The corner of his mouth tilts up. “Dessert,” he murmurs, his voice lowering into a caress. “I do like dessert.” I blush, and his smile widens. “I should leave before I’m tempted to do something very inappropriate.” He gets to his feet. “Thank you so much,” he says again. “See you tonight? Come over any time.”
There are two of them. It should be complicated, but it's not. On Saturday, they’d both been concerned I wanted the other one. I had to insist that no, I really did want both of them. And since then, things have been remarkably drama-free. They’re dominant in the bedroom—and I love it—but outside of sex, both Julian and Damien are easygoing. I really appreciate that. I’m in my thirties—I don’t have the time or the patience for high-maintenance men. When I think about Julian's simple acceptance of my steak preferences compared to Matthew Barnes’ high-handed ordering for me. . .
Oh, come on. The date with Matthew Barnes is hardly the yardstick to measure other men by. Tell me you’re not thinking that Julian is a catch because he took your dietary preferences into account? Is the bar really so low?
But of course, it's not just that. It's everything else as well. It's the flowers Julian brought me. His obvious appreciation. It's the fact that he recognized I was uncomfortable with Patricia’s reaction. It's Damien admitting he shouldn’t have made his donation dependent on me teaching him how to be a better person. Recognizing his privilege and smoothing the way for Brooklyn, the Club M employee. It’s the way both Julian and Damien held me during aftercare.
These men see me. They both do. That's why I fell for them ten years ago.
And that's why I'm falling for them again.
Crap. This isn’t part of the plan. Not at all.