And now, out of the blue, Marcuswasgone.
Lucian wasn’t sure if he was misreading the signs, or if his heat left him more vulnerable and confused than normal. It was only his second heat since his liberation from The White Lotus, and his first heat since he’d left Stonecrest. The chance that he was projecting his desires for Marcus into their conversation wasveryreal.
The Shepherd was a kink club, after all. A little harmless flirting was to beexpected.
“Lucian?” Clarissaasked.
Lucian snapped out of his thoughts. “I’monit.”
It was a quick trip across the bar to booth five. Lucian wiped the table down quickly and plucked Marcus’ glass from its coaster. He was about to turn and go when a flash of white caughthiseye.
There was a piece of paper adhered to the bottom of Marcus’ lowballglass.
Lucian set the rag down. He looked nervously over his shoulder in Clarissa’s direction to find her too busy with a sudden influx of patrons to be paying any attention to him. Safe from her knowing gaze, Lucian freed the paper from the bottom of the glass. It was folded into a perfect square. A crescent-shaped wet markdiscoloredit.
Lucian set the glass down and opened the paper. Inside, in precise handwriting, was a string of ten digits separated by twodashes.
A phonenumber.
The only other marking was astylizedM.
There was no doubt what that number meant, or who it was destined for. Lucian stole another glance over his shoulder, expecting to find Clarissa looming right behind him, but she was just as busy with her clients as she had been momentsbefore.
Hurriedly, Lucian folded the paper up and slipped it into his back pocket. Excitement, dangerous in its intensity, swelled in the dip of his throat and threatened to choke him with itsenormity.
The power of ‘no’ was intoxicating, but the thrill that came from ‘yes’ was even morealluring.
10
Marcus
Friday night came and went.Saturday turned into Sunday. Monday passed by at a crawl. By the time Marcus arrived back home from the office late Monday afternoon, he still hadn’t heard from the omega behind the bar. He was starting to believe he neverwould.
Not all attraction was reciprocated. Marcus had courted submissives who’d rejected his advances or who were otherwise uninterested in him. It had never bothered him before. But Clarissa’s boy wasn’t like other submissives, and he neverwouldbe.
Marcus loosened the knot of his tie as he made his way toward the kitchen. The soles of his polished dress shoes rang upon the kitchen tile, marking his way forward. He grabbed a glass from the cabinet and pushed the rim beneath the ice dispenser on the fridge. Ice cubes jingled as they made their descent, the crisp, bright notes breaking the silence. Marcus rested his forehead against the cold fridge door and focused on the sound, but not even the ice cubes were loud enough to mask the beep of Marcus’ phone as it received a new message from an unknownnumber.
Marcus opened his eyes. He set the glass down and drew his phone from his pocket, hoping against hope that it was who he thoughtitwas.
Is thisMarcusHays?
Hayes, but yes, thisishe.
Marcus picked up his glass as the message sent, filling it with water from the filter tap on the fridge door. When it was partially full, he set it aside again and checked on the status of the message. It had been delivered and read. The speech bubble at the bottom of the screen showed that his recipient wasresponding.
There was a chance that it was a client. Marcus received texts from unknown numbers often—the clients who had the funds to afford to hire criminal defense teams from his practice had the money to afford to track down his personal number. Still, he had hope that it wasn’t work. The growing excitement behind his ribs promised somethinggreater.
*Hayes, sorry. im not the best speller but im still gonna blameautocorrrect. ;)
Marcus carried his glass from the kitchen to the couch. He set it on the side table, then settled on the plush cushions and worked his shoes off with his heels one by one. While he did, he composed areply.
And who is it that I have the pleasure ofwritingto?
The speech bubble appeared at the bottom right corner of the conversation seconds later. Marcus undid the top button of his shirt as he waited, then the next. Before his fingers arrived at the third button, he had hisreply.
Someone u’ll neverforget.
A grin, wide and unconstrained by propriety, spread Marcus’ lips. He leaned back against the arm of his couch, tenting his legs as hesettled.
