Page 45 of Integrated (Mistress & Master of Restraint #11)

“Drinks, we need drinks,” Whitt announces to the group of idiots spread out around his living room.

Our bachelor party is very low-key, for which I’m thankful.

I worried when we pulled up in front of Restraint. I wasn’t sure if they were going to force us into the dungeon or have a laugh at our expense by dragging us into French Kissed Kink for lap dances. Instead of torturing us, we were escorted around the back of Alt to enter the private entrance to Whitt and Dalton’s loft.

When they put a tiara and miniature bridal veil on Cortez’s head, I nearly shit a brick at the massive coronary he threw. My laughter dried up right quick when they tossed a bride-to-be sash over my chest, then made me where a necklace shaped like a dick. Needless to say, Cortez was quite happy with his headgear after that… and laughing his ass off at me.

“None for me, thanks!” I announce as my eyes cut toward Cortez, who is still donning his veil.

Cort doesn’t drink at all. Hell, if I have a beer, I rinse my mouth out with mouthwash before I go anywhere near him. Just the smell alone turns Cortez’s stomach with a visceral PTSD reaction. After what he lived through at the hands of my birth father, if Cort requested I never to drink another drop, I wouldn’t.

“It’s okay,” Cort breathes into my ear, making sure no one else can overhear. “This night is for both of us.”

“It’s a bachelor party!” Our only groomsman in attendance sings.

Julio twists a funny face while proudly wearing a white and pink matron of honor t-shirt. The sight of a two-hundred-pound enforcer wearing pink is guaranteed to make anyone laugh. Julio had to have had the shirt special made, since he looks like the Hulk, ready to tear his shirt with the flex of his muscles.

“No beer, I promise.” Whitt assures me as he starts passing out bottles of hard cider.

“You told him?” Cortez accuses me, betrayal filling his voice.

“No.” Shaking my head vehemently in denial, I reach over for Cort’s hand. We sit on the sofa with twenty or so of our friends and family spread around the large, open loft space.

“I told Pretty Boy.” Aaron admits without remorse. “I wanted you to have fun tonight. I didn’t give Whitt any details, just said no beer.”

“That was private.” Cortez is embarrassed but equally hurt. “Just between the three of us.”

“And Marcus.” Aaron growls out of pure jealousy, causing the man in question to huff a laugh. “You told him, never asking for my permission.”

“That goes without saying,” comes from multiple sources: Cort, Whitt, Dalton, and me– Grant even signs the phrase as we say it. Which makes Marcus laugh all the more. Amber eyes glittering with happiness, his face is rosy red and glowing with mischievousness.

Marcus proudly wears his father-of-the-bride sash.

“Just try it,” Dalton salaciously purrs at Cort, while he hands him an open bottle of cider. “If you like it, I’ll make you something even harder .”

The guy has been shamelessly flirting with Cort since he came out of the closet at Christmas. I think Dalton loves how uncomfortable it makes Cortez to be flirted with by a guy. It means a helluva lot more than when a girl would flirt with him, that’s for sure.

“Okay,” Cort bashfully mutters. “For you, I will.” He flirts back, while flashing a shy smile to compliment his blush, all the while batting those impossibly long eyelashes of his.

Tease.

“It’s really sweet. We know how much you like sugar.” Aaron taunts, and it was definitely meant as dig, since it wasn’t flirty in the least.

That same comment out of another mouth would have had a completely different connotation. As it was meant, Aaron was calling Cort pudgy. In Aaron’s defense, Cort has put on about twenty pounds in the past few months because of stress, but I don’t mind in the least.

“Dick,” Cort mouths at Aaron, who has been acting like a little bitch since he found out he wouldn’t be a groomsman.

Cort takes an experimental taste of the cider, making sure it settles on his stomach. When he guzzles from the bottle while making yummy noises, we all take that as an invitation to get our own drink on.

Leaning over the back of the sofa, inky strands of hair caressing the side of Cort’s cheek, Dalton murmurs into his ear. “Would you like to try something harder ?”

Sputtering up his cider, Cort repeatedly coughs in response. I can’t help but snicker as he turns a shade redder.

“It tastes even sweeter but with a wicked kick.” If Dalton leans any farther over the back of the sofa, he’s going to fall and land in my fiancé’s lap, which I find highly amusing. “Caramel vodka mixed with apple cider. I can drink a gallon of it and not taste the alcohol… and then I realize I can’t stand up without falling to my ass.”

“I-I-I– that sounds really good.” Cort stammers while blushing, no doubt thinking of Dalton’s ass.

“Great!” Dalton finally leans out of Cort’s personal space. “Round for everybody?”

