Page 3 of Daddy Marc's Gem (Club Sensation #2)

Marc entered Colonial Tea & Coffee, a trendy place he’d visited many times over the years. Even though Foster was new to the area, he’d shared that this was his favorite place to get coffee as well. Had they ever crossed paths? Would they have had a reason to strike up a conversation? Or would he have forever gone without meeting the man he hadn’t been able to get out of his head all week.

He should send Dolly some gourmet treats for bringing them together.

Marc quickly surveyed the open room, his heart pounding in anticipation, and determined that Foster hadn’t arrived yet. That was fine. He’d shown up a bit earlier so he could get his bearings, and to make sure Foster didn’t become anxious waiting for him.

As Marc grabbed a small table in the back, he internally lectured himself to not make assumptions. They might have a lot in common, had enjoyed each other’s company while sharing a pizza, the spark of attraction sizzling in the air between them. However, this coffee shop date was a casual get-together, nothing more. As it was, he shouldn’t be thinking of it as a date at all.

Although, once he took Foster to the upscale restaurant where he’d made reservations, it would be difficult not to assume it was more than a couple of new friends hanging out. He still had two important concerns that could block their path to romance. Whether or not Foster was emotionally available after his bad breakup was one, but the real relationship killer could be Marc’s lifestyle. That was a rather large detail he hadn’t shared—not when all they’d done was share a pizza. But if Foster expressed an interest in something beyond friendship, that would be an enormous elephant to wrestle to the ground.

The chime above the door announced Foster's arrival. Marc’s breath caught as the younger man scanned the room, a shy smile blooming when their eyes met. Foster wore a light blue pinstripe that brought out his eyes, his honey-blond hair slightly tousled from the summer breeze.

“Hey,” Foster said, sliding into the chair across from Marc. “Sorry if I kept you waiting.”

“You're right on time.” Marc smiled back, noticing how Foster fidgeted with the cuffs of his shirt. “I arrived early to save us a spot.”

They fell into comfortable conversation as they ordered—Marc his usual dark roast, Foster a cinnamon latte with an extra shot. Marc found himself cataloging each small detail: the way Foster ducked his head when he laughed, how he listened with complete attention, repeatedly brushing his hair back from his forehead.

Marc took a sip of his hot brew then set down his mug. “How’s your girl Dolly doing?”

“She got that bath after you left.” Foster rolled his eyes. “Combing out her fur took longer than cleaning her up.”

Marc smiled. “I bet.”

He took another sip of his cooling coffee before setting it down. A subtle shift in their interaction crept in, and Marc blamed himself. Perhaps not blurting out that he was a Daddy over pizza after just meeting had been wise. But continuing to feel uncomfortable that Foster didn’t know made him want to hold back everything. Even if they only remained friends, that wasn’t the way to conduct a relationship.

“Hey, so I was thinking,” Marc began. “I made reservations at La Belle Vie for this Friday like I said I would. But I was wondering if you’d like to get together before then.” Marc tapped his fingers against the side of his cup. “I’m not sure what your schedule is like, but there’s a new exhibit of impressionist watercolors at the Gardner Museum this week. I wasn’t sure if you’d had the chance to visit there yet.”

Foster's eyes lit up and he straightened in his chair. “Really? No, I haven't been to the Gardner yet. My grandparents used to talk about it all the time—they always wanted to visit.” His enthusiasm dimmed slightly as he added, “But I don’t want to impose on your time.”

“You wouldn't be. I'd enjoy the company.” He leaned in as if sharing a deadly secret with Foster. “I must confess that I haven’t been very social lately, either. On occasion, I meet up with my close friend, Zane. But no boyfriends, and other than going to the club, I —” His throat closed, and he coughed into his fist. “What I mean is that I don’t get out much like I used to.”

Foster regarded him with wide eyes. Marc wasn’t quite sure how to interpret his expression.

“No boyfriends?”

Ah, now I understand . Foster still hadn’t worked out whether he was available, or was maybe still questioning Marc’s sexuality.

“No boyfriends. It’s been a while.” He cleared his throat, squirming in his chair. The past relationships conversation would definitely out him as a kinkster. “But it looks as though the weather will hold this week. After visiting the museum, we could take a walk in Evans Way Park. That will give us plenty of time to chat. I’ll tell you all about my past heartbreaks.” He winked. “It’s a better topic in the light of day as opposed to a nice dinner at a beautiful restaurant.”

