Jesse blinked a few times, trying to bring reality back into focus, but he was still lost in a haze from the intensity of his orgasm and the experience as a whole.
“I, uhm . . .”
His mind was still too muddled to know how to answer.
“I mean it in every sense of the word,” Arthur whispered warmly. “If that helps.” He kissed Jesse’s lips once. “Manly.” Another kiss. “Skillful.” Another. “Elegant.” Another. “And, of course, very,verypleasing to look at.”
Jesse’s stomach swooped. He knew that he’d better try to respond.
“It’s... fine, Arthur. You can call me that. If it’ssomething you like.”
Muscles tensing, Jesse prepared for Arthur to push back, to ask Jesse ifhehimself liked it, but, either because Arthur had noticed the unease in Jesse’s eyes or because he’d heard the slight quiver in Jesse’s voice when he answered, Arthur instead only smiled and said, “Itissomething I like.”
He leaned forward and caught Jesse’s mouth in a long kiss.
After they parted, Arthur rolled onto his back with a sigh, and Jesse forced himself to take a couple of cleansing breaths to try to loosen the knots that had formed in both his stomach and his shoulders. But Arthur’s earlier words began to replay in his head, the postorgasmic fog lifting as Arthur’s voice reverberated in his ears like the echoing, metallic clang of a platen, each repetition inking the sentiment into Jesse’s brain.
Let me see you.
And Jessehadlet Arthur see him. He had welcomed Arthur Hughes, one of the richest men in Chicago, into his little home. Arthur had seen Jesse’s struggling neighborhood. He had walked Jesse’s rickety staircase, had smelled the lingering stench of cooked cabbage and pickled vegetables, had felt the scratchy linen sheets covering Jesse’s bed. He had seen Jesse naked, had watched him in the throes of pleasure, had seen the pathetic reaction he’d had to being called perfect and pretty and other terrible, wonderful things. And now, Jesse couldn’t help but wonder if, regardless of the fact that Arthur had only bedded one other person before, he might be the type of man to take his pleasure and leave. Jesus Christ, why had he brought Arthur here? Arthur was a man who wanted for nothing. And a man who wanted for nothing certainly couldn’t continue to want someone who was so far beneath him.
Arthur lolled his head to the side and met Jesse’s eyes, which were now watering slightly from the shameful acknowledgement of his foolishness.
“Are you nervous, Mr. O’Connor?” Arthur asked, crooking one of his eyebrows.
“Not nervous, exactly...” Jesse found a loose thread in the sheets and began to twirl it. “But I was thinking that perhaps you should go.”
“Go?”
“I’m sure you have places to be. I can walk you to the streetcar now. Or you can see yourself out. Whichever you prefer.”
“Jesse, I’m lost. Why would I want to leave?”
“You’re a busy man and—”
“I’m really not. I often keep myself busy, yes, but right now, I’m keeping myself busy here, with you. I only have to try to be back for dinner later, and even then, my family wouldn’t be surprised if I missed it. Emma wouldn’t be very happy, probably, but that’s nothing unusual.”
Emma.Oh God, Arthur had afamily. He was wealthier in every possible way, wasn’t he?
Jesse knew that he ought to make Arthur leave, if only to save himself from having to continue to feel such shame over this important man seeing his meager little life here.
Before Jesse could reply, Arthur said, “If you’re thinking that Iwantto leave, I have to inform you that you are mistaken. Honestly, there’s nowhere I would rather be right now than here in this bed.”
He sat up on his elbow again. Jesse lifted his gaze to see Arthur inspecting the room, and his stomach soured.
“I mean, I like it here,” Arthur said. “It’s cozy.”
Jesse swallowed thickly. It wasn’t cozy. It was small.
Arthur continued. “You know, I’ve always been curious to know what it was like in the space above some of these shops, especially for the smaller buildings like this one. I thought that maybe the area was used for storage or something, like at Putnam Press. But it’s nice that some of them are homes like this one instead. Did the, ehm, the building owner have to change the space or was it built like this?”
Jesse cleared his throat.
“She changed it,” he managed. “She and her late husband used to live here, but now she has a, uhm, a real home. Some streets over.”
Arthur frowned. “I know what you’re trying to say, but thisisa real home.”
Jesse wrinkled his nose. It wasn’t a home. It was a tiny rental space above a mediocre clothing store.