Dalton found his true calling. While his day job is at Transcend, mentoring at-risk youths, he loves being a mixologist at Alt. He even took a few courses, always coming up with new concoctions. Dalton and Kris have been having fun playing at Restraint’s bar during daylight hours on his days off, showing the bartenders of Alt, Restraint, and French Kissed Kink new drink recipes and techniques.

Whitt and Dalton’s living room looks like a smaller version of Meyers Manor’s meeting room. With sofas and chairs dragged up from the main floor of Alt, there are clear-cut lines dividing the members of our bachelor party.

The Whittenhowers are huddled up on the loveseat. Grant and Niel on the cushions, with Whitt sitting on the armrest next to his dad, with Roman sitting next to Niel.

Smushed on the largest sofa is the fitness brotherhood, who refuse to accept my membership application in their bro club. Boyd, Caleb, Julio, Cory, and Wil, and they happily leave an armrest open for Dalton to join them. Even though Dalton is the size of Julio’s thigh, they’ve been making him workout. Roarke isn’t sitting with them, but he goes behind my back to exercise with them when I’m not looking– same goes for Aaron.

There’s a rumor, which was started by an envious Faith, how it’s not about fitness at all. They’re MdJ’s victims, and fellow predators are not welcome. Obviously, I’m in the latter category with Faith, which explains the envy.

Dalton received an invitation into their group because he’s Wil’s baby brother, which is why they keep pestering Cort to join their athletic shenanigans. Much to Julio’s disappointment, if it’s a physical activity, Cort avoids it at all costs. But Cort has been fretting about fitting into his tuxedo, and I caught him doing sit-ups the other morning, so ya never know.

The dads/mentors are too good to sit on the sofas with us peons, each having to have their own armchair. Marcus, Dexter, Devlin, and Stanton wear patient expressions as they watch us instead of joining in the fun.

Two enforcers, who are scared of their own shadows but will hopefully turn vicious if someone were to threaten their masters, are sitting on the floor. Sebastian Vance leans against Devlin’s tree trunk of a thigh, while Tobias Kline sprawls at Dexter’s feet.

Aaron is smushed next to me on the loveseat we share with Cortez. Scowling, Aaron is still wicked pissed that he’s not a groomsman.

Cortez and I negotiated every single detail of the wedding. We agreed we wanted it to be a small affair, with only our children and the lone brother to be included.

So now Aaron just grunts when I talk to him. Roarke, who could give a shit less about anything, is lounging across the back of our loveseat, tapping Aaron on the head with his foot every time Aaron says something that makes him sound like a dick. The second we got up here, Roarke had to have the password to Dalton’s Wi-Fi. The man is playing Farmville 2 right this second.

We seriously need to stage an intervention.

“I think we should play a drinking game,” Boyd suggests, looking like he’s up to no good. Shady bastard.

Looking extremely innocuous, like a pipsqueak accountant, you’d never know Boyd has one of the most intelligent minds I’ve ever encountered, nor believe that beneath his preppy clothing is a body of pure muscle. Flanked by his nearest and dearest, Boyd knows he can do whatever and say whatever he wants without getting his ass kicked, not that he couldn’t take me down with just his pinky. The man just loves to rub us all the wrong way. He’s bored with Dominion’s recent peace treaty, where we don’t fight each other. While he enjoys helping people get ahead, he’s waiting in the shadows for our evildoers to strike again.

A bored Boyd is a scary beast.

Attempting to beat Boyd at his own game, I don’t see the trap in playing a drinking game. “Sure. Why the hell not?”

“Oh, I can think of a billion reasons,” Roarke mutters beneath his breath.

Marcus chuckles evilly, his sonic hearing picking the words up from across the room, when I barely heard it whispered next to my ear. Then it hits me– the damn lip-reader has everyone believing he has extra-sensitive hearing.

“It’s a good thing I’m fully stocked.” Dalton passes out doubles.

The manly men sitting in their big boy chairs– plus Grant –they get scotch, because they’re too important to drink anything sweet. The rest of us take an experimental sip of Dalton’s creation, and every single one of us hums how good it tastes.

“Now I want one.” Dexter pouts, because the man loves anything mind-altering and inhibition-lowering.

“Here, you can have mine.” Cory passes his drink off to a salivating Dexter. “I’m the DD tonight. Since I couldn’t taste the alcohol, it would probably floor my ass. I’ll stick to nursing my hard cider.”

“So… how about that game?” Boyd flashes us a wicked smirk.

We all shrug, taking hearty pulls from our drinks, knowing Boyd’s twisted mind is trapping us all in a way we can’t escape.

