Page 5 of Daddy Marc's Gem (Club Sensation #2)

Three days had passed since his dinner date with Marc, and he hadn’t heard a word from him. Not even a text. To be fair, the ball had been left in Foster’s court. Too bad he had no idea how the game was played.

He idly petted Dolly, carding his fingers through her fur as he relaxed on the couch. His feet were propped up on an embroidered footstool, and Dolly was dozing with her head in his lap.

Foster heaved a sigh, and Dolly lifted one eyelid open before letting it drop again. She was familiar with his melancholy, so it didn’t faze her much these days. She’d been a lifesaver when Edward had marched out of their lives. He didn’t think he could’ve held it together without her by his side.

But anxiety had managed to worm its evil way into his gut, filling his heart and head with doom over the possibility of having a relationship with Marc. A Daddy . His shock from the grand reveal at the park had probably made Marc have second thoughts. Then when they went to dinner and he’d said he still wasn’t ready to discuss Marc’s lifestyle, that had probably been the final nail in the coffin of their relationship. Before they parted ways, Marc said maybe they could get together again sometime.

Not exactly an enthusiastic statement.

Did I come across too judgy? Or not interested in being more than friends? Was I too boring?

As usual, he had no idea. The amount of cringe he was capable of in social situations had no limits. Maybe he'd done or said something so obnoxious, Marc didn’t want to risk being out in public with him ever again.

“I know, Dolly. I know,” he said as if she were privy to his inner thoughts and understood every word. “I’m overreacting. Making up problems that aren’t there.” He scratched behind her ear. “And anyway, we barely know each other. No big deal, right?”

His heart clutched. That might be true, but he’d never experienced such an instant connection with a man before. Something about the strong and compassionate man spoke to him in a way no other had. If only he weren’t so skittish about Marc’s lifestyle. Yet, would it be the right thing to do, force himself to go along with Marc’s needs when he wasn't sure they matched his own? That’s exactly what he’d done with Edward.

He sighed, chewing the inside of his cheek, a terrible habit borne from his ever-present anxiety. Once again, stray thoughts of what having a Daddy in his life might be like wandered into his mind. The way Marc had explained what his role would be if they were together, the more appealing it became. After all, he wasn’t exactly doing so well on his own. If it wasn’t his anxiety, it was his inability to make a decision. Or, his low self-esteem. He’d been so desperate for a connection, so needy, that he’d fallen into a trap with Edward.

Marc would never treat me like that . Yet, how would he know for sure if he didn’t give him a chance?

“What do you think, Dolly? Should I call him?”She yawned in response.

His stomach dropped at the idea of calling Marc. He couldn’t decide what would be worse. Marc telling him he wasn’t interested or being ghosted. Marc didn’t seem like that sort of guy. One of the attributes that had reeled Foster in was how kind Marc was. He had a gentle spirit, exuded nothing but concern and compassion. Foster remembered the way Marc looked at him, his warm eyes filled with patience and understanding.

He reached for his phone, then set it down again, his heart racing with indecision. What would he even say? ‘Hi, I've been obsessing over you and wondered if you’re still interested in being my Daddy?’ He cringed at the thought.

Dolly stretched and repositioned herself on his lap, her warm weight an anchor to reality. Outside, rain began to patter against the windows, casting shadows across his small apartment. The antique clock on the mantel—one of the few treasures he’d kept from his grandparents’ shop—ticked steadily, marking the passage of yet another lonely evening.

His phone buzzed, nearly causing him to dislodge Dolly from his lap. He patted her head. “Sorry, girl.”

Reaching over her fluff, he snatched his phone off the end table. Disappointment washed over him that it wasn’t Marc. He drew his eyebrows together, not recognizing the number that had no name attached.

“Hello?”

A woman’s voice responded. “Hello. Is this Foster Olsen?”

He had no right to be irritated with this person, but he couldn’t help himself. “Yes, it is. Who am I speaking to?”

