Page 4 of Daddy Marc's Gem (Club Sensation #2)

Foster checked the time on his phone, his anxiety building. He stood outside near the entrance of the museum, admiring the well-tended gardens. Sure, it was still ten minutes until noon, but that didn’t quell the fear that he’d be stood up.

He fidgeted with the sleeve of his green button-down, smoothing imaginary wrinkles. The light breeze carried the scent of roses from the garden, but he couldn’t fully appreciate the sensation while consumed with worry.

“Hey,” came the deep and now familiar voice behind him.

He turned quickly, nearly losing his balance. “Marc! Hi. I—I wasn’t sure if you’d come.” Foster winced at his own words. “I mean, I know you said you would, but...” He trailed off, mentally kicking himself for rambling.

Marc tilted his head, a small crease forming between his eyebrows. “Why would you think that? I was the one who invited you.”

Foster chuckled shakily, running a palm across the top of his head. “I dunno. You said we should talk before Friday, that’s all.” He shrugged. “I need to confess that my thoughts tend to drift to the worst-case scenario in most things.”

Marc rubbed his chin. “Hmm, I’m guessing you assumed I might be looking for an excuse to break our date?”

It is a date! Foster bit his lower lip. “Maybe. I thought after spending some time with me, you’d decided I wasn’t your type or something.”

Marc sighed, stepping a bit closer. “Not at all. To be honest, it’s the opposite of that. I’ve been looking forward to seeing you again.”

A cloud passed over Marc’s features, and Foster returned to worrying. If Marc truly was interested in pursuing a relationship but also had something dire to tell him, whatever it was couldn’t be good.

Foster’s shoulders fell. “Oh no. You’re already taken.” His eyes widened. “Are you married? Or living with someone?”

His stomach twisted, nausea threatening. Edward had done the very same thing to him, cheating on him with another guy before abandoning him. No way was he going to be the person that destroyed someone else’s relationship.

Marc shook his head firmly. “No, Foster. I’m not married or seeing anyone.” He reached out, his large hand hovering near Foster’s arm before gently settling there. “That’s not what this is about at all.”

The warmth of Marc’s touch steadied him, anchoring him to the present moment. He exhaled slowly, embarrassed by his spiraling thoughts.

“I’m sorry.” Foster lowered his head. “I just—”

“You don’t need to apologize.” Marc’s voice was gentle but firm. “But I would like to understand why your thoughts immediately went there.” He glanced at a nearby bench. “Will you sit with me? I’m certain that strolling through a museum right now is the last thing you have on your mind.”

Foster nodded, and Marc guided him with a light touch to the small of his back. The bench overlooked a section of the garden where late-blooming flowers stubbornly defied the approaching winter. They sat close enough that Foster felt reassured by Marc’s presence. He angled his body toward Foster, his expression open yet searching.

“I know we haven’t known each other long,” Marc began, “but I’ve noticed something. You expect disappointment. You brace for it, almost welcome it.”

Foster's cheeks heated. He studied his hands in his lap as if they were the most fascinating thing ever. “Yeah, I guess I do, don’t I?” His voice was barely above a whisper. “It’s easier sometimes. You know, so I won’t be disappointed.”

“Is this because of your ex?” Marc regarded him without judgment.

“Yeah,” Foster sighed. “He had a pattern of setting me up for disappointment. Making plans and canceling. Promising things he never intended to deliver.” He traced a pattern on his knee with his fingertip. “I’ve also allowed others to do that to me, even before him. I always give up control to people who then take advantage.”

Marc pressed his lips together, pausing before speaking. “That makes sense. Our past experiences shape how we interpret current situations.” He held Foster’s gaze. “Thank you for sharing that with me.”

He rubbed his forehead, back to appearing pained. Even if Marc wasn’t cheating on anyone, he was clearly uncomfortable about what he wanted to tell him.

“Now it’s my turn to share.” Marc gave him a melancholy smile. “I’m hoping you’ll hear me out before responding.”

Uh-oh . What could be worse than cheating? Marc seemed like an upstanding guy, yet…

Marc cleared his throat. “You already know I’m a therapist, but I haven’t told you what my specialty is. When I began my career, my practice focused on clients who struggled with sexuality and identity issues. That was something I dealt with growing up, so I was drawn to that area of study. Over time, my focus evolved to include relationship dynamics, particularly...” He paused, his gaze steady with intent. “Particularly alternative relationship structures and power exchanges.”

“I see.” He sort of did in a general way. But the part about alternative relationships struck him like therapist jargon that needed clarification. “When you say alternative and… what was it? Power exchange? What does that mean exactly?”