“If you could bed anyone, who would it be? If you don’t answer, we vote on a much worse question. You will also have to pound back three drinks, since there is only one round to this game.”

Wil’s creepy laugh rings out loud and clear– used to Boyd’s antics, nothing surprises him anymore. “When you say shit like that, I see where our boys got their personalities. That was such a Torian-esque maneuver.” His voice is filled with appreciation and pride.

“Who goes first?” Roarke rolls to his side, then flips the cover shut on his tablet. Apparently, we’ve found something more interesting than Farmville to play.

“Let’s start with the big guy.” Aaron spitefully demands, clearly wanting his ass kicked.

“Let’s not.” Marcus gruffly grunts, uncomfortable with how many shit-lists he’s managed to get onto recently. “I never said I was playing.”

“Hey!” Whitt admonishes. “You didn’t say you wouldn’t. This party isn’t about you, remember? That’s your favorite saying, after all. So ante up!”

“I’ll go in a few rounds– I need to get some liquid courage to answer this question.” Marcus grumbles while downing his drink, then reaches for the bottle of scotch conveniently sitting on the end table next to him.

I look around the room, knowing who each and every one secretly desires, which is exactly why Boyd called this game. We can’t fight each other by edict handed down from MdJ, but we’ll sure as shit wish we could before this night is through.

“I think the instigator should go first.” I declare, having no clue who in the hell Boyd wants. In my eyes, Boyd has always been sexless and creepy.

“Easy,” Boyd drawls out while silently laughing. “My wife.”

“Bullshit!” comes from all directions. “Drink!”

“It’s true.” Devlin of all people comes to Boyd’s defense. “Gretchen is the only one he’s ever wanted.”

“Seriously?” Roarke says, getting more interested by the second. “How many girls have you slept with?”

“Just my Greta.” Boyd says without shame, face glowing with a fierce adoration that makes me breathless. He’s proud that he’s only shared his body with his wife. “A celebrity could beg me, and I’d still say no. So that’s why I thought this would be an interesting game to play. Only two of us in this room are completely dedicated to their partner, and it ain’t our newlyweds–”

“Fuck you! It would be a disgusting celebrity who begged you!” Cort is incensed next to me on the sofa, practically vibrating with rage. “There’s a difference between attraction and intimacy. Life is not a fated mates romance. I can lust after someone and still love Ezra. You’re just the freak who has never wanted anyone.”

“I waited for Greta to grow up, waiting years and years.” Boyd defends himself. “Do you honestly think I’ve never experienced longing before? I longed for my betrothed from her birth.”

“Well, I ain’t you,” Cort grumbles, feeling like shit.

“Hey,” I whisper in Cort’s ear. “What works for us, works for us. What works for Boyd, works for Boyd. You’re right– we aren’t him. Don’t let Boyd bait you, because it’s what he wants.”

Not caring that I might offend a few of the people sitting around me, I deeply kiss Cortez until he relaxes into me. I never want Cortez to feel ashamed for wanting what he wants. With one last kiss, I pull away. Flushed, Cortez bashfully gazes at his hands, causing me to laugh.

“I know I’m not the one Boyd picked as the other devotee.” Dexter speaks as he lords over his seat, while swirling his drink in the glass. “I love my wife, and Monica worships the ground I walk on, but I also enjoy watching her with other people. I love knowing I control who she touches. If that’s not love, I don’t know what is.” Dexter levels his uncompromising amber stare at Boyd, patiently waiting for him to judge his statement.

“I think I’m about one of four or five guys who would do just about anything to screw Olivia.” Roarke speaks from behind me to move the game along. He also instigates a fight with one of the biggest, baddest, and nicest dudes in the room. “Watching Olivia run FKK… I’m not into the lifestyle, but I’d let that woman own my ass for a night or two.”

Growling, Devlin doesn’t say a word, but others do.

“Mothers are off limits!” Dalton angrily demands, while Wil laughs like a loon.

“If mothers are off limits, half the room better keep their traps shut.” Niel is one of our more logical party guests. Eyes cutting to the side, first he glares at his father, then his brother, with a slight detour of curiosity as his gaze lights on Roman. Lastly, that possessive glare falls to land on Marcus. I’m just thankful the boy purposefully forgot about me and Cort.

“I can think of a few who would bang our mother in a heartbeat.” Wil snorts while clasping his brother’s shoulder. “Probably the same ones who would take a go at you, bro.”

“I’ve had sex with Olivia– it’s scary as hell.” Sebastian crawls away from Devlin to sit with Wil, hoping the man will protect him from his growling master.

