18. The Switch
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
THE SWITCH
Malakai
I stare at the email for several minutes, trembling with barely contained fury.
Despite having a couple of conversations with Chase, my brother, it appears that Rod fucking Dumplant went behind my back and contacted Bradleigh Evan’s mother, Victoria, copying me in.
The subject line is insulting enough. “Concerns Regarding Bradleigh Evans” —as if her mere existence is simply a logistical issue to be dealt with and forgotten.
The email is overly formal and dripping with condescension, and it makes me fucking angry on her behalf.
In the email, he cites concerns raised by members of our school community regarding Bradleigh, as well as exploring alternative options that might be in Bradleigh’s best interest. He goes on to say that the current environment is “clearly challenging for her.” As an added insult—aka “after much prayer and reflection”—he goes on to say it would be prudent to consider transferring Bradleigh to a school better equipped to meet her unique needs.
He even attaches a list of nearby institutions and offers to assist Victoria in planning to ease the transition.
Bastard.
My jaw clenches so hard it’s a wonder my teeth don’t shatter.
If the devil is a person, surely Rod Dumplant would qualify.
Deciding for Bradleigh—behind my back and behind Victoria’s back—that she would be better off somewhere else? That we’d be better off without her? He might as well have said outright that she doesn’t belong at Saint Helena.
My eyes move down to the next email.
Victoria had responded almost immediately. She rejected his offer and asked for a meeting between the three of us to understand what steps are being taken to address the harassment her daughter has experienced, rather than move her out of an environment she’s already adjusted to.
I smile when I read it, thankful she’s not going to bow down to Rod’s ridiculous suggestion, but it also makes me angrier. She shouldn’t have to defend her daughter’s right to exist at this school. Rod knows this isn’t a practical solution for Victoria—not with her long work hours and inability to juggle even more of a commute. He knows, and he still chose to frame this as if he were doing her a favor.
But the thing that pisses me off the most is that he copied me into the email in the first place. He wants me to be complicit—to nod along to his sanctimonious, little charade.
When I was a pastor, I used to speak on the paradox of tolerance. It’s essentially a philosophical concept that goes like this: if a society is too tolerant of intolerance, it will eventually be dominated by intolerance, which will therefore undermine the principle of tolerance itself.
My fingers hover over the keyboard, and I ruminate on Rod’s email for a few minutes before deciding to respond.
Fuck it.
I email Rod and let him know that we need to talk, making sure I loop Chase into the email. Then I email Victoria separately, agreeing to her meeting, and ensuring she knows that in my school, as headmaster, Bradleigh is and always will be welcome to pursue her education. I’m not shy about stating that I disagree with Rod’s email, either.
Just after hitting send, my phone lights up.
Julian
We need to talk.
Running a hand through my hair, I let out a long sigh.
Now?
Julian
Yes.
Okay. I’m at home if you want to stop by.
Julian
Sure. I’m at a bar downtown so I’ll walk over.
After sending a thumbs-up, I slam my laptop shut and stand up, stretching. Willy comes trotting into the living room, squeaking as he weaves between my feet.
“Yeah, yeah. Let’s go on a quick walk before Julian comes over.”
Grabbing Willy’s leash, I pocket my phone and keys before wrapping his harness around his chest and securing the leash. Though it took a few months, I’d trained Willy to go on walks. He had his own playroom in my apartment with a large enclosure for when I’m at work, but he’s still a wild animal and needs a lot of exercise. I’m about half a mile from downtown, so I know I have a few minutes before Julian turns up. Despite weighing only three pounds, Willy pulls on the leash and attempts to get into every single thing we encounter. I get a few strange looks, as always, because of his size and giant ears. But after a quick jaunt around the block, he’s panting and seems content with our shorter-than-normal walk.
As I round the corner of my level, I see Julian leaning against the door of my apartment building. As I walk closer, he lifts his head from his phone, looking at me quickly before dropping his eyes to Willy.
“Tell me you did not train a fox to walk on a lead.”
Smirking, I shrug as I walk up to him to open the door. I get a whiff of whiskey and his musky, bergamot scent, and I hate how much I’ve come to enjoy his smell.
“He can use a litter box, too.”
Julian scoffs. “Fuck off.”
