Chapter 32
CHAPTER
THIRTY-TWO
I give Jake privacy in the shower and sit on the bed, unsure what to do with my hands.
They look wrong in my lap, too calloused to cradle my nerves, too guilty to stay innocent.
When I try lacing my fingers together, the gesture looks too much like prayer, which is absurd.
Lounging feels wrong too, so I straighten until my spine aches from the effort of holding me upright while I come apart.
My fingers drift to my temples to smooth things out by force.
The shower hisses behind the bathroom door. It should be comforting, except for how I imagine the person standing in its spray. Jake. Fuck, I want him.
And now I’ve betrayed Evie. She lost her job—her whole paper. The bastard bought Cable Car Chronicles just to position my throat under his heel.
I keep seeing my email and Alistair’s smug automated reply alongside his knowing smile. The rage rises again. So I point it at Alistair, who now owes me my heart’s desire.
I was supposed to sneak in and take him down.
Instead I played along and ended up—what?
A winner on an express lane to everything I ever wanted?
A dream job? Prestige? Money? If I pick right, any one could lead to the others.
Alistair could wave a hand and set me down inside whatever media empire he feels like running next.
There, I can tell myself I’ve stolen it from him, that taking from his open palm is justice.
It would also make it cheaper.
The bed shifts.
I pry my fingers off my eyes to find Jake sitting beside me, wrapped in a towel, his hair still damp from the shower.
He watches my face like he can see the cracks spreading through everything in real time.
I drag myself back from the spiral, but before I can say anything, he presses the back of his hand against my cheek. One slow touch, in case my breakdown has a temperature.
“Are you okay?” he asks again.
My throat tightens on something humiliating, and before I know what I’m doing, I grab his hand and hold it like a rail on a staircase. Tears blur Jake’s face, the one thing I want to see clearly.
He pulls me to his chest and wraps his arms around me.
All I did was stand there and get myself off.
Jake is the one who took the ropes, the whip, the humiliation.
But what’s breaking out of me has nothing to do with a single room or a single night.
It’s the whole weekend, the whole life I’ve lied my way through.
In his arms, those lies feel almost innocent. Easier than this.
“I’m sorry,” I manage, once the crying turns to sniffling.
He keeps hold of me, rubbing my back in a slow, grounding rhythm that makes me feel twelve years old and furious about it. He’s practically naked, rope marks faintly visible where the towel slips, and I’m the one coming apart. I’m bigger, but he’s—God—he’s strong.
It isn’t fair that I won Alistair’s game and Jake is starting over.
“We have to get out of here,” I say into his shoulder.
“You’ve never done this before,” he says quietly.
I pull back, wiping my face with the heel of my hand. “Being played by a billionaire with a sex cult? Yeah. First time.”
“Not that. I mean it’s not just your first time with someone like me.” His gaze searches mine, careful now. “It’s your first time with a guy at all. Isn’t it?”
Someone like me catches on something still raw from the playroom, but whatever Jake sees on my face makes him smile and shake his head.
“I can’t believe this,” he says. “You’re— Look, I don’t really know what the etiquette is. I thought I was coming on to a gay guy this whole time, and now… I don’t want to shove you into anything you’re not ready for.”
A laugh tries to escape me and turns into something ragged.
“Jesus, Jake. You’re not forcing anything.” I drag a hand down my face and taste salt. “I think I’ve always been… attracted to guys. First time for everything.”
Now that the truth’s out, I clamp my hand over my mouth, and a couple memories come up: a boy on the tennis team I’d watched too closely, the way I felt keeping my roommate’s secret, the hours I spent at the gym building a body that could be admired while I admired the ones around me.
And Jake. Jake in the ropes. Jake in my head. Jake on my lips.
If there’s a “real Marcus Philips” in me, he isn’t some innocent little boy gasping for air. This glimmer of light doesn’t sanctify anything. It just makes all my shadows look sharper.
Jake’s expression shifts. “Then you really didn’t understand.”
“Understand what?”
“On the beach,” he says. Pink climbs his throat, but he holds my gaze. “And in the office, when I said I wanted you to control me. You thought I was playing another angle.”
I know what I need, and maybe you could give it to me.
I shake my head, suddenly sheepish.
“I was trying to offer you something.” He looks down at his hands. “Which I’m realizing made me look exactly as dumb as I’m feeling right now.”
