Semi-darkness

Several weeks passed like that.

Westcliff called on Liam and took him out on dates, putting on that disgustingly charming mask he wore in public. More often than not, Jules accompanied them, serving as a chaperone, for appearances’ sake—officially. Unofficially, he kind of… he went because he wanted to be around the duke. It freaked him out that he felt addicted to the way Westcliff made him feel, but he couldn’t help himself. It felt so good, especially when Westcliff allowed him to rub his face against his scent gland—the euphoria was beyond his ability to express properly. Afterward, Jules felt so embarrassed, but thankfully, Westcliff didn’t make fun of him and always acted as if there was nothing weird about his behavior.

“Better?” he would say in a quiet murmur, and Jules would flush and nod and look anywhere but at him. Every time he told himself it was the last time, but his resolve melted into a mass of goo the next time he saw the duke. It was horrible. Horribly addictive.