I chuckle and we take the elevator up to my floor. Once we’re inside my apartment, the door closes behind us and I crouch down and unclasp Willy’s harness. He yips and squeaks a few times before running wildly into his playroom. As I stand, I look back at Julian, who is hovering near the front door.
Why is it that I’m always aware of his presence now? I don’t remember feeling this way when we were teenagers.
Then again, I wasn’t fucking his wife while she fed me his cum back then, either.
But right now? He’s like a storm cloud, ready to burst. And I suppose he’s always been that way—always had an astounding effect on his surroundings. I used to say it was because he had a larger-than-life personality, but now I’m wondering if it’s more than that.
Especially as his sharp gaze cuts through the dim lighting, pinning me in place.
“You wanted to talk?” I ask. My voice is steadier than I feel. There’s no point in dancing around the fact that he texted me and wants to talk. Also, the fact that he’s here on a Wednesday night, at nearly nine in the evening, instead of at home with Sophie, sends a nervous thrill through me. My stomach twists with nerves, and I don’t want to examine why too closely.
Julian shrugs off his suit jacket in a singular fluid motion, laying it over the back of my couch with practiced precision. Leaning against the back of it with two hands, he looks back up at me. His expression is relaxed, and I know I didn’t misplace the smell of whiskey earlier. He’s been drinking.
I don’t know why that thought makes my heart begin to race.
His eyes gleam with something darker as he huffs a laugh.
“Yeah,” he finally says. “I wanted to talk about what happened on Saturday. And Sunday. At the gym.”
My hands, mid-motion to set my keys and phone on the entryway table, go still. The memory of what he said in the locker room echoes too vividly in my head. Forcing myself to gently place my belongings down, I slide my hands in the pockets of my pants as I attempt to project the nonchalance I don’t feel.
“What about it?” My voice comes out too quiet—too careful.
He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he remains behind my couch, which is probably for the best, considering he pinned me against the cold, metal lockers the last time we saw each other. Everything inside of me tightens when I think of his hand against my back.
When I think of how in control he was, and how I could’ve moved, but instead submitted.
“Well, first of all, I’m sorry for ripping up your contract on Saturday. And I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable in any way. I didn’t expect to get so riled up, uh, watching.”
I stop breathing, fighting the urge to look away, to escape the weight of what he’s admitting.
I knew he was riled up. I could tell by the way he touched himself. But to hear him admit it…
“As for the locker room,” he continues. His voice has an edge to it now. “I suppose I was…” He hesitates, running a hand through his hair before letting it fall over his forehead. “I was still angry about what happened that night seventeen years ago. And I wanted to hurt you.”
The floor feels unsteady, and I swallow hard, unsure of where to go from here. The words from the locker room work through me again, just as sharp and biting as the first time.
My wife enjoyed her night, and so did I. Thank you for your service.
And then the murmur that followed, venomous and deliberate…
How does it feel to be used? Payback’s a bitch, isn’t it?
The memory burns, but I can’t ignore the heat it stirs in me—something jagged and raw, but unmistakably alive.
Julian’s voice pulls me back to the present. “It was immature of me to taunt you. So, I’m sorry.”
I stare at him as my heart pounds against my ribs. Truth be told, his words hurt more than I’d like to admit. There was something pulling me closer to both Julian and Sophie, and with those words, he’d drawn a line in the ground and treated me like a male escort. Not that there was anything wrong with sex work, but I suppose I just assumed that whatever the three of us had went deeper than that.
He’d made me feel like a mere transaction, and I was still reeling from it.
“Sorry,” I echo, the words like ash in my mouth. “That’s it? That’s why you wanted to talk?”
Julian clenches his jaw. “What do you expect me to say, Kai? That I’m sorry for still being angry all these years later? Do you blame me for that? You kissed me and walked away like it meant nothing.” His voice rises in volume, getting sharper with each word. “Or should I apologize for wanting to break you a little? For wanting to see if you’d fall apart under me?”
The air between us crackles with electricity. My breathing turns uneven, and I can’t seem to look away from him. His blue eyes—so familiar, and yet not—burn too brightly, too full of truths I’m not ready to face.
“Julian,” I start, my voice faltering. I run a hand over my mouth, and I don’t even know what I’m trying to say.
