Chapter 3

“I didn’t think you’d come,” Leo said, his voice a low murmur against my ear. “Your artsy types usually avoid these things like the plague.”

I forced a laugh, the sound brittle even to my own ears. “Well, you do not know everything about me.” My gaze involuntarily drifted back to Alistair. He was watching us, his expression unreadable, but his eyes held a predatory glare that made my skin prickle.

“I’ve missed you,” Leo added, his thumb stroking the back of my hand. The simple, familiar gesture sent a pang of longing through me. This was what I wanted. This easy affection, this connection. Not the dark, twisted game his father was playing.

“I’ve missed you too, Leo,” I admitted, my voice barely a whisper.

Before he could reply, a waiter announced that dinner was being served. We were escorted to our assigned tables. Of course, fate, in its infinite cruelty, had seated me directly across from Alistair Sterling. Leo was to my right. To my left was a stuffy old professor from the classics department. I was cornered.

Dinner was a special kind of hell. I picked at my seared scallops, my appetite completely gone. Every time I glanced up, Alistair’s eyes were on me. He didn’t leer. He just… observed. It was infinitely more unnerving. He made polite conversation with the dean, a picture of refined respectability, all while holding my fate in his perfectly manicured hands.

Halfway through the main course, my phone, which I’d placed on my lap under the table, vibrated. My heart leaped into my throat. I fumbled with it, my hands sweating inside my fine linen napkin.

Mr. Sterling: You look very handsome tonight, Julian. That suit fits you well.

I risked a glance at him. He was swirling the wine in his glass, his attention seemingly on the professor next to him. He hadn’t even looked at his phone.

Me: Thank you.

Mr. Sterling: I wonder what’s underneath it. I have a fairly good idea, of course. But I find myself wanting to be reminded.

My face burned. I typed back quickly, my thumbs trembling.

Me: Please, not here.

Mr. Sterling: Why not? I believe you owe me. And I find I’m thirsty for more… art.

He paused, and I watched him take a slow sip of his wine. My phone buzzed again.

Mr. Sterling: Excuse yourself. Go to the men’s lounge. Second door on the left. I’ll be there in two minutes.

Panic seized me. “I, uh… I need to use the restroom,” I mumbled to Leo, my chair scraping loudly against the floor as I stood.

“Everything okay?” he asked, his brow furrowed with concern.

“Fine! Just… too much champagne,” I lied, gesturing vaguely with my hand.

I fled the ballroom, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. The men’s lounge was opulent, all dark wood and leather armchairs. It was empty. I stood in the middle of the room, feeling like a lamb waiting for the slaughter.

The door opened and closed softly. Alistair Sterling locked it behind him.

“Turn around,” he said, his voice a low, calm command that brooked no argument.

I did, my eyes fixed on the antique Persian rug at his feet. I couldn’t look at him.

“Look at me, Julian.”

I slowly lifted my gaze. He was closer now, his presence overwhelming. He reached out and his fingers brushed against my lapel, his touch sending a jolt through me.

“You did very well tonight,” he said, his eyes scanning my face. “You look… presentable.”

“Thank you,” I whispered, the word catching in my throat.

“But I find I’m so… hungry for more,” he continued, his hand dropping to my tie, his fingers toying with the silk. “I believe our agreement was for more… artistic content. And yet, here I am, still wanting.”

“What do you want?” I asked, the question barely audible.

A slow, dangerous smile spread across his face. “I want a performance. Right here. Right now.” He took a step back, his gaze sweeping over me. “Unbutton your shirt. Slowly.”

My hands shook as I fumbled with the tiny pearl buttons. My fingers felt clumsy and useless.

“Slower,” he chided softly. “Savor it. This isn’t a race. This is an unveiling.”

I took a deep breath and forced myself to slow down, my eyes locked on his as I revealed the skin of my chest, my stomach. The cool air of the room pebbled my nipples.

“Now the trousers,” he commanded.

I hesitated. “Someone could walk in.”

“I locked the door,” he said simply. “And even if they didn’t, that’s part of the thrill, isn’t it? The risk. The possibility of being discovered.” He took a sip from the glass of whiskey he’d brought with him. “Don’t disappoint me, Julian.”

My fingers went to my belt. The metallic click of the buckle opening was unnaturally loud in the silent room. I slid my trousers down my hips letting them pool around my ankles. I stood before him in nothing but my unbuttoned shirt and my boxers, my erection painfully obvious.

“Much better,” he murmured, his eyes dark with hunger. “Now, I believe you were on your knees in our last correspondence. Let’s see that again. But this time, I want to watch it happen in person.”