“I wouldn’t recommend an evening in Olivia’s care.” Marcus agrees while swirling his drink within his glass. “Petrified doesn’t even cover it. She’d break you in two, Roarke.”

“I’ll gladly take the risk.” Roarke replies, and now that we aren’t as interesting, his eyes are openly staring at his tablet with lust, Farmville addiction kicking back in.

“Your obsession is because you frequent French Kissed Kink too often.” Roman directs at Roarke while flashing a devious smirk. “Olivia is the forbidden fruit, always fully clothed and never participating.”

“Holy accurate!” Caleb salutes Roarke with his glass.

“Well,” Cory drawls out, since the room is filled to suffocating levels with testosterone. The redheaded fire chief is a natural peacekeeper. “Speaking of celebrities– I’d go for a round or two with Wentworth Miller, since he came out of the closet.”

“God, yes. We’ll share!” Julio empathically agree while rubbing his husband’s back, proving Boyd’s initial point wrong. You can be in love yet still lust after another.

“Speaking of moms.” Niel joins the fray, devious mind operating on the same wave length as Boyd’s. “Who’s been banging Gwen lately?” I nearly choke on my drink, because I was shocked during New Year’s. “Should I get into the family business and take a turn?”

“Cousin fucker,” Boyd bites out, causing the majority of us to laugh in shock.

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try it!” Cort sings while arrogantly smirking.

“I can attest that incest is the best.” I can’t help but tease myself, causing everyone to laugh with and at me.

“Boyd, I know why you’ve only been with the girl MdJ promised you.” Cort goes in for the kill. “At first, I thought it was because you were so stuffy no woman would ever want you. Now I wonder if it wasn’t because the betrothal was the only guarantee you weren’t screwing your own sister. Yo momma is a ho!”

Stanton’s deep laughter fills the room as he roughly reaches over to pat Grant on the shoulder. “Oh fuck, this is great. Nothing like making fun of ourselves.”

“I know I’m the other devotee the basher spoke of, con-artist, rat-bastard that he is.” Niel winks at Boyd. “I hate that I understand how Boyd feels about his wife. After years of ignoring how I felt, I love knowing when I get home tonight, I can slip in bed with Whitney. So yeah, I’ve never wanted anyone else, and I’m not ashamed to admit it, cousin or not.”

“Aww,” is a dreamy whisper from Cort, and shockingly, Roarke joins in.

“Speaking of how much fun this is–” Boyd’s boxers are in a twist. “One of you is fucking my baby sister… Stanton.” Boyd sneers, feeling betrayed over how the man in question thought the yo momma is a ho joke was funny when it was leveled at the mother of his only child.

“Who?” Stanton growls, leaning forward in his chair, brown eyes roving around the room like a heat-seeking missile. He throws back his drink and prepares to kick some ass. “Who is touching my daughter?

Wil, already protecting Sebastian from a very angry Devlin, yanks the young man next to him on the sofa, then practically sits on him. “Ah, Pop. As you already know, Binks is not a virgin–”

“My baby is not a whore!” Beyond enraged, Stanton bellows at Sebastian. “My Bianca is a lady. If you plan on getting inside of her, you better be prepared to buy a ring.” He threatens a shotgun wedding. “You should have come to me beforehand and asked for permission.”

“Now this is fun.” Boyd chuckles– the unethical bastard threw his own sister under the bus just to get a rise out of Stanton in retaliation.

“Hey, sir?” Dalton calls as he fearlessly saunters over to Stanton. He bends down and whispers into his ex-father-in-law’s ear. After a few tense seconds, Stanton relaxes.

My guess, must be Sebastian asked for Dalton’s permission, and old-school Stanton is comforted by the gesture. The young man comes out of hiding, now that he’s safe from his death warrant from being issued. No one is dumb enough to piss off Dominion’s lord of our criminal underbelly.

“My turn!” Dalton announces, trying to take the fight out of everyone. “If I could bed anyone, who would it be?” he muses as he walks over to a silently laughing Whitt. “I’ve heard amazing things about this man.”

“Oh, God! Let me say it,” Whitt begs, words slurring. Glassy-eyed from downing several drinks in the last few minutes, he’s well on his way to being wasted.

“Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you gays, always lusting after everyone else?” Boyd manages to insult half the living room, while simultaneously amusing us with his ignorant bigotry. “You can’t honestly be okay with Dalton wanting someone else.”

“I’m fine with it,” Whitt slurs, shrugging. “I’m very secure in our relationship. Besides, we either share or we don’t play. This guy is a mutual fantasy.” Blushing, Whitt and Dalton share a conspiratorial look.

“I’m curious to know if he can take all twelve inches of my cock–” Dalton manages to give every man in the room an inferiority complex. “–down his throat.”