“No. Don’t ‘Julian’ me,” he snaps, his voice cracking on the last word. It lends a sliver of vulnerability that doesn’t match the steel in his words. “I’ve been trying to move past this. You. For seventeen fucking years. But then you came back into my life, and I…” He exhales sharply, like the words are physically wounding him. “I can’t seem to help myself.”
He steps around the couch, and suddenly he’s in front of me, close enough that I can see the gold flecks in his eyes and the tightness in his jaw.
Close enough that I’m not sure I’ll survive this moment if I don’t touch him.
Or maybe if I do.
His chest rises and falls as I try to form the right words. “It’s complicated. With me… I’m just…”
My control slips away with every second that passes, like sand through my fingers. As his eyes dip to my lips, I forget what I’m fighting against, exactly. Because this? I’ve never felt anything like this before.
“Maybe you’re not the only one who can’t seem to move on,” I offer, my voice low and shaking.
His expression gleams with something… surprise, maybe. Or hope. But it’s gone in half a second, replaced by a look so dark and intense that it makes my knees weak.
“Say it,” Julian whispers, stepping closer. His voice is a command, but his eyes are pleading. “Say what you want, Kai.”
My pulse is roaring in my ears, but I can’t seem to find the words. The silence hangs between us, heavy and suffocating.
And then Julian’s hand brushes against mine.
The touch is fleeting. Exploratory. But it’s enough to shatter whatever fragile hold I had on my composure.
“I don’t know what I want,” I admit, my voice cracking. “But I think… I think I want you to show me.”
His breath catches, and for a moment, neither of us moves.
Then his hand curls around my wrist, firm but not painful. Suddenly, the world narrows to the heat of his calloused skin against mine.
“Kai.” My name is quieter on his lips than I expect—soft enough to send a shiver through me. He doesn’t let go of my wrist, and I don’t pull away. His gaze meets mine, steady and confident. Despite that, though, he hesitates. His thumb brushes over the edge of my palm, sending a jolt of sensation straight to my cock. “You know Sophie and I have an understanding.”
My core clenches. “Yes. I’m aware. I was there on Saturday, after all,” I add, arching a brow.
Julian steps closer, and I inhale sharply as he slides his other hand down to my free one, lacing both his hands with mine. It’s both comforting and electrifying all at once, and I feel like I might spontaneously combust at any moment.
“Right. But I’m not talking about that. You and me? What happened between us? It’s not a secret to her.” I can’t look away—not now, when his voice dips into something softer. Something raw and real. “What I mean to say is that she knows what you mean to me, and she’s fine with it. More than fine.”
His words hit me like a punch to the gut. “She’s fine with this?” I ask, pressing my body against his.
I know I’m taunting him right back, but I’m still feeling a little petty from the alpha show-off in the locker room the other day. Plus, admitting… all of this… is leaving me with no filter.
“Not just fine,” he murmurs. The heat of his breath feathers against my cheek. “She’s encouraging it. This is bigger than just you and me, Kai. But I don’t want to push you into anything you’re not ready for.”
His words land heavily between us, and my breath catches as one of his hands comes to rest on my hip, warm and steady.
“What exactly are you saying?”
His lips twist into a faint smile. “Sophie wants this. All of us, together. But she knows this—you and me, alone—is important. To me. And perhaps to you, too.”
I swallow. The meaning behind his words settles in my chest, and they swirl in my gut in a dangerous mix of terror and relief.
“Like last weekend?” I ask, feeling like I’m laying everything on the table.
“Yes. But also… more. Perhaps keeping it casual, but still exploring what this could be. For all three of us.”
“And Sunday at the gym? Was that for all three of us?” I ask, the question slipping out before I can think it through.
His gaze hardens on mine, and my stomach twists when it morphs into something uninhibited.
“No,” he says firmly, his voice a low growl. “Sunday was for me. Just me.”
The scent of whiskey washes over me, and I have the sudden urge to kiss him, to taste it for myself. I’m suddenly reminded of that night seventeen years ago—the sweet, buttery scent of his breath, and the scent of him that always smells slightly of bergamot. It triggers that kiss to flash through my mind violently, and I can’t help but hold back a groan.
My apartment suddenly feels too small, and the air feels explosive.
“And what about this?” I ask, my eyes dipping to his lips. His tongue darts out, wetting them, and I unconsciously step closer so that he can feel how hard I am.
“I think we both know there’s something more here than either of us wants to admit.”
