Page 7 of Daddy Marc's Gem (Club Sensation #2)

Marc hid a smile as he put away the leftover food from the stop he’d made to get Foster’s dinner. Normally, he would’ve preferred to cook for his boy, but it was late and he wanted to get eating out of the way. Even at his age he was filled with excitement over the prospect of being Foster’s Daddy.

Foster perched on a barstool at the kitchen island, his slender fingers drumming a nervous rhythm on the granite countertop. The boy had been fidgeting all evening, starting conversations only to let them trail off into silence.

Foster cleared his throat. “That was really good. Thanks again.”

Marc closed the refrigerator door. “Excellent. I’ll add vegetable lasagna to your list of favorite foods.”

Foster’s eyebrows shot up. “Seriously?” He let out a shaky chuckle. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to sound sarcastic. I’m genuinely surprised. I apologize for questioning you so much.”

“Hmm…” Marc leaned against the sink, drying off his just-washed hands. “First off, I’m very serious. How can I give you the best of everything if I don’t know what that is? As for apologizing, I’ve noticed you do that quite a lot. That can be one of the first things we work on.”

Foster’s brow creased. “It’s just that I didn’t want you to think I was being rude.”

“How about this?” Marc smiled to help ease Foster’s anxiety. That was another thing he’d have to work on with him, but he didn’t want to vocalize it yet. Already, he could tell how desperate Foster was to please. “Say anything and everything. Ask me whatever you like. If, for some reason, I find something you’ve said rude or disrespectful, I’ll let you know. Otherwise, it’s open season.”

Foster’s mouth was hanging open. He snapped it shut, then gave a quick shake of his head. “I don’t know what to say.” Foster placed the back of his hand to his lips. “I’ve been walking on eggshells my whole life.” He inhaled a shuddering breath. “I’m not sure I know how to behave any other way.”

Marc’s heart ached for Foster, for his boy. He was more determined than ever to help Foster find his way—even if they didn’t make it as a couple. He swallowed past a lump in his throat. Damn, but how he wanted everything to work out between them.

Marc moved around the kitchen island so he could wrap him in his arms. Foster stiffened for just a moment before melting into Marc's embrace. The tension in his shoulders gradually released, and a strange mixture of pride and protectiveness washed over him. This beautiful, fragile creature trusted him, even if only for a moment.

“Listen to me.” Marc pressed a soft kiss to Foster’s temple before continuing. “I don't want a boy who walks on eggshells. I want one who dances across hardwood floors, who stomps in puddles, who leaves footprints in the sand.” He pulled back just enough to tilt Foster’s chin up. “I want to see you, not some carefully constructed version you think I want.”

Foster’s blue eyes glistened. “But what if the real me isn’t enough?”

The question pierced Marc’s heart. How many times had someone made this man feel as if he wasn’t wonderful? That he had to be someone else, or he wasn’t worth bothering with.

Marc tightened his embrace. resting his chin on Foster’s head. “My sweet baby. Let me take this burden from you. I’ll carry your fears if you’ll only allow me to. You said you wanted to try having me as your Daddy. This right now? This is exactly what it means to be my boy, to allow me to take care of you.”

Foster's fingers curled into Marc's shirt, holding on as if afraid he might disappear. “O-okay. You have my permission. It’s so strange to say such a thing, but you’ll help me with all of that, right? You know, remembering that it’s okay to be your boy, that I’m not being too needy.”

Marc pulled back, pinching his eyebrows together. “That’s an odd way to put it. Did Edward or someone ever say that about you?”

Foster lowered his gaze. “He said it a lot. I sometimes wonder why he wanted me to come with him across the country.” He huffed. “I mean, what was the point when he was just going to dump me anyway.”

Marc rubbed soft circles on Foster’s back. “I’d like to spend a few minutes talking about that if you feel you can.”

“Edward?” He tilted his head. “Why? I don’t care about him anymore if that’s what you’re concerned about.”

“Come on. Let’s sit down and get comfortable.”