Eyes bugging out, “Oh, God!” escapes my lips.

“And I’m curious to know if he can suck us both off at the same time,” Whitt adds, causing me to gasp for an embarrassing reason.

Instantly grabbing the tablet from Roarke’s frozen hands, I toss the device over my crotch before everyone sees how arousing that fantasy is for me. I have to put my hand on top of the tablet to hold the sucker down, since my cock is jerking wildly in my pants.

“NO!” Marcus stands from his chair to tower over two of the men he emotionally adopted as his sons. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Why do you do this shit to me? I have five of you bastards I call son, and four of you want to fuck each other. Do I hide the boy? Is Niel safe from your perversion?”

“What’s going on?” Cort whispers in my ear. “I don’t get it.”

Laughing so hard, Roarke rolls off the back of the sofa to land on the floor. He pops back up like a demented Jack-in-the-box, then quickly whispers in Cort’s ear. “Lord, you’re a moron– they’re fighting over your mouth, you cocksucker. The boys are willing to share, but clearly Marcus is only willing to share with Ezra.”

“I’m good!” Niel shouts. Wearing identical expressions, Niel and Grant look like they’re dying from holding in their laughter. “I’m feeling pretty secure. I might be the youngest, but I can protect myself, since I’m the biggest of your kids, Dad ,” he twists the word. “I’m so straight, my asshole only has an exit sign.”

“What?” Cort mutters in confusion, causing everyone but Marcus to burst out in hysterics.

“Holy hell.” With a moan, I drag Cort into my arms, so he doesn’t freak when he finally figures it out.

“Aahh…” Wil drawls. “Cort is just like my mother, on several men’s wish lists. Everyone wants to employ his mouth, even I’ll throw my hat into the ring.” Bright-eyed and slightly drunk, Wil finally admits his attraction. “Can’t we vote on it?”

“I knew it!” I shout while pointing at Wil. He better be glad he’s all the way across the living room, or I just might– fuck, he’d totally destroy me if I touched him. “I thought you only saw Cort as your brother? Asshole!”

“Show of hands, do any of you cocksuckers like women?!” Boyd shouts, and for some reason, he’s trying to stop a fight instead of starting one.

Everyone on the fitness-fanatic sofa, with the exception of Julio and Cory, raise their hands. Everyone in a chair raises their hands. The oldest and the youngest Whittenhowers raise their hands. Roman waves both of his hands while grinning like a gorgeous idiot. Roarke and Aaron stand up and shout their straightness, while Sebastian and Tobias meekly raise their hands.

Completely ignoring the census that was just taken, “Dude, you just said you wanted Cortez to suck your dick.” Boyd accuses Wil, sounding betrayed and slightly ill.

“You asked who likes women– it’s possible to like women and men. In this room there are six confirmed gay guys. Two bisexual guys, but I don’t know, because one of which is me, and I’m not quite sure what label suits me. There’s a lone demisexual. Polyamory is rampant in this room. We have several panromantic poly folks roaming Misery Castle. A few of us slide around on the scale, wherever our dicks take us. The rest are straight men. It’s a perfect cross-section of humanity: five percent bi or other, twenty percent gay, seventy-five percent straight. If you think my numbers are skewed, then you’re lying to yourself. Don’t be a bigot.”

“I’m not,” Boyd squeaks out, never seeing Wil so impassioned before. “You’ve never told me that. In thirty-five years of being brothers , you’ve kept that from me.” Boyd looks so betrayed, I swear he’s going to cry.

“Boyd, you know I love your sister. But we’re not all built like you. Some of us have hungers that need to be fed– hungers we wished we didn’t have. Hungers created against our will. But wish in one hand and shit in the other– they ain’t going anywhere.”

“Lotta wish-makers in this room,” Aaron whispers to me.

“Some of us are just exploring, and once we figure out what we want, we find a partner who is willing to share in our needs. Don’t judge!”

Watching Wil lose his temper is shocking to say the least, because the man is nothing if not the epitome of calm. Boyd actually cringes away, guilt and shock etched across his face.

“I’m not bi,” Roman cautiously says, assuming rightly that he was the one mentioned. “I mean, I have no problem touching a dude, but I’m ninety percent straight. I’ve never been with a guy.”

“Umm?” Cort mutters from next to me, and then coughs the word bullshit into his palm. “I could be wrong, but I’m not. I just went through this conflict of conscience a few months ago. Straight and gay, it’s all or nothing, buddy. Bi and all those other orientations are shades in the middle. I’ve sucked your dick, remember? You were not reluctant– you popped in less than thirty seconds.”

