Chapter 34
Kai
We each ordered a different dessert, but Haven seems more interested in Rooke’s chocolate mousse than her cheesecake. I’ve nearly finished my brown butter ice cream, glaring at anyone who glanced my way as I practically inhaled the candied maple bacon it came with.
How am I supposed to share something so good?
Rooke doesn’t have that issue. His Belgian chocolate mousse is almost finished, too, but most of it’s gone into Haven’s mouth—via his spoon.
“One more bite,” he says.
“You’ve barely had any,” she protests weakly, but leans forward anyway, letting him slide his spoon between her lips.
She looks so fucking amazing tonight, no wonder he can’t stop feeding her. When she stepped out of the Airbnb’s bathroom to show me her dress, I nearly passed out from all the blood in my body rushing to my cock.
That’s why we were late. Not because Eric had other trips to make…but because I ripped down Haven’s underwear and fucked her against the wall so hard, I tore the pantyhose she’d been planning to wear.
Her eyes flutter closed as she works her mouth around the mousse. The soft moan she lets out has my cock twitching in my slacks.
Again.
I came down Rooke’s throat less than an hour ago and I’m already hard again, just watching him feed my girlfriend dessert.
This is ridiculous.
I grab my wine glass and drain what’s left, trying to drown myself with the alcohol. It doesn’t work. Nothing works. Every time I look at Rooke—at his mouth, his hands, the satisfied curve of his lips—I remember what he did under the table.
And how much I liked it.
“Try some,” Haven says, nudging Rooke’s plate toward me.
Our professor turns to me, scooping some of the mousse onto his spoon with a bit of the Chantilly cream garnish. “It’s superb,” he murmurs, bringing it closer to my mouth.
I push his hand away. “I’m fine.”
Haven pouts like a four-year-old. “Come on, Kai. Just take a—”
“I said I’m fine.”
She flinches at the sharpness in my voice. Rooke’s eyes narrow slightly.
He probably knows exactly why I’m on edge. Why my jaw is clenched tight enough to crack my teeth.
I’m still fighting what I feel.
Still fighting him.
Because this—the fancy restaurant, the expensive wine, him getting on his knees—none of it changes what he is. I’m not sure he even remembers half of what he’s done. That’s the only logical reason he thinks getting on his knees will fix anything.
“You really think one—” I drop my voice “—blow job is enough?”
Rooke’s spoon pauses halfway to his mouth, his mouth quirking into a wicked smile. “Want another?”
Haven chokes on her wine, giggling until I kick her under the table like she kicked me earlier.
“You really expect us to buy this crap when you still have ammunition against us?”
Haven throws Rooke a concerned glance. “What ammu—”
“The video, Rooke.” I lean toward him, elbows on the table, forcing him to meet my eyes. “The one you took of me and Haven after the Rain Dance. Where it looks like—”
I can’t finish the sentence.
Where it looks like I’m raping her.
Haven’s hand finds my thigh under the table, squeezing.
“You took a video of us?” she asks, sounding less horrified and more…guilty? Ashamed?
I don’t look at her. I can’t. All my focus is on Rooke and the way his expression has gone carefully blank.
He sets down his spoon, playfulness replaced by narrowed eyes and a tight-set mouth.
There he is. The real Bastian Rooke, lurking beneath the groveling.
“I did,” he says quietly, directing his words to Haven.
“Delete it,” I murmur. “Delete it right the fuck now.”
I’m mildly shocked when he nods without argument. Even Haven seems surprised, watching us with wide blue eyes.
Rooke takes out his phone and slides closer to where I’m sitting. He tilts his screen so I can see what he’s doing and opens a password-locked folder in his gallery.
One of several.
“What are those?”
“Those don’t concern you,” he says flatly.
I open my mouth to argue, but all it takes is a steely look from his dark eyes before my lips seal shut again.
“You have my word, Kai. Those have nothing to do with you or Haven.” He holds my gaze for another second, then starts deleting videos and footage from the folder he opened. I glimpse my face in a few. Haven’s too.
Some I wish I hadn’t insisted he delete, because they’re…
Artistic isn’t quite the right word.
They’re goddamn porn—non-consensual porn—but fuck, we all look hot in them. I don’t know how the fuck he pulled that off when I was so wasted.
“There. Satisfied?”
I have to say no. Have to keep pushing, keep fighting…because fighting is easier than the alternative. Even with Haven’s hand on my arm, her thumb tracing circles on my skin, even exhausted as I am of being so fucking angry all the time, I can’t let him beat me again.