“Those who follow the BDSM lifestyle. I went to a workshop in New York and met someone who became my mentor. When he opened a club here in Boston, we became closer as friends, and I discovered a lot about myself. Eventually, I realized that being a Dom for me went beyond power exchange. I was drawn to being a Daddy. A nurturer, a caretaker. Someone who provides structure and guidance. That led to requests for my help as a therapist.” He dragged his fingers through his hair. “So you see, before we get involved, you need to know what I’m looking for in a partner.”

Foster felt as if he was frozen to the bench. Like his body had turned to stone, and he could neither move nor speak. Breathing wasn’t coming so easy either.

Marc arched his eyebrows. “Are you okay?”

His mouth had gone dry. He tried to swallow, his heart hammering so loudly he wondered if Marc could hear it.

“I... I’m okay,” Foster managed, his voice thin, though he was anything but okay. His mind raced, trying to process everything Marc had revealed. He’d heard of BDSM before, of course. Edward had once shown him some pornography that had made him uncomfortable—all leather and chains and pain. But a Daddy? That was something different, wasn’t it?

“You don't look okay,” Marc said gently. “Take your time. I know it's a lot to take in.”

Foster’s gaze drifted to a fallen maple leaf near his shoe, its edges curling upward as though it was reaching for something. “So when you say Daddy, you mean...”

“Not what most people initially think,” Marc’s voice remained steady and patient. “It's about creating a dynamic where one partner provides guidance, protection, and structure, while the other offers trust and submission. It’s not necessarily about age role play, though some do incorporate that. For me, it’s about nurturing someone, helping them grow, celebrating their successes, and being there when they struggle.”

Foster nodded slowly, chewing on his thumb as he tried to imagine what Marc might be like when he was a Daddy. “So it’s like... taking care of someone?”

“In many ways, yes.” Marc’s expression softened. “A Daddy Dom creates boundaries and rules that benefit his boy—his partner. He offers praise when deserved and correction when needed. But most importantly, he provides a safe space where his partner can be vulnerable without fear.” Marc smiled. “It’s about connection, Foster. Deep connection.”

A small, involuntary shiver ran through him. The idea of someone taking care of him, of having someone he could truly trust with his vulnerabilities, stirred something deep inside him he hadn’t known existed.

“And this club you mentioned?” Pictures of men in studded leather being whipped jumped into his head. Of course, Marc said he wasn’t interested in that, but wouldn’t those kinds of things be at a BDSM club? “I mean, it’s not really my business, but do you like, do stuff with men, or…” His cheeks caught fire. “Boys, I guess. How does that work as a Daddy in a public place?”

Marc smiled again. The fact that he was so calm was helping Foster hold his shit together.

“That’s a good question. For me personally, I don’t participate as a Daddy in public. I either meet a boy who’s looking for that type of relationship dynamic, or I get a private room to scene with a boy for that night only.”

“Umm… You might’ve lost me again. I think I know what you mean, but just in case.” He tilted his head. “Scene?”

Marc folded his hands on his lap, his brow creasing as a family with a small child walked past them. On the one hand, Foster wished they were somewhere more private. On the other, he wasn’t sure how comfortable he’d be completely alone with Marc. His gut clenched. Maybe that was mean. His instinct told him Marc was a good, trustworthy man. Yet Marc himself had remarked that they were still strangers in many ways.

At last, Marc spoke. “I think it might be hard for you to truly understand what that means without experiencing it firsthand—either by observing or participating.”

Foster tensed, his eyes going wide. Marc seemed to sense his anxiety and held up his hand in a calming gesture.

“I wasn’t suggesting we rush over to Club Sensation right now. Only that it’s difficult to do the experience justice without some direct involvement.”

Foster was still stuck on something else Marc had said. “Right now?”

Marc drew his eyebrows together. “Right now what?”

Foster swallowed hard. “You said you weren’t suggesting we go to the club now, but does that mean you’ll be suggesting it later?”

Marc’s face fell. “It’s okay, Foster. I’m not asking you to become a part of my world. I…” Marc rubbed his eyes with thumb and forefinger. “Thank you for allowing me to tell you all of this, and for not running away right off the bat. I appreciate you hearing me out.” He gave Foster a tight smile. “If you don’t feel comfortable enough to spend any more time with me, I completely understand. But if you think we can still be friends, I’d like to enjoy the museum today and go to dinner on Friday. No strings attached. It bothers me that you haven’t been able to make friends here yet, and I enjoy your company.”

Foster stared at Marc, absorbing the gentle resignation in his voice. The thought of walking away from this man made something in his chest constrict. Despite the revelation—or perhaps because of it—he felt drawn to Marc in a way he couldn’t fully articulate.