Foster wrapped his hands around his mug, his blue eyes meeting Marc’s briefly before darting away. “Sure, that sounds great. I’d love to.”

They settled on Wednesday afternoon and spent another thirty minutes chatting about their favorite artists.

A notification lit up Marc’s phone. “Excuse me, this could be about work.”

Marc glanced at the text from his phone, which was indeed from his office. He apologized to Foster, “I’m sorry, my assistant needs me to approve some paperwork. I’m afraid I’ll have to run.”

Foster nodded. “That’s okay, no problem at all.”

They bussed their table and made their way outside, the afternoon sun casting long shadows across the sidewalk.

“I'll see you Wednesday, then?” Foster’s hands were tucked into his pockets while he rocked slightly on his heels.

“Looking forward to it," Marc replied, resisting the urge to reach out and brush a strand of hair from Foster’s face. "Meet me at the museum entrance at noon?”

“Noon works perfectly,” Foster ducked his head with a shy smile that made Marc’s chest tighten. “I'll be there.”

They parted ways, Marc heading toward his office while stealing one last glance over his shoulder. Foster was still standing there, watching him go, and when their eyes met, the younger man gave a small wave before turning in the opposite direction.

The days until Wednesday would pass with excruciating slowness. Even before meeting up with Foster for coffee, he found his thoughts drifting to blue eyes and honey-blond hair. Somehow, Foster had wormed his way into Marc’s thoughts, taking up residence in corners of his mind that had been empty for too long.

He picked up the pace of his stride. As soon as he finished his paperwork, he’d see if Zane planned to be at the club later. The last thing he wanted to do was play, but Club Sensation and his closest friend helped ground him.

He swallowed hard as he entered the building where his office was located. If his lifestyle was what grounded him, then what would his future portend with Foster? While he waited for the elevator, he gave himself an internal lecture. Zane would probably tell him the same thing he told his own clients when they worried about what might happen. He also already knew the answer to his dilemma, but emotional support never hurt.

After he stepped into his office, Marc moved his personal issues to the back of his mind and spent the rest of the afternoon handling admin and meeting with two clients. At last, it was time to wrap up for the day. He wasn’t going to bother with heading home to change into his gear. His suit was fine, and if he went directly to the club, he’d arrive early enough before it got too busy.

As Marc drove to Club Sensation that evening, the city lights blurred through his windshield, a visual echo of his jumbled thoughts. The familiar route to the downtown establishment should have been comforting, but tonight, each turn only reminded him of the growing complexity of his feelings for Foster.

He parked in his usual spot behind the five-story nondescript brick building, its true nature hidden behind tasteful signage and discreet security. Marc nodded to the doorman, a hulking figure named Vince who'd been checking IDs since the club opened.

“Evening, Sir Jameson,” Vince said with a respectful nod. “Master Zane mentioned you might be stopping by. He said to tell you he’s in his office.”

“Thanks, Vince. Appreciate it.”

The familiar sensation from the bass-heavy dance beats thrummed through Marc’s body once he entered the club. The lighting was dim, casting everything in deep shades of pink and purple, a stark contrast to the bright afternoon he’d spent with Foster. Several regulars nodded in his direction as he made his way through the main room, past a scene already in progress on a raised platform.

Marc acknowledged the greetings with slight nods but kept moving. On any other night, he might’ve paused to observe the scene—a seasoned Dom demonstrating rope techniques on his willing sub—but tonight, his mind was elsewhere.

He traveled down the long hallway past the bar where the administrative offices were located, the music fading to a dull throb. Zane’s door was ajar, warm light spilling into the hallway. Marc knocked lightly on the frame.

Zane looked up from his desk, then broke into an easy smile. “Come in. I was waiting until you arrived before calling the restaurant. I figured we could have them bring over something to eat. I’m assuming you came straight from the office?”

Marc entered the large room that could double for a luxurious study in a fine mansion. He appreciated Zane’s ability to create a space that balanced professionalism with comfort—dark wood paneling, leather furniture, and just enough personal touches to make it feel lived-in.

“You know me too well.” Marc chuckled, sinking into one of the plush chairs across from Zane’s desk. “Food would be great.”

Zane, tall and imposing even when seated, studied Marc with piercing gray eyes that missed nothing. His salt-and-pepper hair cropped short, his posture impeccable even in casual moments, and his black button-down pristine despite the late hour.

