Page 84 of The Associate
The realization sat in his gut like a stone.
He’d missed it. He, who prided himself on reading people, on understanding the architecture of need, had been so captivated by the surface beauty of Samuel’s surrender that he’d failed to see the desperation underpinning it. The need wasn’t for dominance, not purely. It was for contact. For recognition. For the simple, terrifying validation of being wanted.
And what was he hiding?The scars were a clue, but clues were worthless without a narrative. The terror around the subject of men wasn’t just usually fear of coming out. It was something else. There was a story there, a locked room Samuel had thrown away the key to. Gael had seen the shadow of its door tonight in the boy’s panicked, tear-filled eyes.
He should stop this.
The thought finally formed, clear and cold. It was the responsible thing. The ethical thing. Samuel was vulnerable in ways that went far beyond the power exchange of the club.
Gael set the whiskey glass down on the side table with a decisive click.
But even as he did, a colder, deeper sensation crawled through his chest at the idea of sending Samuel away. Of never seeinghim kneel again. Of never pulling those broken, perfect sounds from his throat. Of leaving that hunger unanswered, of letting that room down the hall stay empty.
The feeling was swift and violent. It wasn’t lust. It was something darker, more territorial. A snarl in the blood.
He ignored it.
Samuel needed help. He needed guidance. A secure, controlled environment to explore everything he’d been denied. Gael could provide that. He had the knowledge, the control, the resources. He could be the steady hand that taught Samuel about his own body, about trust, about the difference between shame and surrender. He could build him up, teach him his own worth. It would be a service. A mentorship.
And once he was done, once Sam became what he could be, confident and whole, then he would let him go.
The resolution felt clean in his mind. Noble, even. A plan.
He stood up from the armchair, his body unfolding from its long stillness. The decision was made. He would be the teacher. The safe harbor. He would guide Samuel through this, with patience and firmness, and when the boy was ready to stand on his own, he would release him. It was the right thing to do.
He took a step toward the hallway, his own bedroom. As he passed the spare bedroom, he didn’t look in. He kept his eyes forward, his posture straight.
But in the deepest, most honest part of his mind, a quiet, undeniable voice spoke the truth he was already working so hard to bury.
You’re lying to yourself.
He ignored that, too.
Chapter 22
Samuel
The present returned as a slow, thick seepage into his senses.
First was the smell. A faint, lemony polish, the dry whisper of cotton, and underneath it all, something else; something dark, green, and cedary that clung to the pillowcase. Gael’s smell.
Then, the light. It was wrong. Too diffuse, too grey.
Finally, the surface beneath him. The mattress was too firm, unforgiving. The duvet was heavier than the one he used, a dense, cool weight.
His eyes flew open.
He stared at the white ceiling, his heart beginning a slow, heavy knock against his sternum.
Where...?
Memory crashed over him in a sickening wave.
The silent, appraising look at the door. The tour;you will use these. The weight of the book in his hands. The questions. The way the air had thickened with each one, pressing down on him until he couldn’t breathe. The tear. The nod.
Gael’s apartment.
The panic settled. It poured into the hollows of his ribs, a cold, liquid poison. He was in Gael Wise’s apartment. On a Saturday morning. He had slept here. He was expected to stay until Sunday. The reality of it felt ludicrous. Insane.