Blushing bright red, Roman actually hides behind the sofa holding the Whittenhowers. “I’ve never screwed a guy!” comes muffled from behind the sofa.

“If Cort’s name is Skull-Fuck, I’m gonna start calling you Handjob,” Aaron deadpans. “Who here hasn’t had a handjob from Roman?”

More than three quarters of the room raises their hands, including me. “Am I missing out?”

“I only do it to those I top,” comes muffled from the other side of the room. “Aaron’s just being a douchebag. I’ve only done it to Aaron and Dalton– no offense, Ezra!” Roman calls from his hidey-hole. “You’re too strong for me to take on, and I never do it unless I’m finishing a scene.”

“Yeah, Handjob. I hate to admit, but you’re better at it than my wife,” Aaron whispers in appreciation. “And no, I’m not even a little bit bisexual. I just like a good handjob, especially when it’s not my hand. Plus, if I squint, Roman’s pretty hair makes him look like a chick, and he has really soft yet strong hands.”

“Thanks.” Taking the compliment as it was meant, a bashful Roman comes out of hiding to sit next to Grant. Eye’s cast to his hands, Roman’s skin is bright red, while he tries not to release that smug grin. “Maybe I’m a smidge bi.” He pinches his thumb and index finger together. “I like giving handjobs and receiving blowjobs, and I might be open to having anal at some point.”

“You’re bi, dude.” Niel rolls his eyes. “Accept it. Kristal probably gets off on it.”

Yeah, that smug grin finally makes an appearance.

Still angry that his best friend left him in the dark about his sexuality, Boyd lashes out to hurt Wil in other ways. “Caleb.” Boyd sneers, jealous that Wil and Caleb have a similar brotherly relationship. “You still going to FKK, or are you finally fucking our resident Kitty Kat?”

“Fuck you, asshole!” Caleb snarls. Wil is the only thing keeping the men from tearing out each other’s throats. Crashing like thunder, a hand on each of their chest, Wil uses all of his strength to keep them apart.

Silence rings out– Celeb’s reaction answered the question more than words ever could.

“Katya is her own woman. If they are, I’m fine with that.” The emotions I experience are conflicted but hopeful. Kat admitted they share a bed, and I find it hard to believe either one of them possesses that amount of self-control. “Caleb is a good man.”

“We haven’t.” Caleb growls at Boyd. Turning to face us, Caleb looks an apology at Cortez and me. “I mean… we have. Dammit! I don’t know how to explain it. UGH!” a half-strangled cry flows from Caleb’s chest, clearly frustrated.

I crave to know what psychological block is impeding their sexual relationship, since I know damn well the man is dying to call Katya his own. Rumor has it, Caleb wanted Katya from first sight, and I was too oblivious to realize this at the time.

Cort is more perceptive than most, and even though he has had issues with Caleb in the past, he changes the subject to protect the man.

“I bet I could suck Whitt and Dalton’s cocks at the same time.” Totally shameless, said in such a nonchalant manner, I’m rendered speechless. Lust and excitement glow from Cort’s eyes. “I’ll give it a go after our party, if ya want.”

“Oh, my God!” Breathing in harsh gasps, I fall lax to the sofa. “Fuck it.” I lethargically hand Roarke his obsession back, since the tablet isn’t going to hide the reaction I’m having anyway.

Marcus looks as faint as I do, while the guys in question share a conspiratorially smirk.

Relentless, Boyd ignores us. “Have you touched your friend’s ex-wife yet? Hmm? Or are you too scarred up to function?”

Before I can figure out what the hell is going on, Stanton, Julio, and Wil are dragging an exploding Caleb off the sofa before he murders a suicidal Boyd. I have no idea what that comment meant, but clearly Boyd knows something he shouldn’t.

“Do you function, Hero? Do you?” Boyd keeps at it, advancing as they try to drag a trashing Caleb away. “I know you’ve fucked Levi before.”

Bomb after bomb lands in the middle of Whitt and Dalton’s living room during our bachelor party.

“My sister too– admit it!” Boyd gets right into Caleb’s face, both of them snarling at each other. If it comes to real blows, the match will be a draw. “You’re a pervert. Does your cock even work anymore, Hero?”

“You’re an asshole with a death wish.” Devlin effortlessly picks Boyd up, shoves him into a chair, then sits on him. “I should let Caleb kill your stupid ass, then Gretchen could find herself a real man. But hell if I’m going to let my niece and nephew lose a father.”

Holding his brother back, Stanton’s voice wavers as he demands answers. “Do you? Do you work? I didn’t know anything was wrong. I thought you were healthy.”

“Stan.” Wil resumes his role as mediator, since it was Boyd’s jealousy that started it all. “Don’t.”

