Cinn turned, positioning his face into a blank mask, because he had a feeling he knew what was next.
“You probably know this, but I can only do casual.”
There it was. A tiny pinprick, straight through his heart.
Many,many,Julien!
Well, he couldn’t say he hadn’t been warned.
“Sure,” Cinn said, spinning on his heel. Face burning, heart pounding, he had to force himself to close the door with a quiet click before rushing down the corridors to reach his own room.
Any fire alarms be damned, he swung open his window and lit a cigarette, breathing the frigid night air and the blissful release of tension inhaling the smoke offered him.
He had dropped to his knees, followed Julien’s every command… and loved every second of it, yes, but… oh God,what had he done?
It was okay. He would resolve this. Tomorrow, he would make it crystal clear to Julien that tonight was a one-time thing.
A moment of weakness, never to be repeated.
fourteen
Julien
Something was wrong with Cinn.
He hadn’t come to Julien’s room that morning, so he eventually headed to the kitchen to make coffee for them, then brought it into the conservatory where they’d worked yesterday morning. Then he waited. And waited.
Earlier, in a sleep-addled haze, Julien had woken up reaching for him, heart skipping a beat when his hands found an empty mattress, rather than a warm Cinn to wrap himself around.
Why had he sent him back to his own room again?
So he didn’t start expecting something you can’t offer him.
Now, in the cold light of day, Julien could see how that had probably appeared slightly—okay,incredibly—rude.
He softly banged his head against the table.Why did he keep fucking this up?
What they’d done together last night had been amazing. Julien couldn’t stop replaying every moment in his mind. The elation he’d felt at exploring Cinn’s body. The tattoos adorning the exquisite expanse of olive skin he’d relished running his tongue over. The feeling of Cinn squirming underneath him, desperate for his touch, and his only. The taste of him.
What if Cinn regretted what they’d done?
Just when he’d reached boiling point and decided to go knock on his door, Cinn slunk into the room clutching his book, headphones aroundhis neck. He barely met Julien’s eye when he mumbled hello, sliding into the same seat as yesterday before quickly opening his book before Julien could strike up a conversation.
The tension was palpable, and the distance between them stretched with every passing second.
Every so often, Cinn tugged up the neckline of his hoodie, which—mostly—covered the lovebite that Julien had marked him with last night.
“You can’t see it, and besides, it’s just me in the room.”
Cinn flushed beetroot-red, glueing his eyes to his book.
“How’s the reading going today? Seems like it’s easier?”
“Please stop talking.”
So hewasangry with him.
“Why are you upset with me? Because of dinner still?”