Jake grabs my phone from the bed and holds it out. “Unlock it?”
“You want to read the story?”
His hand stills. “The what?”
The moment collapses even further.
“The story. The article Alistair just blew everything up to keep me from publishing.”
Jake stares at me while color drains out of his face. “You’re a reporter?”
“I told you I was here to stop him.”
“I thought you were FBI. Some undercover investigator with a badge I wasn’t supposed to ask about. Fucking hell.” His gaze drops to the phone, then snaps back to my face. “Am I… in it?”
Rather than being angry, he’s afraid for his company, his co-founder, and the ten million dollars he let Alistair shackle around his neck.
“You were,” I say, bitter, and his eyes snap to mine. “I deleted you.”
“Why?”
Because the part of me that wants to use you is old, rotten, and hungry from being locked away too long. But I just shrug.
“You didn’t consent.”
“Fuck.” Jake’s throat works. “That’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me.
” He sits back down slowly, still holding my phone.
“Then, no. I don’t want to read it. I was going to give you my number.
” He taps it in. “Get as far away from here as you can, and we’ll go to dinner somewhere with napkins that don’t have Alistair’s initials on them.
” His gaze flicks away. “I can explain there.”
“Explain what?”
“Us. How this could work.” He motions between us. “Besides, your real first time with a guy should be special. Or at least not five minutes after…” He swallows.
After what Alistair did. After what I watched.
Rage slices through me so fast it lifts me to my feet.
“Fucking Alistair,” I snarl, pacing the space between the bed and the wall. “He thinks nothing is beyond his reach.”
“Marky.” Jake’s voice is steady. “What were you thinking coming here?”
“Someone has to show him.”
“Imagine you did publish. What’s the story? How does it take him down?”
Such a beautiful man, Jacob Quinn. Brilliant, stubborn, and wrecked by this game. I picture Alistair’s hand running down his spine.
The door inside me hasn’t closed since the playroom, and what came out hated watching Alistair’s hands on Jake. It saw Jake’s surrender and wanted that aimed at me instead.
My hands. My rules. My body inside him.
Only me.
No. I sound exactly like my father. Like fucking Alistair Blackwood.
Jake’s expression tightens. “Where’d you just go?”
“Nowhere.” The lie is automatic, and I drag a hand over my mouth. “It’s my dad. It’s stupid. Forget it. Alistair’s the one using everyone here.”
Jake’s gaze stays on mine, and my eyes drop when he stands with the towel still wrapped around his waist.
“Doesn’t sound stupid,” he says, “but we don’t have to talk about it. At least with Alistair, you have it wrong. I’m using him. We all are, and he knows it.” He studies my face, then asks, “How old are you?”
“Twenty-five,” I say, unsure why that matters.
“I’m twenty-seven. Alistair is fifty-two and a billionaire CEO. We have nothing in common. We’re from different worlds. I’m here for the game. By submitting to him, he submits to giving us what we want… as long as we play along.”
Submit to the lie. It’s the exact kind of logic I’ve used my whole life to justify worse and worse decisions.
“You want Alistair?” I ask.
He shakes his head immediately. “I want ten million dollars.” He pauses. “What’s happening between you and me, whatever this is turning into—” His eyes flick down and back up. “It complicates things. But you’re out now. You won. I just need a little longer, and then I’ll be out too.”
The part of me already staking its claim clamps tight.
“You’re going to keep playing? I thought you wanted—” When I force the rest out, it’s darker. Possessive. “I thought you wanted me.”
“I do, Marky. But that’s barely half of it.”
Relief flares until he leans in and lowers his voice.
“Probably better over dinner, but… fuck it. I want you to tell me what to do. Give me rules. Make me follow them.” His thumb strokes my knuckle. “But not one step beyond what I want. I’m going to finish what I started. If you can accept that, then yes. I’m yours.”
His smile is a thin disguise for the boundary underneath it. He’s giving me what I can’t believe I want and warning me how not to ruin it.
And fuck, do I want to listen. My grip tightens around his hand.
The only men I’ve ever heard give orders are my father and Alistair. I know what commands do. I know what obedience costs. I know what darkness I’ve always believed lives inside men who need someone else on their knees.
And now Jake is looking at me like he wants mine, like he trusts me with something I don’t trust in myself.
The part of me that wants to be good goes quiet.
But the part of me that wants Jake to obey stays wide awake.