“Most of all,” I add, “I want to give you the respect, kindness, and love you deserve. No conditions. No hiding. No non-disclosure agreements.”
She swallows. I notice the way her shoulders ease, even as tension coils somewhere deeper. Desire hums beneath her skin, visible in the way she presses her thighs together, in the faint tightening of her nipples beneath her tank.
Still, she stays on course.
“And how do you think this works,” she asks quietly, “with the three of us.”
I don’t hesitate.
“However we want it to.”
The words aren’t flippant. They’re intentional.
“Nothing forced. Nothing assumed. We decide together what this looks like. What the boundaries are. What the pace is.” I lean back slightly. “Nobody gets left behind. Nobody gets reduced.”
Silence settles between us again, but it’s different now. Heavy. Expectant.
She studies me like she’s measuring truth, weighing risk against longing.
And I know, without needing her to say it yet, that something irreversible has already shifted.
Not because of desire alone.
But because she’s not used to being seen without sacrificing and settling for less.
I’ve livedenough life to know that very little should surprise me anymore. Pain teaches you that early. Loss sharpens it. Disappointment cements it.
But Calil Black treating me like I wasn’t something to be hidden, something to be enjoyed quietly and denied loudly, was not on my bingo card.
Neither was him stepping in like that tonight. Neither was the way he said mine without hesitation, without flinching, without apology.
My defenses finally start to loosen, inch by inch.
“I want the three of us to talk,” I say after a long moment. “When Lena’s out of the hospital and settled in.”
He nods immediately. “I agree.”
There’s no resistance. No bargaining. Just respect.
I swallow and decide to tell him the part I don’t usually say out loud. “I’m the reason Lena and I haven’t gone public.”
His brow furrows slightly. “Why.”
I sigh. “Because I’m scared. Of her parents. Of her father especially. I don’t want her to have to choose between me and her family. I don’t want to be the reason she loses them.”
He listens. Really listens.
Then he chuckles softly, shaking his head. “That would be hypocrisy at its finest. They adore Ajaih, Maverick, and Knox. Love them out loud.”
His expression turns serious again. “You can’t want to be loved out loud while being the one keeping yourself in the shadows.”
I wince. “That’s easier said than done when you’re used to being the one who gets left.”
“I get that,” he says gently. “But nothing about the Barré family has ever given hateful. Maybe give them a chance to prove you wrong.”
I sit with that. Let it settle. Let it challenge the narrative I’ve been protecting myself with.
Then he says, low and warm, “Z Baby, come here.”