“I’d still like to go to dinner on Friday.” Foster surprised himself with the certainty in his voice. “And the museum today. I’m not interested in only being friends. I just... I need time to absorb everything.”

Relief softened Marc’s features. “Of course. Take all the time you need.”

“I mean,” Foster hurried to clarify, “I'm not saying I want to jump into... whatever this is. But I like you, Marc. A lot. And I’ll confess I’m curious.” He plucked imaginary lint from his khakis. “However, I don't truly know anything about this world. It’s intimidating.”

“Yes, it can be.” Marc draped his arm across the top of the bench, and Foster wished he was brave enough to scoot closer. “But I would never push you to do something you didn’t want. That’s not the type of control I enjoy. Nothing happens without your consent.”

Never had he been so caught up in a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. Maybe the museum should be saved for another time. His brain was on overload. Friday was a couple of days away. By then, he’d probably be more coherent and less freaked out.

“So, I’m not making any excuses or trying to get away from you, but… Would it be okay if we postponed the museum?” Foster winced. “I feel like my head is spinning with all this new information, and I wouldn’t appreciate the exhibits properly.”

Marc nodded immediately. “Of course, Foster. Whatever you need.”

“Thank you.” Foster exhaled with relief. “I’m not running away, I promise.”

Marc stood, offering his hand to help Foster up. “I understand completely. Would you like me to walk you to your car?”

Foster accepted Marc’s hand, feeling the strength in those fingers, the gentle but firm way they enveloped his own. Something about that simple touch made his heart flutter. “Thanks. That would be nice.”

They walked in companionable silence through the garden, a few fallen leaves crunching beneath their feet. Foster stole glances at Marc’s profile, noting the way his brow had relaxed as if his confession had unburdened him.

“I have a question,” Foster said as they approached his car. “Outside of the club, have you ever had a boy of your own? Or only regular boyfriends?”

Marc squeezed his hand. “Since becoming a Daddy, I’ve only had two long-term relationships, and they were my boys. I wish I could tell you everything was perfect because of the dynamic, but there are good reasons we’re no longer together.

He let out a sad sigh, and Foster felt bad for making him dredge up bad memories. “One actually cheated on me, so I can relate to the pain you experienced with Edward. The other became so overwhelmed by the intensity of our relationship that he couldn’t handle it anymore. He told me before he left that he loved having a Daddy, but it was too much. He was terrified of being so close that he’d be destroyed if we broke up. It was almost as if he wanted the pain then instead of waiting until we were in deeper. So he took a job overseas as if the ocean separating us could protect him.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. It hurts to think about sometimes,” Marc’s voice softened. “But that’s the risk with any relationship, isn’t it? The deeper you go, the more vulnerable you become.”

They reached Foster’s car, but neither made a move to separate. He leaned against the driver’s door, still holding Marc’s hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“I'm sorry that happened to you,” Foster said quietly. “Being cheated on... it hollows you out.”

Marc nodded. “It does. But I’ve had time to heal.” He paused, then added, “Can I ask you something personal?”

Foster tensed slightly. “Sure.”

“What scares you the most about what I’ve told you today?”

The question caught Foster off guard. He stared at their joined hands while collecting his thoughts. “I guess... the idea of giving someone that much control over me.” He met Marc’s eyes. “With Edward, he took control without asking. He dictated everything—where we lived, who my friends were, even what I wore sometimes. And in the end, he still left me with nothing.” His shoulders slumped. “Of course, I’m the one who let him do that.”

Marc regarded him with a pained expression. “That wasn’t dominance, Foster. That was abuse.” His voice was gentle but firm. “True dominance is a profound responsibility. It’s not about taking; it’s about holding. Holding space, holding boundaries, holding you safe.” He squeezed Foster's hand. “A good Daddy earns the right to guide his boy through trust and respect. It’s never taken by force or manipulation.”

Something shifted in Foster’s body, a tiny knot in his stomach loosening. “I never thought about it that way.” He licked his lips. “The difference between taking control and being given it.”

Marc's eyes softened. “It’s a crucial distinction. One that many people misunderstand.” He released Foster’s hand. “I want you to know that whatever you decide about us, I’m glad we had this conversation.”

Foster nodded, mourning the loss of Marc’s touch. “Me too. And I really am looking forward to Friday.” He fumbled with his keys. “I’ll probably have more questions by then.”

Marc’s smile reached his eyes, crinkling the corners. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”

As Foster drove home, his mind replayed their conversation in fragments. The way Marc had described being a Daddy—creating boundaries, offering praise, providing a safe space—didn’t align with the intimidating images Foster had conjured. Instead, it sounded... appealing.

Foster swallowed hard, gripping the steering wheel. What was he getting himself into?