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"Yep, that's Marcus and Thomas. They're the gay couple I mentioned earlier."
"Hmm." Des studied the photo more critically. "What I see is you in a sexy red dress, between two men whose body language makes it clear they think you're amazing. And this one, he's angled in front of both of you, saying he's the alpha and he'll fuck up anyone who messes with either of you."
"That's Marcus. You're good," she said. "Thomas can do good old boy Southern macho in a heartbeat when he's riled, but otherwise he's the lake. Marcus is the crashing ocean. Thomas's storms come out mostly in his paintings. He's an artist and Marcus represents his work. He's also a gallery owner in New York. They keep a second house in North Carolina, because that's where Thomas's family is. You might get to meet them."
She studied the picture fondly before tucking her phone back in her pocket. "They're married. To each other, in case your superpowers didn't pick up that they're wearing wedding rings."
He made a face at her. "It's a small picture."
"You got all that other stuff off of it."
"That's body language, easier to translate even in reduced size." He shifted, his side pressing into hers, and bent his head to trail his lips along the tender flesh beneath her ear. Julie drew in a breath at the sensation and was glad she'd pulled her hair up.
"So explain one thing to me," he said. "Why does Marcus have Dom vibing off of him, and the body language between the three of you suggests they've seen you naked?"
He caught her off guard. She prized her honest nature, but sometimes she wished she had a poker face, where she could avoid certain subjects without a single ripple on her countenance. Instead, she tripped over her own tongue or hesitated, like she did now, making it obvious there was something to tell.
She was an adult. She didn't have to say anything. She could say, "I don't want to talk about it."
Yet he was looking at her in that way he had, and it was like truth serum. It was also making her ridiculously flustered, because his gaze was pinned on her like he was...jealous? No, not jealous. That was a negative emotion she didn't think was a positive in any relationship. But possessiveness came with a kick she felt all the way to her vitals. He wanted to know what his competition was, and he wasn't going to be patient about it.
"It's not like that," she hedged.
"You said I was your first Dom/sub experience."
"Yes and no. Yes, in all the really important ways." She grabbed for her dignity, though it was going to be fleeting. "It's...I want to say it's embarrassing to talk about, and it is, but up until the time I met you, it was one of the most special sex memories I had."
She looked down at her hands. "Which would normally sound like the 'oh, it was the best sex I ever had until you', ego stroke, but it's not. It's...sad, in a way, and that's the embarrassing part. But..."
When he put his hand over hers, she saw his expression had softened. "Hey. Sorry. I didn't mean to back you into a corner, love. Not about something that's special to you." He cleared his throat. "Sounds to me like whichever one of them had the privilege was the damn lucky one."
"Oh, well...thank you." She shifted. "It was both, actually."
His brows lifted and she would have laughed if she wasn't so nervous. "It wasn't like that. I'm going to do this with my eyes closed and get it over with. No chance you'll let go of my hand so I can bolt?"
"Not a chance."
"Figures." Closing her eyes, she drew in a deep breath so she could get it out in one rush. "For my birthday one year, Marcus orchestrated a scene where Thomas used a vibrator on me and Marcus took control, did the Dom thing. Then they slept in my bed on either side of me. Well, eventually. They were worked up by the situation, which happens when they barely think about one another, let alone orchestrate a birthday sex party. They had sex in my bed while I watched them. After that, they held me through the whole night and made me pancakes for breakfast."
"The pancakes were included."
She cracked open an eye, relieved to see he was trying to alleviate her tension with dry humor. His hand was still curled firmly around hers.
"Absolutely. Their pancakes are to die for. Almost as good as an orgasm. Before you, I might have even said they were better than. You don't look horrified. Or amused in the wrong way, like you're laughing at me."
"I would never do that." He leaned back on his arms again, their sides still touching. "Was it then you realized you had submissive cravings?"
"I suspected before then, but that sort of stirred the pot. I can't believe I'm telling you all this."
"I can. You're a very open person." His expression still held an intriguing, simmering testosterone current, but he'd dialed it back, his tone matter-of-fact. "I can handle your honesty, love. I prefer it. And when honesty moves into nervous babbling because you're worried about losing control or being perceived in a way you think is wrong, which is bullshit, then I know how to deal with that."
"How is that?"
"A gag."
She pushed at him and he caught her hands, grinning. Rising, he helped her up and they continued their stroll along the water. As she did some idle people watching, she came up with a far less emotional question, a transition she thought they might need.
"Why do you see so many skinny men with larger women? Or large men with petite women?"
