"But there's a problem." I blink back tears and squeeze Christian's hand for support. "I don’t think he believes I'm able to consent. He guesses I want him because he rescued me, even though I’d desire him anyway. I swear, even if I hadn't escaped from the warehouse, he’d still be my type."
"Does he like you, too?" Rowan's brows stitch together.
"I think so." Butterflies swirl around my belly. "Like I said, we almost kissed. And he was hard. But he pulled away, so I think he doesn't want to hurt me."
"Are you into Daddy kink?"
"Yes.”
“Is he?”
“I don’t know.”
Christian holds my hand. "You must tell him how you feel.”
Rusty nods. “I happen to know Benedetto is a Daddy. His last partner broke up with him due to his weight, but he hasn't been able to find another boy."
I grit my teeth. "I know. That's terrible.”
Rusty pats my back. "Be honest with him. Tell him your feelings. You’ve got this."
“I think it’s your and Arlo’s Daddies holding Benedetto back.” I purse my lips.
Rusty snorts. “Don’t pay attention to them. They’re trying to protect you. That’s what Daddies do. If you’re able to consent, go for it.”
14
BENEDETTO
The next night
"Here we are."
I hold Wesley's hand as I lead him into the park. It's a local park next to the Bettencourt’s house where my brothers and I believe he grew up. I'm hoping our little rendezvous will jog his memory, but to keep it real, I'm not holding out hope.
None of my other efforts to pry into Wesley's mind have worked so far. If I were a betting man, I’d put money on this being no different.
And yet I must try. Wesley's close to a breakthrough—or at least he will be in due time. I must work until I unearth his past.
Wesley's eyes widen as we step into the park. "Oh my Gosh." He presses his cheek against my shoulder. "This is beautiful."
"Isn't it?" I guide us past wildflowers and lead us to a grassy hill. "This is one of the top public parks in upstate New York. It has an indoor basketball court you can use even if it's snowing."
Last night, I did more research on the Bettencourt boy. I found out that he loved playing basketball with his older siblings as a boy and that in addition to being a tennis star, he was the captain of his middle school team. I’m hoping my mention of the indoor basketball court spurs a memory.
"Wow." Wesley can't believe this. "An indoor basketball court? I can’t believe such a thing exists."
"That's not all." Securing my grip on his hand, I take him to the grassy hill and point to the soccer field. "They also have soccer fields that European professionals visit while they're in New York. It's the only place where they feel comfortable enough to practice if paparazzi are at the indoor fields in Manhattan."
I also learned that Wesley was proficient at soccer as a young boy. He wasn't a knockout athlete, but he enjoyed playing in this very field—at least according to a CBS report from eight years ago. I'm praying this soccer field reminds him of his family.
Wesley wipes a bead of sweat from his forehead. "Those are huge." He lets out a wolf whistle. "If I played soccer, I’d come here every day. Hell, it'd be awesome to own a house around here. You could come to this kickass park whenever you wanted and never worry about running out of things to do. What a great place to grow up."
"Does this field look familiar?"
Right now, athletes are wrapping up a game. The sun is setting and it casts a ruby glow over their sweaty faces. I see their bulging calves and I know they’ve been working hard.
"I'm not a soccer kind of guy." Wesley makes a face. "Or at least, I don't think I am." He lets out a sigh.