“What about Melissa?”
Rooke blinks. “What about her?”
“You told me Thatcher himself would be arresting me,” I say, but the words are wooden.
Jesus. He doesn’t even remember, does he?
“Fuck around and find out?” I prompt hoarsely.
Understanding dawns on Rooke’s face, then unease, but he shuts it down an instant later.
“I’ll get rid of it,” he says carefully. “You have my word.”
“Now!” My voice is so loud, it carries to the booth beside us. The couple glance over at us before turning back to their conversation.
“I…” Rooke’s jaw tics. “I can’t do that.” He immediately holds out his hand, silencing my protest. “Not that I don’t want to, or can’t. But it’s not a video, Kai. It’s…physical evidence.”
“What evidence?” I say through an incredulous laugh. “I was nowhere fucking near Melissa!”
Haven and Rooke both glance around. When she tries to take hold of my hand again, I snatch it away. Rooke slides a little closer to me, but I shove away from him until I’m nearly at the end of the booth.
“Kai. I promise. Soon as I’m back home, I’ll deal with it.”
The conviction in his voice stops me cold. He’s not performing now, not playing a role. He sounds sincere.
I don’t know what’s scarier. That he somehow manufactured physical evidence tying me to Melissa’s kidnapping, that he’s just genuinely promised to get rid of it…or that I want to believe him.
He leans forward, holding my gaze. “I’m not trying to trap you anymore, Kai. I’m trying to keep you. Do you understand?”
I want to call him out, but he’s not even being patronizing.
Who the fuck is this guy, and where did he bury psycho Rooke’s body?
Haven squeezes my arm. “You okay with this?”
I swallow hard. “Like I have a fucking choice.”
“Good,” she says, completely ignoring my sarcasm.
She pushes back her shoulders and tips up her chin, for all the world like the fucking Queen of Hearts.
“Now that we’re all even, we—“ She cuts off, clearing her throat. “Let’s get something straight.” She turns to stare at Rooke.
Rooke raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth pulling into a half smile at her expression. “Yes, sweet girl?”
“From now on, Bastian, you will treat Kai with respect.”
Rooke’s full-on smiling now, and it’s rare enough that I can’t seem to think straight for a moment. Especially when he glances over at me and that smile becomes a smirk.
“I believe I just demonstrated considerable respect for Kai. Under the table.”
“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.” Haven’s eyes flash. “No more ‘boy.’ No more degrading comments. No more treating him like he’s beneath you.” She pauses, color rising in her cheeks. “Unless we’re…you know.”
“No,” Rooke says, taking a sip of his wine. “I don’t know.”
“You know.” She rolls her hand. “Like if we’re…in the middle of something.”
“Traffic? The grocer?” Rooke prompts. He leans forward conspiratorially. “A complete psychological breakdown?”
I bark out a laugh, drowning the sound with a mouthful of alcohol.
“Sex, Bastian,” Haven says, loud enough to make the couple beside us glance over warily again. “I mean sex. And only if he’s okay with it.”
Rooke turns to me. “If that’s what he wants.”
It’s weird being asked. Being given a choice.
“Yeah,” I manage. “That…works.”
“You bring up a good point, sweet girl,” Rooke says, his voice taking on the smooth, authoritative tone he uses inside the lecture hall. “We need to discuss the rules of this—” he spreads his hands “—arrangement, for lack of a better word.”
“Rules?” I scoff. “How about don’t be a fucking dick?”
Rooke holds up a finger. We’re on our third—fourth?—bottle of Chateau-whatever-the-fuck Rooke ordered. He’s about five glasses of wine in, and me and Haven have both had four.
“Unless you want me to be a dick,” he says.
I stare at him.
He’s kinda got a point.
Rooke starts counting off on his fingers. “Safe words. Hard limits. Kinks.” He pauses. “Why are you two looking at me like that?”
Haven shakes her head. I just keep staring at him.
“It’s a simple framework.” He leans back, fingers steepled, in full-on teach mode. “A safe word stops play immediately. No questions, no negotiations. The word I typically use is ‘red’—simple, unmistakable, impossible to ignore in the heat of the moment.”
Haven mouths ‘red’ with a mesmerized look on her face.
“There’s also ‘yellow,’ which indicates you’re approaching a limit but don’t need to stop entirely. It’s a request to check in, to slow down.” He looks at me, and my cock twitches in my pants because…well, fuck, I don’t even know why anymore. “Does that make sense, b—Kai?”
