone like you to be with someone like me.”
Arthur began to stroke Jesse’s cheeks with his thumbs.
“It was wrong of me to have sent you home. I’m so truly sorry that I hurt you like that. And including you in my life will be the most sensible thing that I’ll have ever done.”
Jesse took a step back, pulling away. He couldn’t contain his shameful truth for even a moment more.
“I’m from Lake Township, Arthur. Do you know where that is?
” he spat. “It’s in the back of the fucking Union Stockyard.
It’s one of the poorest neighborhoods in the whole Goddamned city.
And I lived there. I was raised there. I only barely made it out, and even then, I only made it to fucking Bridgeport, where I’m practically on the brink of homelessness.
You live here on Prairie Avenue. One of the wealthiest neighborhoods, if not the wealthiest neighborhood, in the city.
Or, hell, maybe even one of the wealthiest neighborhoods in the whole entire country.
You live in a beautiful, expensive neighborhood in a ridiculously ostentatious mansion and—”
“It is a little ridiculous, now that you mention it,” Arthur interrupted with a soft chuckle that made Jesse’s heart flutter and his knees weak.
He clenched his teeth.
“Dammit, I should hate you. In fact, I did hate you. When we first met, I hated you because of your money. And still sometimes, I . . .” Swallowing past the lump in his throat, Jesse blinked back tears. “Arthur, why would you want me?”
“Because you’re perfect to me, Jesse.”
“I can’t be.”
“You are.”
“Look at your home. It makes no sense.”
“Does it have to?”
Before Jesse could make even one more peep of protest in response, Arthur took hold of his lapels and pulled him in for a hard kiss. Jesse let out a little whimper-sob the moment their lips crashed together, Arthur’s clearly evident passion nearly bringing him to his knees.
“I want you in my life, Jesse,” Arthur rasped out between kisses. “Always.”
Jesse let out one more half sob.
“You’re enough for me, Mr. O’Connor,” Arthur said. “I promise.”
Over the next few minutes, the two continued to kiss, and in between the passionate meetings of their lips, Arthur kept on repeating those same beautiful words over and over.
You’re enough for me.
Each repetition of this wonderful, ridiculous statement soothed Jesse’s injured heart a little more, and finally, Jesse began to let himself believe in its truth.
Arthur really was trying to make things right.
And, fuck, for some reason, Jesse wanted to let him.
Slowly, Jesse’s lingering heartbreak and self-loathing and sorrow began to wane, the emotions receding and leaving only lust and like and want in their wake.
Surrendering to his hope that Arthur might mean those beautiful words, Jesse fisted Arthur’s hair and moaned.
After what seemed like a brief moment of hesitation, Arthur’s hand found Jesse’s backside.
Jesse’s cock began to stiffen as their tongues touched.
“Oh, how I’ve missed you,” Arthur said through an exhale, momentarily breaking their kiss.
Jesse’s heart fluttered. “I missed you, too.”
Arthur began fumbling for something, and before Jesse could break away to see what it was, the soft sound of fabric rustling followed by a light snap of cloth reached his ears.
Jesse opened his eyes to see Arthur clutching a white handkerchief, and then the man’s hands found the hem of Jesse’s pants.
“I want to touch you,” Arthur said. “I want to show you how much I’ve missed you.” After popping the first button, he paused to look in Jesse’s eyes. “May I?”
Swallowing hard, Jesse nodded, a lightning bolt of arousal causing his cock to twitch in the confines of his trousers. Arthur missed him. Arthur wanted him.
Oh, fuck, and Jesse wanted him, too.
Jesse let out a needy sigh as Arthur finished unfastening his pants and drawers, and then, in one fast motion, Arthur pulled both of them halfway to Jesse’s knees, just low enough to free his waiting cock.
Arthur straightened back up and Jesse leaned forward to rest his head on Arthur’s shoulder as Arthur wrapped his hand around Jesse’s length.
Both of them watched as Arthur began to pump his fist. Jesse eked out a soft whimper as pleasure settled low in his stomach.
Only a few seconds in, Jesse’s cock began to leak, copious pre-ejaculate coating his shaft.
“There we are,” Arthur whispered. “Look how lovely that is.”