“I don’t know!” Caleb whines, falling back to the sofa, now that Boyd isn’t invading his personal space. Holding his head in his hands, Caleb looks broken. “Sometimes– I haven’t really tried. I’m too scared I won’t function.”

“Have you…” Stanton trails off as he kneels before his brother, trying to get the truth.

“Do you think I don’t want to?!” Caleb releases a primal scream, the sound rings in our ears to shatters our hearts.

By the confused looks on everyone’s faces, only Wil, Boyd, and Caleb know what the hell is going on, and I have a feeling that Boyd was ferreting out information, because he didn’t have the real truth.

“I lost something in the bombing– and I couldn’t get hard for months. Sometimes I still don’t. I’m too scared to find out if I function, even though the doctors say I should.”

“Oh, no.” Cort’s voice wavers from beside me.

“God, I want her so much.” Every heart in the living room breaks for Caleb, while my heart breaks for Katya. “But now I’m too scared to find out if I’m impotent, ” Caleb whispers in abject horror. “Don’t worry, I’m perfectly healthy with the exception that you better have a son soon, or the Green line is dead. Ya better get over your own issues and bag Fate, or our legacy is over.”

“Fuck!” Stanton whispers as he drops to the sofa next to his brother.

“We sure do know how to throw a party,” Dalton mutters in a thick accent– the Fontaine native language threatening to erupt when he’s upset. “Drinks?” He randomly hands his guests anything he can reach, then he downs a shot of vodka.

Boyd, not finished with bombing the party guests, speaks from behind the huge man protecting him from bodily harm. “The slave in the room is banging the lone Zeitler heir.”

This is what happens when you live by black and white standards. Boyd is trying to clear the air– I get it. I have a female version of him at home, but I’m trying to teach Ava to read the subtle nuances of the human condition.

Since perception is reality, the truth is not necessarily black and white.

“My God, you are a stupid bastard!” Devlin growls as he swiftly jabs his elbow back and up, managing to knock his niece’s husband out cold. Standing up to make sure Boyd is still breathing, he mutters, “Sorry,” to all of us.

“Next time– if we ever have a next time –Boyd isn’t invited,” Whitt promises. “You’re all invited to Marc’s bachelor party, but if you tell my oldest brother, I’m kicking your asses.”

“Um… you–” Marcus points at Tobias. When the young man nods his head, Marcus continues. “I’m okay with that. Your family is religious, and Dexter’s raised you right. Just use protection, or I’ll rip it off and make you eat it.”

Everyone is emotionally strung out and downing drinks like alcoholics after a stint in rehab. I decide we need to finish the game Boyd started. It’s only fair, since most have taken their turns.

“Marcus,” I begin, deciding he is the only person who will distract everyone… and Marcus has pissed me off time and time again these past few months. “Are you going to deny being the lone demisexual?” is issued as a challenge, waiting for his denial. “All or nothing, that’s what Cort just said.”

Slowly lowering himself into his chair, Marcus takes his time, making us wait with bated breath. The bastard even pours himself another drink, then swallows it. Several of us are close to screaming out in frustration.

“Demisexual by persuasion, yes.” Marcus finally answers. “But only a few people have been about true connection and intimacy. Most have been necessity or by force. My attraction is to those I feel a deep connection.”

“And?” Cort impatiently drawls out while leaning forward on the sofa, wanting names.

I look around, then stifle a laugh. Everyone is leaning toward Marcus like we’re all sunflowers and he’s our sun. “Who? Not who was connection, necessity, or force, because I can work that out myself. Who is the one you long to bed?”

Cort nudges me, communicating how that demisexual label tells us all we need to know. It’s not difficult to deduce who the first person Marcus connected to was, or the second, or the third, and there are only four on that list that I know of. The real question is who he hasn’t touched of those four, and who he longs to touch again, because in there lies the answer.

“Well…” Marcus hesitates, then he has the audacity to shrug nonchalantly, as if it doesn’t matter.

“Way to not answer, Dad .” Niel taunts, knowing he is one of the safest people in the room.

“What do you want me to say?” Marcus calmly asks Niel, not bothered in the least that the devious shit called his ass out.

A dog after a bone, or more like a son worried for his mother and father, Niel is relentless. “The truth for once would be perfect.”

Sighing as if Niel exhausts him, Marcus picks his glass up and contemplates. “Since the gossiping bitch is still nighty night–” he gestures to Boyd.

“In case you’re unaware.” Roarke jumps in when Marcus goes two heartbeats without finishing his sentence. “You began your statement with since … I assume you have something to add before Boyd awakens.” Cringing under Marc’s death glare, Roarke adds, “Most respectfully, sir.”

