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Leo shook his head, holding his hands up to stop him, but Josh went on.
“No, Leo, really. We, uh…I guess we view you as a true friend, and maybe that’s inappropriate. I know that you’re providing a service and that we shouldn’t assume that because you spend time with us, you’re offering more than that service. It’s wrong of us to insinuate that there’s more there than you want to give.”
Leo was still shaking his head, his chest being squeezed into a tight little ball, but he didn’t know what to say because his boundaries had been crossed—not just by them, but by Leo, too. He’d let them into his heart willingly, openly, from day one.
Damon and Josh had never felt like clients to him, and he didn’t know why. He’d had plenty of friendly clients, clients whom he liked spending time with, clients whom he was attracted to. But with Damon and Josh…it was just different.
He didn’t particularly care about being wanted by his clients. It was an ego boost sometimes and always good for business, but he wasn’t moved by it. It didn’t feed him, didn’t nourish him beyond a shallow sense of satisfaction.
Feeling wanted by Damon and Josh was a completely different thing, and it was shaking all sense of direction out of him.
He didn’t know where to go from here. He didn’t know what to do. He wanted to keep that sense of belonging that Josh and Damon gave him, but the reality was that if he accepted it for real, he’d just ruin it in the long run. They’d find out what he was actually like, and he’d be left in pieces.
Leo forced a smile on his face, feeling like the skin around his lips was dead, and he was just pulling on it with his fingers to get it to move. “It’s totally fine. It happens, especially when heats and ruts are involved, you know? I know Damon didn’t mean it. I know it sounds like an excuse, but I really do think my blood pressure is just low. A few pretzels and I’ll be right as rain.”
Josh stared at him for a few seconds, something indecipherable on his face. “Okay,” he said eventually. “Wanna go to the kitchen? Or if you want to go, of course you can do that, I know this was super last minute.”
Escaping this situation sounded ideal, but he couldn’t just leave. “No, we’re good. Kitchen sounds great.”
They trudged into the living room quietly, but Damon lifted his head as soon as they walked in. He was hunched over, sitting on the couch, clothed in sweats and a T-shirt.
“Hey,” Damon greeted, voice wobbly as he straightened up.
“Hey, man. Sorry about that, I think I need some food or something.” Leo forced a laugh out of his throat.
“No,” Damon said quickly. “I’m really sorry. That was totally inappropriate of me, I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry.”
Leo shook his head even though calling someone your mate was never a joke. Not even his clients went there—it wasn’t like calling someone Daddy or Baby or Alpha or Omega. It was…too intimate for that.
But Damon was in rut, kind of, and mistakes happened.
“It’s fine, you’re good. I’m starving, though. Should we finish cooking what you started?”
Damon opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, obviously lost, but he eventually stood up and nodded. “Sure. It’s almost done.”
“Sweet.”
Leo could do this—he could pretend his heart wasn’t full and aching with Damon and Josh.
He’d survived worse.
EIGHT
Leowasabigbeliever in the saying, When it rains, it pours.
He hadn’t talked to Damon and Josh for days, ever since he’d left after Damon’s rut. Not that the lack of texts was unusual, but the silence felt heavy. Meaningful.
Which was stupid, Leo knew. Josh wasn’t due for a heat for some time, and they hadn’t planned one of their dates—no, not dates, non-heat sessions—yet.
Which was fine, obviously. They were the clients. They decided when to see Leo.
Which had nothing to do with how intolerable being with other clients had become in the last few days. It was just…he felt like he’d been stripped of the calloused layer that let him survive the job.
But he had to make money, so he had to work.
Leo shucked his clothes off, not bothering to make it sexy. This client was a regular, and Leo knew what he liked—a hole to fuck and degrade, mostly. Leo wasn’t really bothered. He’d come to develop a real distaste for being called ‘filthy’ or a ‘whore’ or a ‘slut’, but it became almost laughable after a while.
Frank always wanted to fuck him on his hands and knees and didn’t care if Leo got off, which was great—Leo didn’t have to worry about whatever bored expression was on his face, didn’t have to put up much of a performance or act all smitten like some other clients liked.