Marc guided Foster to the living room, settling them both onto the plush sofa. He kept one arm around Foster's shoulders, maintaining that physical connection that seemed to ground him.

Foster leaned his head against Marc’s shoulder, his breathing gradually steadying. “The way you talk to me is so different.” He paused, seeming to gather courage. “Edward always told me what I was doing wrong, how I should change. I was a nervous wreck around him. That’s what I meant, that there’s no reason to think I might still be thinking of him that way or want him back.”

Foster’s warmth and lithe frame were distracting pressed against his side, but Marc was determined to keep his mind on Foster’s feelings - not his dick.

“Thank you for telling me that, but I’m more worried by the way he’s haunting your thoughts. That even though he’s out of your life, you’re still using his opinions of you to inform how you believe others see you. Just because Edward claimed to know you, doesn’t mean he did. For him, you only existed to serve a purpose in his life, for his benefit. Obviously, he was attracted to you and wanted you for his own, or he never would’ve pursued you beyond a hookup. Many times in situations like this, the critical person is the one who doesn’t feel good enough. The only way they can handle that is to bring the other person down.”

Foster seemed deep in thought, so Marc continued. “He probably also grabbed on to your giving nature, that you want to please others and aren’t selfish the way he is. That’s like catnip to an abuser.” Marc framed Foster’s cheeks with his palms. He wanted to make sure Foster was truly listening. “You do understand that Edward was an abuser, right? Even if he didn’t physically hurt you, he did emotionally and psychologically.”

Foster’s eyes widened, his breath catching. “I never thought of it that way. Abuse seems like such a harsh word.”

“It is harsh.” Marc draped his arm across the back of the couch, his fingers resting lightly on Foster’s shoulder. “But so is what you endured. Manipulation, isolation, constant criticism—they leave scars as real as physical ones.”

Foster shifted, moving closer to Marc. “He'd always say I was too needy when I wanted to spend time with him, but then he’d get angry if I made plans with other people.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I stopped trying to make friends after a while. It was easier that way.”

A familiar anger simmered beneath Marc’s calm exterior—the kind that rose whenever he encountered someone who’d been mistreated. Whether working with a patient or at the club, he had to try extra hard to maintain his composure.

He forced himself to keep his voice gentle as he responded. “Classic isolation tactics.” Marc kept his tone measured despite the fury building inside. “He systematically cut you off from potential support systems. That’s textbook, Foster.”

Foster bit his lower lip, his eyes distant as if seeing his past relationship through a new lens. “I thought I was just being considerate of his feelings. That’s what relationships are supposed to be about, right? Compromise?”

“Compromise is mutual,” Marc explained, his thumb absently stroking Foster's shoulder. “What you’re describing is surrender. There’s a world of difference between the two, especially in our lifestyle.”

A small crease appeared between Foster’s brows. “Yeah, I can see that now. Everything you’ve been telling me about being a Daddy and taking care of your boy is so far removed from being with Edward…” He snorted. “It’s hard to believe I was that stupid.”

“Whoa, that’s not allowed with me. I won’t have you denigrating yourself.” At Foster’s stricken expression, Marc squeezed his shoulder in reassurance. “No one can talk badly about my beautiful, sweet boy. Includinghimself.”

Foster ducked his head. “It’s going to take me a while to get used to this.”

“I know, sweetheart.” Marc pressed a kiss to Foster’s temple. “But I’ll be by your side, helping you with anything you need.” He carded his fingers through Foster’s soft hair. “Hey, I have an idea. If it’s not too late for you, why don’t we pick three main things for us to start working on together.”

“It’s not too late.” Foster scrunched his brow. “But can you give me an example of what you mean? Like something you think would be good.”

“Of course. But I want at least one of them to come from you without my influence.”

Foster chewed his bottom lip, his eyes fixed on a point somewhere beyond Marc's shoulder. “I guess... I'd like to work on not apologizing so much.” His gaze flicked up to meet Marc’s, seeking approval. “What do you think?”

“That’s perfect.” Marc was filled with pride at Foster’s suggestion. “And it's something we've already identified as important. I'm glad you see it, too.”

