Being a dominant made things simple. There were rules and expectations, and when I met a prospective partner, we both knew who was going to do what and how the night would go. Coming into a situation as a switch? That was…there was so much room for error there. So much gray area…confusion. It was enough of a shift in the dynamic that felt like a well-worn glove to me that I hated the idea of changing it up.
It was one thing to flip fuck. It was another entirely to go from dominant to submissive and back again with the same partner in the same scene.
Just the thought of it made my head hurt.
And the last thing I was going to do was bother my best friend about it because Silas was desperately and acutely in love with Marshall, and I’d be damned if a single thing I did or said would take that happiness away from him. It was bad enough he’d been so worried about me he didn’t even want to move in with Marshall, but I’d nipped that one in the bud before it could cause any real damage.
I talked to Marshall about it instead. I asked him what his dominance meant to him, if it was something he could ever see himself giving up.
He told me he’d give up everything for Silas, then told me no matter what, I’d always have a place in his home. The guest room where Smith had propositioned me for the first time was now permanently mine if I wanted it, but my questions aboutdominance and submission remained unanswered. Or maybe I was being obtuse on purpose.
Patron saint of ignoring the obvious too.
Or something.
Smith finished getting his clothes in order, cracked his neck, then gave me a nervous smile. “Am I setting myself up for failure if I ask if we can stay friends?”
“Stay?”
“Become.”
I folded my arms in front of my chest, suddenly cold. My first answer was a loud and resounding no, but then I remembered Silas had a boyfriend, and I no longer had a roommate, and my life was about to get a lot more boring. I could probably use a friend…or seven.
“Yeah,” I said, grimacing. “I mean, no. You’re not setting yourself up for failure, and yes, we can become friends.”
“I don’t want things to be weird,” he said.
I cleared my throat, heat burning in the middle of my chest.
“They’re not weird, but before you decide if you want to be my friend, I want to let you know that I’m a sex worker.”
Smith blanched. “Do…do I owe you money? Did you expect…?”
I held up my hands, first telling him to stop and then beckoning him closer. Smith shuffled toward me the same way Silas always did when he felt sorry for himself, and I wrapped the tall, nervous man in my arms.
“Not that kind of sex work.” I kissed the side of his face. “Just stuff on the internet.”
“I don’t care. It doesn’t matter to me.”
I thought about Riot—a quick fling from a couple months ago—about him not being out and him walking away from me on account of my work. The loss of him was still surprisingly sharp,and I hated the way it felt, like a barb lodged in my ribs. Instead of pulling away to rub at the ache, I held Smith closer.
“It’s been a dealbreaker for people in the past.”
“Not for me,” he whispered.
“I’m also…affectionate,” I mumbled.
“I’ve seen how you are with Silas,” he said. “Even though I’d been drinking, I could tell that you two are used to touching.”
“That’s just how I am, not just with him. It’s not a dealbreaker if you’re not, though. It’s…it’s something I like.”
“I’m sure I could get used to it,” Smith said back, chin tucked toward his chest in an alarming display of bashfulness.
Which, thank God, another reminder of all the reasons I should take him up on his offer and definitely make sure we never even looked outside of the friendzone again.
I pushed him away enough to get a look at him. We were the same age, but something about him felt like we were decades apart. He was thoughtful like Marshall, but so off-puttingly innocent it was nearly impossible for me to find him attractive. Not that I was attracted to Marshall. I mean, objectively the man was nice to look at it, but not my type. He was too dominant.
Shit.