“So,” Zane said after placing their usual order from the club’s adjoining restaurant, “you look like a man with something on his mind. And since you're here in work clothes instead of your leathers, I’m guessing this isn’t about scene advice.”

Marc ran a hand over his beard, buying time before he had to put his confusion into words. “I met someone.”

“Ah.” Zane leaned back in his chair, a knowing smile playing on his lips. “And this someone isn’t part of our little community, I take it?”

“His name is Foster.” Marc sighed, the name alone making his heart flutter. “He's new to the state, recently out of a bad relationship. Sweet, genuine... completely vanilla as far as I can tell.”

“And you're smitten.”

It wasn’t a question. Marc didn't deny Zane’s conclusion, merely nodded and stared at his hands.

“We had coffee today. I’ve invited him to the Gardner on Wednesday.” Marc leaned forward, clasping his hands between his knees. “I don’t know what I’m doing, Zane. He’s nothing like the men I usually date.” He searched for the right words, hands gesturing in the air. “But there’s something about him. It's not only physical attraction—though there’s plenty of that.” Marc smiled at the thought of the sweet Foster. “He’s gentle in a way that draws you in. Authentic. No pretense.”

“That's rare enough these days.” Zane studied him, his expression thoughtful rather than judgmental. “I take it he’s not looking for a Daddy?”

Marc groaned. “He doesn't even know that part of me exists. We’re meeting at the museum Wednesday, then dinner Friday. I'm torn between hoping something develops and knowing I should probably tell him sooner rather than later. I was planning on saying something to him after the museum on Wednesday.” Marc drew his eyebrows together. “I don’t want to wait until we’re on what I’m sure he considers a true date to drop that bomb on him.”

A soft knock interrupted them as one of the club’s servers arrived with their food. They paused their conversation while the young man set up their meals—steak for Zane, pasta for Marc—before thanking him and returning to their discussion.

Zane unrolled the cutlery wrapped in a purple linen napkin. “You know what I'm going to say.”

Marc nodded, his fingers tracing the edge of his own napkin. “That I need to be honest with him. That hiding who I am will only lead to more pain later.”

“Precisely.” Zane cut into his steak with surgical precision. “This is what I was trying to warn you about the other day. How many times have we seen people in the community try to suppress that part of themselves for a relationship? It never ends well.”

Marc twirled pasta around his fork without bringing it to his mouth. “I know. And I've counseled enough clients through similar situations to understand the importance of authenticity.” He finally took a bite, chewing slowly before continuing. “But I can’t help wondering if I’m jumping ahead. We’ve only just met.”

“Yet here you are, in my office, instead of enjoying the club or going home after work.” Zane raised an eyebrow. “That tells me this isn’t casual for you. Besides, not every vanilla person runs screaming when they hear about BDSM.”

“It's not only BDSM, though, is it?” Marc laid down his fork, no longer very hungry. “Being a Daddy is... it’s different. More intimate. More likely to be misunderstood.”

Zane’s expression softened, a rare sight that few other than Marc ever witnessed. “It’s also who you are. I stand by what I said when we had lunch. Don’t let your desire for a relationship cause you to make a hasty decision.”

Marc’s shoulders dropped. That was it then. He’d drop the bomb on Foster at the park. He glanced up at Zane.

“Now I know why my clients get so annoyed with me when I give them the brutal truth.”

They both broke into laughter, but it didn’t brighten Marc’s spirits. As soon as he finished having dinner with his friend, he’d leave. He had some serious thinking to do. Now that he’d expressed his feelings aloud and gotten out of his head, it was time to decide how to reveal his lifestyle to Foster.

“I hope I didn’t ruin your evening.” Zane regarded him with a wrinkled brow.

Marc shook his head. “No. You helped immensely by being my sounding board.” He sighed. “I just need to find the right words, the right moment. Something that won’t terrify him but won’t mislead him either.”

“That’s the challenge, isn’t it?” Zane took a sip of his water. “Finding that balance between honesty and sensitivity.”

“Thanks for hearing me out, man. I appreciate it.” Marc lifted up his glass. “You’re always there for me.”

Zane held up his glass, too. “As are you for me.” He clinked his glass with Marc’s “Here’s to our mutual admiration society.”

This time when they shared a laugh, Marc felt lighter. Perhaps everything would work out Foster after all. He sure as hell hoped so.