Foster’s shoulders relaxed slightly, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Your turn.”

Marc considered for a moment, his fingers still idly stroking Foster”s hair. “I think we should work on you trusting your judgment more. Learning to value your own opinions and desires instead of immediately deferring to others.”

Foster grimaced. “That sounds... scary.” Even though he seemed reticent, there was no resistance in his tone. “But I think you're right.”

Marc nodded. “Excellent. Okay, one more. Why don’t you take this one?”

He winked, delighted that Foster chuckled instead of backing away from the challenge. Foster let out a long sigh.

“Okay, but it’s going to be as tough as the other two. We might spend the rest of our lives on these three things alone.” A furious blush bloomed in Foster’s cheeks. “Uh…I mean… I wasn’t saying that you and I…” He dropped his head in his hands. “I wish you hadn’t said I can’t talk badly about myself.”

Marc gathered Foster in his arms, rubbing his back as he held him. “Hey, anything you say is all right. I said you could talk about anything, remember?”

“Yeah…” He lifted his head. “Thank you. I blurt. Maybe that should be the third one?”

“Hmm…” Marc narrowed his eyes. “I’m not keen on discouraging your expression. That flies in the face of allowing yourself to say how you feel about something. And since it sounds as though you’re getting overwhelmed, why don’t we make the third one you not putting yourself down? Does that work?”

“Okay.” The tension left Foster’s shoulders. “That sounds doable.” He smirked. “Eventually.”

Marc jostled him. “There’s no time limit, no deadline you need to meet. Only my guidance and your willingness to be a part of the process.”

Foster let out a shaky laugh. “This is intense.”

“It is.” Marc smiled. “But we'll take it one step at a time.” He brushed a strand of hair from Foster’s forehead. “There’s no rush. The journey is as important as the destination.”

Foster nestled closer, his body fitting perfectly against Marc’s frame. “I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. For you to suddenly change your mind or tell me I’m too much work.”

A pang of sadness filled Marc’s chest. This incredible man had been conditioned to expect disappointment, to believe he wasn’t worth the effort. Every time he thought about it, his anger resurfaced “That's not going to happen,” he said firmly. “When I commit to someone—especially as their Daddy—I’m all in. It’s not something I take lightly.”

Foster shifted, turning more fully toward Marc on the couch. His knee brushed against Marc’s thigh, and he didn't pull away.

Progress .

“Can I ask you something?” Foster’s brow wrinkled.

“Of course.”

“At the club, the man who told the bouncer to throw out the guy hassling me. It seems like you and he are friends. Zane? He’s the club owner?”

Marc drew his eyebrows together. “Master Zane, yes. He’s my closest friend. Does that bother you?”

Foster drew in a sharp breath. “No, not at all. I’m not like that, not like Edward. It’s more that I want to know more about you, how the club and the people there fit into your life.”

Marc grinned. Oh yes. Foster had dipped his toes in and now was ready for his first swim.

“That's a great question.” Marc smiled, thrilled by Foster's genuine interest. “Zane and I go back almost fifteen years. We met at a workshop in New York when I was still figuring out my place in the lifestyle. I’m originally from here, so when I discovered he was a fellow Bostonian, it all clicked.”

Foster’s eyes widened. "Fifteen years? So you've been... doing this for a while, then?”

“In essence. It’s been a growth process for me as well.” Marc chuckled. “I was about your age when I first discovered this part of myself. It was quite the revelation after years of feeling as if something was missing.”

Foster nodded, his expression thoughtful. “And Master Zane, he helped you? Were you always a Daddy?”

“Yes, he helped me and no, I wasn’t always a Daddy.” Marc laughed softly. “I think I was always meant to be one, but I had to discover that for myself. Zane was already established as a Master when we met. He took me under his wing—not as his submissive, but as a friend and mentor.”

“Did you help him start the club?”

Marc shook his head. “No, that was all him. I was in the process of starting up my practice. Like I explained before, my interactions at the club helped me narrow the focus of my practice.”