I’m not sure who moves first, him or me, but when his lips press against mine, it’s not tentative. It’s steady, the kind of kiss that doesn’t ask.
It only takes.
Groaning, I move my hand from his wrist to his hip, pulling him into me. I’m suddenly pulled back right back to that moment seventeen years ago again, when we found ourselves in this same exact scenario. This kiss is… just as good as it was almost two decades ago, if not better. He moans into my mouth, the sound vibrating through me like a thunderclap. A thousand white-hot bolts of electricity shoot through me as his tongue parts my lips, the taste of whiskey smoky and sharp. Without thinking, I rut against him, desperate and mindless, but it’s like hitting a wall of steel.
It feels like temptation incarnate—the kind of surrender I used to preach against.
But there’s no altar here, no pews to kneel at. Just Julian, and the way his gaze strips me down to the marrow.
He breaks the kiss suddenly, but his hands on my shoulders keep me steady and hold me in place. His chest is heaving, but his eyes are razor-sharp, cutting through my haze of arousal.
“No,” he says, his voice steady but laced with heat. “You don’t get to take over. Not tonight.”
His voice grounds me, but the connotation makes me feel dizzy with something I don’t recognize. He shifts his body, pressing me back until my shoulders hit the opposite wall of my living room. The cool surface shocks my overheated skin.
I should push back. I should shove him away, remind him who’s stronger, who’s always in charge. But my body doesn’t listen. It melts into the wall behind me, as if I’ve been waiting for this… for him. That thought alone should terrify me, but it doesn’t. It feels like breathing, like some part of me has been holding its breath for seventeen fucking years.
“You want this?” he murmurs, his voice a velvet purr. His knee slides between my thighs, pinning me in place, and fuck if I don’t love the way it feels to give in to his dominance. I nod, unsure if I’m capable of speaking, and he cracks a dangerous smile. “Then show me.”
He presses against me, and the weight of him against my body is unyielding. He places both hands on either side of my head, and I realize that he’s caging me in, trapping me here beneath him.
Just like in the locker room.
For the first time in my life, I let myself feel it.
The raw, undeniable thrill of surrender.
I could stop this—I trust him to step back if I needed him to. I’m not sure if I want to know what it feels like to let him win… or if I’m scared I’ll never want him to stop.
My body loosens, and as his eyes bore into mine, I let my eyes dip to the space between us.
“You’re used to being in control, aren’t you?” Julian’s voice is a knife’s edge, cutting through the tension. “But not with me.”
I can’t answer him—can’t seem to find my voice. My breath is caught somewhere in my throat, and as his lips brush my jaw, my eyes flutter closed.
“Not with me,” he repeats, whispering the words down to the pulse thrumming at the base of my neck.
I shudder as he grazes my skin with his teeth, and a sound that is half whimper, half plea escapes me.
I’m certain I’ve never made that fucking noise before.
“Admit it,” he demands, his knee pressing up and into my cock. It takes everything not to thrust against his warm thigh.
A sharp gasp escapes my lips. “Yes,” I choke out, the word falling from me like a confession.
Julian rears his head back just enough to look me in the eye. His expression is smug and triumphant, and I don’t even fucking care. I’m under some sort of spell here, and it’s fucking terrifying.
But also exhilarating.
His hand slides up to cup my jaw, and his thumb brushes my lower lip. “Good boy.”
He takes a step back and his hand drops away. I miss the warmth instantly, and Julian just smirks as he studies me.
“Think about it, Kai. About what this could be.”
Just as he turns to walk out, I panic and blurt the first thing I can think of. “I don’t need to think about it.”
He turns back to face me as he shrugs his jacket back on, giving me a knowing smile. “Good. Because neither do I.”
The sound of my front door closing barely registers after he leaves, but the heat of him, the weight of his words, lingers. And for the first time, I’m not sure if I’m terrified—or ready.
I sink onto the couch, the weight of what just happened pressing down like iron shackles. The air feels different, charged, like a storm just passed through. My lips are swollen, and I swear I can still feel Julian’s breath against my neck. It’s fucking pathetic… but I don’t move for a long time.
Because what just happened didn’t feel like defeat. It didn’t feel wrong. The only thing I feel is relief—that submitting to Julian felt like taking a deep breath for the first time in a very long time.