This lump in my throat feels like sadness. Jealousy. Regret. This is how Julian experiences closeness with people? Screwing strangers in the dark corners of the club.
“It’s not really as depressing as you seem to think it is.” His voice is flat and emotionless, his gaze unfocused on the table between us.
“It makes me feel like you don’t want…this,” I say, pointing to the plate. “Like you’d prefer me or Archer strung to a wall in the club so you could have us without having to look into our eyes or know what’s in our hearts.”
I can’t explain why I’m getting so upset. Maybe because I was feeling close to Julian, finally, and hearing this makes it seem like he’s still so out of reach. Maybe because, for multiple reasons, hearing him talk about this kind of detached ownership over a person isn’t as easy for me as it is for them.
I don’t want to feeldominatedby Julian. I want to feellovedby him.
“Well, truth be told, right now I would prefer that over this conversation.”
I scoff loudly.
Archer leans toward us, placing a hand out to stop the argument. “I think what Julian is trying to say isnotthat he doesn’t want this date but that he prefers situations that don’t require small talk.”
My brows fold inward as I watch Julian’s expression, searching for signs that what Archer is saying is true. Julian doesn’t even budge.
“He’s doing a very poor job of explaining it,” Archer adds, his teeth clenched. “Fancy pants is getting defensive, but what he’s actually trying to convey is that…”
Archer pauses, taking a deep breath. Under the table, I feel his foot tapping while his eyes dart back and forth between the both of us.
“Actually, I have an idea.” Resting his hands on the table, he looks at me as he says, “You should go make dessert.”
“Excuse me?” I ask with the muscles in my face pinched in confusion.
“Just…trust me. Go make dessert.”
I hesitate, staring at Archer and trying to figure out what his plan here is. I can’t tell if he’s just trying to defuse the situation or actually help me understand Julian’s behavior. After eventually deciding that Archer has only ever had good intentions as far as I’m concerned, I push my chair away from the table and walk toward the kitchen counter.
Standing at the now-tidy counter, I pull the bowl of red strawberries in front of me. Then I retrieve the cream and honey, ready to whip the topping together, and I feel them watching me, their hungry eyes soaking in the sight of me. I can practically sense their restless energy. Their desire. Their yearning.
When Archer speaks, his voice is lower, and my hands falter, dropping the spoon.
“Now imagine that while you work, Julian could use your body.”
Goose bumps prick my skin, the toasty air of my apartment causing my body to warm. Ignoring the sensation of arousal creeping in, I pour the cream and sugar into the bowl.
“Imagine he could lift your dress. Kiss your skin. Touch you however he wants.”
With the whisk in my hand, I beat the contents of the bowl, barely able to focus as Archer continues. The tone of his voice grows tighter and deeper the longer he goes.
“While you’re standing there making our dessert, he could fuck you. While watching TV, he could fuck you. First thing in the morning, he could fuck you. You’d give him that power because you like it too. Because you trust him to take control.”
Moisture pools between my thighs as Archer speaks. Meanwhile, questions swirl in my mind, because this is nothing like what I had envisioned Julian describing. Is it wrong of me to want this? Should I be ashamed of how much it turns me on?
Turning my head over my shoulder, I glimpse the blond sitting in the chair and watching me like a cat watches its prey.
“Is that…” I clear my throat. “Is that what it’s like?”
“Yes,” he responds without hesitation.
“All the time?”
“As much as we’d want.”
“Is that what you want…now?”
The only sound in the apartment is his labored breath. There’s a beat of silence before he replies. “Yes.”