“What about your family? Do they know about this part of your life?”

“Well…” Marc winced. “In a very generalized sense. My parents aren’t all that religious, but my grandparents on my father’s side are staunch Catholics. They know I’m gay, but the BDSM lifestyle…” He let out a low whistle. “That's something I've kept private. My sister knows a bit more, but not everything.”

Foster nodded, seemingly absorbing this information. “Is it hard? Keeping parts of yourself hidden from them?”

Marc considered the question. “It was, at first. But I've come to see it as compartmentalizing rather than hiding. Some aspects of my life are only for me—and the people I choose to share them with.” He locked eyes with Foster. “Not everyone needs to know everything about us. That’s the beauty of intimacy—having spaces that only belong to us.”

Foster’s expression softened. “I like that.” He hesitated before adding, “And I completely understand. My grandparents were wonderful, but there were definitely parts of myself I kept hidden. They passed away before I could work up the courage to tell them I’m gay.”

Marc placed his hand over Foster's fidgeting fingers, stilling them with gentle pressure. “Do you think they would have accepted you?”

“Yeah," Foster said without hesitation. “They might’ve needed time, but they loved me unconditionally.” His eyes grew distant. “Not like my parents.”

Marc waited, giving Foster space to continue if he wanted. When he remained silent, Marc gently squeezed his hand.

“Your parents,” Marc prompted softly. “You haven't mentioned them much.”

Foster's shoulders tensed. “There's not much to say. They chose drugs over me. Left me with my grandparents when I was four.” His voice was matter-of-fact, but Marc heard the pain beneath the practiced indifference. “Sometimes I wonder if that’s why I'm like this—always trying to please people, always afraid of being abandoned.”

“That's a valid connection to make. Early abandonment can shape how we form attachments later in life.”

Foster gave him a crooked smile. “Is that the therapist talking?”

“Partly.” Marc smiled back. “But mostly, it’s the man who sees how special you are and wishes you could see it too.”

Foster rested his head on Marc’s shoulder. “And we’re working on that, right?”

Marc wrapped his arms more securely around Foster, pulling him closer. “Absolutely. And we'll take all the time you need.”

They sat in comfortable silence for several minutes, the steady rhythm of their breathing synchronizing in the quiet apartment. Marc savored the weight of Foster against him, the trust implicit in that simple contact. It had been so long since he’d experienced such a strong connection with someone, a sense of rightness that transcended physical attraction.

“I should probably get going,” Foster murmured, though he made no move to stand. “It's getting late, and Dolly will be wondering where I went.”

“Poor girl. We certainly don’t want that.”

Foster remained still. Marc angled his body to face him.

“Is something else bothering you? I don’t want to leave you in a state of stress.” Marc ran a few ideas through his mind, trying to come up with a solution that allowed Foster to get home while also being reassured. “If you’re worried about Dolly, I can always follow you home, and we can talk some more. Would that help?”

Foster appeared conflicted. “It’s after ten already. My schedule is pretty flexible these days, but don’t you have to get up early for work? I don’t want to put you out.”

Marc smiled, touched by Foster's consideration. “I appreciate you thinking of my schedule, but I only have afternoon appointments tomorrow.” He winked. “One of the perks of being my own boss.” He brushed his thumb along Foster's jawline, enjoying the scrape of late-day stubble against the sensitive pad of his thumb. “Besides, Daddy’s in charge. Remember?”

Foster licked his lips. “Oh yeah. Then yes, I’d like that a lot. Having you there, I mean.” He cleared his throat. “This all feels so new, and I don't want to lose that feeling when I walk out your door.”

“Then it’s settled.” Marc stood, extending his hand to help Foster up. “I’ll follow you to your place. We can make sure Dolly is properly pampered, and then we can talk about whatever you want.”

Foster grinned as he rose, wobbling a bit. Marc steadied him with a hand at his lower back, so relieved to see the happiness in Foster’s eyes. He sent a wish to the stars that he could witness Foster’s joy for many, many years to come.