The area set aside for himself and young Mr. Kress showed Emma’s unmistakable influence. Tucked into the farthest corner of the room, a three-panel screen of wood and fabric created a private dining nook. Best pray the younger man didn’t recognize the scenes depicted, though the intent shouted for all and sundry to pay heed.

A pair of yellow-ribboned women cast admiring glances his way. Muting his growl, he stepped past them with a curt headshake. Won’t interfere, my ass.

A paean to Greek mythology and literature graced each panel. Achilles and Patroclus circled each other with shields and spears, their sandaled feet the only flesh not on view. Apollo strummed his lyre while a boy—Hyacinth, given the field of flowers—lay at his feet. Beautiful Ganymede proffered a cup beneath the sheltering wings of Zeus-as-eagle.

Stalking across the room, he considered the ready excuses sure to be on Emma’s lips. A shield to keep the boy from prying eyes, lest his table manners prove less than impeccable. Hadn’t he himself insisted on protecting Jay from possible criticism? No, of course the scenes hadn’t been deliberate. Convenience had dictated the choice. In no way had she meant to imply Jay Kress was his eromenos.

His beloved boy. His to mentor and protect. His sweet lips to kiss, his beautiful thighs to fuck.

Cock pressing at his fly, he swore in silence. Was there no mercy to be found?

He rounded the screen.

Jay sprang to his feet.

No. No mercy at all.

Despite Emma’s claim, his student wore a suit as well as he wore leather shorts. Temptation beat at him, an unrelenting pressure, the image of his submissive on his knees with the same earnest delight on his face.

He forced himself to turn and deposit the bag on the table. Slow and easy.

“You’ve set a lovely table.” He told himself navy wasn’t Jay’s color, despite the good sense he’d shown to pair his suit with a solid white shirt and a pale blue tie with a diagonal thin-stripe in white. “I trust your wait has been a pleasant one?”

“Yes, Master Henry.” Jay stood straight and tall, a slender vision of grace. “Mistress Emma showed me what to do.”

“It’s just Emma, my boy. No title. She’s a submissive here, as you are.” He unpacked the tote. Salads first, the light containers atop the others.

“But she’s in charge of things.” Jay tilted his head. He started to roll his shoulders before stopping himself.

Warm foil container deposited on the table, Henry paused in his work to study his submissive with more care. “Yes, she handles some functions at the club.” The neat half-Windsor had to be Emma’s doing. “She also submits to her husband.” Likewise, the white rose boutonniere pinned with Jay’s red ribbon, the symbol of his ownership. The younger man’s purity and innocence bound under his protection and control.

Pinned. Of course.

“Tell me, how many pins did it take until Emma was satisfied with the drape of your jacket?”

“I’m not sure, Master Henry.” Jay half-smiled, his eyes shining. “She made me stand still for a long time, though. Do you like it?”

With such an enticing invitation, he smoothed the fabric from the lapel to the right shoulder.

Jay caught his breath and rocked his hips.

“Quite handsome,” he murmured. Such promising responses his pupil gave, eager physicality impossible to miss. “But you cannot relax, can you? Afraid you’ll disrupt her handiwork if you so much as breathe too deeply.”

“I don’t mind, Master Henry.” If you like it, he didn’t say, though the worship in his gaze made the words unnecessary.

Humming, he traced the edge of the lapel downward and unfastened the button holding the jacket closed. “I mind.” Hanging the jacket on the chair back wouldn’t do any harm. “Your comfort is my responsibility during our time together.”

He pushed the coat from the boy’s shoulders. He’d remove his own to ensure his dinner partner felt no awkwardness.

“No, no, please.” Jay clutched at the fabric, fighting the motion, his voice rising. “Master Henry, please.”

What the devil was he—

“Please don’t take my ribbon, I’m your good boy, I’m yours—”

Henry kissed him.

He knew the instant their lips touched he ought not have done it.

Soft and pliant, the younger man opened his mouth with a throaty little whimper.

Irresistible. A possessive haze descended, snarling heat pushing out from his center. He ground his cock against his submissive and claimed his mouth.