“Chloe Sharp. I run the holiday market in Boston. I had a cancellation, and I’m going through interest forms. I see here that you have vintage decorations and other antique decor for sale?”

Foster straightened, thrown off by the unexpected call. He’d forgotten all about the market. The day after Edward left, he’d started searching for any and all options where he might be able to sell his items. The market had been a desperate move since they were already filled. They were the last place he’d expected to hear from.

“Oh, yes. Yes, I do. Quite a large collection.”

“Wonderful! If you’re still available to do the market, I’ll need some photos of the type of items you’ll be selling. Would you be able to email some to me?”

“S-sure.” Of course, those pieces would have to be dug out of storage. “When do you need them by? I have everything in storage.”

“As soon as possible. If you’d like to give a deposit on the space, I can hold it for a week while you get the photos to me. After that, I’m afraid I’ll have to offer the space to the next person on my list. We’d refund your deposit, though.”

Foster rubbed his forehead. Visions of hauling everything to Boston and running the market by himself for the weekends it was open filled him with dread. But then again, so did not having any money and living in the streets. What was the worst that could happen?

He rolled his eyes at himself. That was the last road he needed to go down. One of his superpowers was his ability to envision the most vile and terrifying possibilities. But he needed the money. And preparing to attend the market might be the distraction he needed from obsessing over Marc.

“I can do that,” Foster’s words sounded more confident than he felt. “I’ll get the deposit to you tomorrow and the photos by the end of the week.”

“Perfect!” Chloe seemed genuinely pleased. “I’ll text you the details for payment and my email for the photos.”

After finalizing the arrangements, Foster hung up and stared at his phone. An opportunity had just landed in his lap, something that could give him purpose and maybe even help him build a life in Boston. Yet all he could think about was how much he wished he could share the news with Marc.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered, disturbing Dolly again. “I barely know the man.”

But oh, how he wished that would change.

Foster’s mouth went dry as an idea sprang into his head, a way to help him decide about Marc. It was a terrible one. Truly awful. Yet…

Nope. One major decision a day was plenty for him. Waiting another day wouldn’t hurt.

Foster growled to himself and snatched up the TV remote. If there were a theme to his life, waiting would pretty much sum things up.

* * * *

Marc finished typing up the notes of his last session for the day, then shut off his computer. He leaned back in his desk chair, glancing at the lights of downtown, the familiar sight not as comforting as it usually was.

Maybe I should head over to the club tonight.

He tapped his fingers on the Mission Arts and Crafts oak desk, one of his prized possessions. He let his head fall back with a sigh, the antique piece immediately making him think of Foster. Should he call him? Their dinner had been nice, and he’d loved spending time with Foster. However, the experience had shown him one very important thing.

Keeping things in the friend zone would be next to impossible. His offer of only friendship might not work out. It would be unfair to Foster to keep seeing him when all he wanted was to make him his precious boy. He groaned. How could he give up on Foster so soon? He hadn’t said no to the Daddy lifestyle yet. He’d only asked that they not discuss it for the night.

He should probably at least call him. So far, he’d been putting it off because he didn’t want Foster to feel pressured. Being controlled by his abusive ex had definitely made Foster hesitant to consider a power exchange dynamic, and who could blame him? Marc pressed his lips together. The thought of poor Foster being bullied made him want to do things that law enforcement might frown upon.

Marc pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to dispel thoughts of Foster’s ex. His protective instincts had been in overdrive since meeting the younger man. It was more than mere attraction—something about Foster’s vulnerability combined with his quiet strength called to him on a primal level.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered to the empty office. Three days of silence, and he couldn’t get the blond beauty out of his mind.

Marc pulled out his phone, staring at Foster’s contact information. His thumb hovered over the call button before he set it down again. No. He’d give it another day. It would be Thursday, and he could invite Foster to dinner for Saturday again. Show him he was still interested in hanging out while also giving him some space.