“Is it right to assume Regina can’t be a viable answer to Boyd’s question?” Meeting all of our eyes, Marcus gauges our expressions. “I guess not… I love my fiancée. After all, I’ve been chasing her for decades. The problem is–” Marcus pauses, and we all lean in like children being told a bedtime story.

“Twenty-one years ago, Dexter and I briefly met Ezra when my grandmother was picking Diane up for some philanthropic work. We then picked up Priscilla and Jamie. Dexter, Jamie, and I accompanied the women to Transcend, where we first met Regina– Jamie called dibs.” Marcus privately smiles at Grant, a look I’ve never seen before.

“Afterward, Diane wanted me to formally meet her son. I walked into Shadow Haven and found a gasping teenage boy rolling around the cold marble tile in the foyer, while being relentlessly teased by another boy. Needless to say, I knew I was fucked. I’d met three people who would change my world within hours of each other, when I met the first a lifetime before. Do I love all four of them in various ways? Yes.”

“So what do you want?” Cort breathes, having more balls than any of the rest of us.

“I have what I want,” Marcus immediately answers. “Tomorrow evening you two will finally marry, and in a few short months, I will marry Regina, as it should be.”

“You never answered either question.” Niel persistently goes after Marcus for all of us.

“Who do I wish to bed?” Marc’s eyes flit around the room, suspiciously landing on several of us– I understand why he glanced at Cortez, Grant, and me, but fire erupts in my belly when he looks at Wil.

Guilty as fuck, because he knows I intercepted that look, Marcus fidgets in his chair. Then he quickly rambles to cover his subconscious oversight. “What was the question again?” Guzzling down his drink, Marcus feigns memory loss.

“Name someone other than my mom you want to bed?” Niel spews, also glaring at Wil. “Seriously, Marcus? When? Never fucking mind… does Mom know?”

“What happened in Vegas–” Wil shamefully mumbles. “Better fucking stay in Vegas,” is a threat if I’ve ever heard one.

“What the fuck?!” I shout, seething as territorial possession overcomes me, so much stronger than Master Ez ever exhibited. “Wil was what, sixteen?”

“I’d prefer all of that stay private, since Boyd already said too much.” Wil pleads, halogen eyes flicking my way as he speaks. “My mother was unable to save us from my grandfathers, so drop it, Ezra.”

“I’d also like to never speak of that time again.” Marcus agrees in a tight voice. “Niel, your mother knows every dark secret I have. Some things are beyond private, and I will not share them with my children and family. I also refuse to answer Boyd’s question, because some things are best left unsaid, as the answer would lead to emotional fallout I refuse to deal with. I believe my night has concluded, if you’ll excuse me.”

“Marcus!” Calling out, I stand in preparation to walk over to him. “Don’t go,” I breathe, hating how ruined Marcus looks at the moment. I’ve never seen him without his well-honed emotional control.

Marcus ignores my request, because no one ever tells Marcus what to do, and he always refuses to acknowledge my whining. “I’ll see you tomorrow– early afternoon. I’d like to help you dress for your big night. If that would please you.” He formally speaks, barely keeping his emotions in check.

“I’d love that, thank you,” I reply, knowing he won’t let me say anything else.

Hugging me tightly, Marcus breathes into my ear. “Play with your brothers ,” he angrily twists the word. “But don’t fuck them, because it would be too much too soon for Cortez. He’s very innocent when it comes to play and sharing. I fear he would regret it. Being as tomorrow is your union, there should be no regrets between you.”

“I’m not ready for that either,” I readily admit.

“Good. I’ll speak with them as well.” After kissing my forehead for several long moments, Marcus murmurs against my flesh. “Good night, my Ezra.”

I slump back to the sofa as Marcus does the same routine with Cortez, fiercely whispering into his ear. Cortez lands next to me on the sofa, while Marcus corners Whitt and Dalton in the kitchen– their encounter isn’t as nice, involving an angry Marcus, a highly amused Dalton, and a sheepish Whitt.

“What did he say to you?” I whisper to Cortez, but my eyes never leave Marcus.

“He answered Niel’s questions. Don’t ask,” Cort warns, sounding shaken. “Marcus will tell you when we get back from our honeymoon.”

“That bad, huh?” Mind spinning, I decide it’s better not to open Pandora’s box just yet. “Still up for Dalton’s suggestion?”

“I’m emotionally distraught, not dead.” Cort looks at me, somber and serious. A second later, the filthiest smirk I’ve ever seen curls his lips. “I’m sucking that cock, and you’re gonna help me do it.”