“Yeah.” My voice is hoarse. “Yeah, it does.”
“Hard limits are non-negotiable boundaries. Things you will not do under any circumstances.” His gaze moves between us. “In fact, I suggest you two make a list of things you’re curious about, things you’re certain you want, and things that are absolutely off the table.”
Haven’s biting her lip. I can practically see the wheels turning in her head.
“What are your hard limits?” she asks.
Rooke considers for a moment. “Tickling.”
Haven claps a hand over her mouth. Rooke raises an eyebrow at her, but she just shakes her head.
“And, for now at least, we’ll have to be discreet on campus grounds. I’m already on thin ice with the dean. Another incident and I could lose my position.”
“So we just pretend nothing’s happening?” I ask lightly.
“This arrangement is entirely separate from academic life.” He glances at me, then back to Haven. “By all appearances, you two are still dating. I remain your professor, nothing more.”
The relief that floods leaves me feeling lightheaded.
I didn’t even think about the public aspect of things until right now.
And Jesus, I’m definitely not ready to explain to anyone—my friends, my family, the fucking world—that I’m fucking a guy, let alone my professor. That both of us are. Together.
“Yeah,” I say, probably too quickly. “Makes sense.”
Rooke’s eyes linger on me a beat too long, but I ignore him.
“One more thing.” He sets down his wineglass. “You two have plans for Thanksgiving?”
Haven laughs so loudly, the hostess standing at the door turns to look over at us.
“Sorry,” she wheezes. “It’s just…I’d kind of need a family for that—“ She breaks off into a manic-sounding giggle.
Rooke’s gaze shifts to me.
“No,” I say automatically. But then, because he just keeps staring, I keep talking.
“But my mom keeps texting. She really wants us to spend Thanksgiving together this year. Don’t know why the fuck she’s pushing so hard, but yeah.
” I brush off Haven’s suddenly concerned look with an easy shrug. “Obviously I’m not going—“
“You should,” Rooke says.
I stare at him. “Fuck no.”
“May I offer an observation?” His voice is calm, measured.
“Can I stop you?”
“Yes.”
“Fine,” I mutter, because since when does Bastian Rooke accept a no? “Observe away.”
He leans forward, elbows on the table, fingers laced. “You’ve been hiding from your family for years. And hiding has served you well—it’s kept you alive, kept you sane. But at some point, hiding becomes its own kind of prison.”
I open my mouth to argue, but he holds up a hand.
“I’m not suggesting you forgive them. I’m not suggesting you pretend everything is fine.
But facing them—choosing to walk into that house on your own terms, as the person you’ve become—that’s not weakness.
That’s power.” He pauses. “They only control you as long as you’re afraid of them.
The moment you stop hiding, they lose their hold on you. ”
“Sounds like a load of bullshit to me,” I manage.
“I think he’s right, Kai. You gotta tell those fuckers to fuck right off.” Haven’s watching me with a dopey expression on her face.
It reminds me of the way she’d look at me when we’d huddle together under the overhang by the creek, waiting out a thunderstorm.
I’ll do anything for her, even stand up to my shit-stain of a family.
There’s a sudden tightness in my chest.
Haven must see the grimace on my face. She tilts her head at me as if to say It’s okay, I got you. And that soft expression stays right where it is when she glances over at Rooke.
As if he was with us that whole time when we were children.
As if he knows.
A surge of possessiveness knocks my breath away, but that doesn’t stop me grabbing her face and kissing her. She makes a surprised sound against my mouth, then melts into it, her hands fisting in my shirt.
When I finally pull back, her lips are swollen and her eyes are dazed.
“What was that?” she breathes.
“I wanted to taste the mousse,” I murmur back.
Across the table, Rooke’s gone still—eyes dark, breathing shallow. From the way he shifts in his seat when our eyes meet, there’s a hard on in his lap he’s trying very hard to hide.
Good.
Let him want.
“Check, please,” Rooke calls out, not taking his eyes off us as he signals the waiter with a flick of his hand.
Haven grins at me, and I can’t help grinning back.
Maybe this is insane.
Maybe we’re all fucking crazy.
But for the first time in weeks, I don’t fucking care if this is normal or not.
It feels…different, but in the best way. Like I’ve been listening to music underwater my entire life and for the first time, I’m not submerged anymore.
All I know is, I’m going to enjoy every breath I can take up here until someone tries to drown me again.