Marc stood and moved to the window, watching raindrops trace patterns down the glass. The city lights blurred through the watery veil, mirroring his own muddled thoughts. Being a Daddy Dom wasn't just a bedroom role for him—it was integral to who he was, how he connected, how he loved. Zane had reminded him of that, and he’d accepted that Foster’s rejection of his lifestyle would be the end of their relationship.

His phone buzzed on the desk behind him. Marc turned, hoping it was Foster calling to tell him he was ready to explore being his boy. He swallowed his disappointment. The screen showed the call was from Zane. A small burst of shame hit him over being sorry that his best friend was reaching out.

Marc sighed and picked up the phone. “Hey, Zane.”

“Marc! Are you still at the office? It's almost seven.”

“Just finishing up some notes,” Marc said, moving back to his desk. “What's up?”

“Checking in on you. Haven’t heard from you or seen you at the club since our little chat about your boy-who’s-not-your-boy. How’s that going?”

Marc pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s not. We had dinner, and I kept my promise not to bring up anything about the lifestyle. He seemed to enjoy himself, but...” He trailed off, unable to articulate the ache that had settled in his chest.

“But you're sitting alone in your office on a Wednesday night instead of doing something about it,” Zane finished for him.

“I'm giving him space,” Marc defended, though the words sounded hollow even to his own ears.

“Space.” Zane’s tone was dry. “And how's that working out for both of you?”

Marc ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. That’s the problem. I don’t want to push him into something he’s not ready for.”

“Fair enough. But there’s a difference between pushing and reaching out. You’re overthinking this, my friend.”

Zane was right. He’d spent the last several days replaying every moment of their dinner together, analyzing Foster’s expressions, his hesitations, the way his eyes lit up when they discussed antiques. The way he’d apologized for talking too much about his passion, as if Marc hadn’t been completely captivated.

“Come to the club,” said Zane. “Get out of your head tonight. I’ll order Thai food from that place you’re always raving about. After that, there’s a bonus. Landon’s bringing his boy in for a figging demonstration.”

Marc chuckled. “My butthole clenches at the very thought.”

“Are we still talking about Thai food?”

They both broke into laughter, and it was a wonderful sensation. He was way too tightly wound. A trip to the club would help him clear his thoughts.

“Okay, man.” Marc wiped a finger under one eye. “You’ve talked me into it. I’ll finish up then head on over. Should I head to the office?”

Zach grunted. “Yes. You’re not the only one finishing up paperwork. After that nightmare with Callum, I’ve developed a major paranoia whenever I look at a Dom’s membership application.”

Marc winced. Even though Callum hadn’t spent much time at Club Sensation, the mere thought that a serial killer had ever been allowed inside weighed heavily on his friend’s mind.

“How’s Tate doing?” The unsuspecting boy had only discovered his Daddy was a vicious killer when Callum was shot dead in a police shootout.

“Much better. It’s not my place to give details yet, but he’s found someone who might work out for him as a Daddy.”

“Are the cops finally leaving him alone?”

The poor kid was being harassed by detectives who thought he was somehow involved. It had broken Marc’s heart. Many of his clients struggled with the misconceptions of BDSM, and how those who had evil intentions cast a shadow over anyone who lived an alternative lifestyle.

“I think so. For now, at least.”

.Marc smiled. “That’s great to hear. I’m so glad you’ve been there for him.”

“Me too.” Zane sighed. “Okay, let’s move on to lighter topics. Thai food is needed as soon as possible. I only had a protein bar for lunch.”

“Uh-oh. Don’t make me tell on you. Your boys won’t be pleased.”

Zane snorted. “No kidding. I’ll have to pull out the standard ‘Do as I say, not as I do.’ I doubt that will go over too well with Ryan.”

Marc chuckled. “Me neither.” He didn’t know Zane’s newer boy all that well, but Ryan was on the feisty side. “Well, we can’t have you starving, so I’ll be there in a bit.”

They said their goodbyes and Marc closed down his computer. He might not be able to get Foster out of his thoughts, but he could at least be a good friend to Zane.