Page 213 of Theirs to Desire (Club M: Boxed Set)

SOPHIA

I have enough time to do a couple loads of laundry, sign up with a sperm donor site, and browse sample entries before Sunday dinner.

It’s intimidating. Apart from information about race, blood type, height, and weight, there’s also something called the Temperament Report, a donor essay about why they chose to participate in the program, a simulation of what the baby might look like, and more.

Information overload.

My head is spinning after just ten minutes on the site, though in fairness, it could also be because I barely got any sleep last night. Not that I’m complaining about that. Not at all.

Thinking about last night makes me think about Damien and Julian again.

Is what we have a relationship? Is it heading in that direction?

Or is it an extended fling? I wish I had a crystal ball to peer into the future or a time machine because I sure as hell don’t know what I’m going to do.

If I’m going to go the sperm donor route, I need to commit to it.

Fertility treatments are frighteningly expensive.

So if I’m planning to move forward, I have to be all in.

Does Julian want children? Does Damien? They haven’t said.

I haven’t asked either. If we were in a serious relationship, would they want to be parents?

But even if they do, how would it work? I don’t want to pick between men.

Will they draw straws to determine who has the chance to get me pregnant? It’s entirely ridiculous.

I should probably have had these conversations before I jumped into bed with them, but I can’t bring myself to regret last night.

Thankfully, before I have a chance to brood too much, it’s time to cook dinner. Andre shows up just as I’m chopping onions, mushrooms, and peppers. “What are you making?” he asks, looking around curiously.

“Fajitas.”

“Ooh, nice. Want help?”

This is a rare offer, and I’m not about to turn it down. “Yes, please. Can you make the rice?”

He makes a scoffing noise in his throat. “I’m a chef, and you’re going to have me make rice?”

I roll my eyes. If I put him to work on the chicken, he’d complain that I made him cook the entire meal. My brother likes to grumble. “Siri, find me a polite way of telling Andre I don’t care,” I retort unsympathetically.

At family dinner, once we’re done with our time-honored tradition of talking about what we’re eating, we go around the table, giving everyone an update on our lives. “I did the basic fertility tests,” I announce when it's my turn.

“When do you get the results?” Aurora asks.

“Wednesday. I have an appointment with Dr. Hernandez. If everything looks okay, it's on to selecting a sperm donor. If my results aren't great, I'm not sure what happens. I guess I’ll find out.”

“Are you nervous?” This question is from Papa.

“A little bit.” Thankfully, Julian and Damien have been a very effective distraction. I would have been a nervous wreck all week had it not been for them.

Some people would think that this is an astonishingly personal discussion to have with your family, but not me. This is just the way we are. We tell each other everything.

Almost everything.

Once again, I haven't talked about Julian and Damien. This time, the reason I’m keeping them a secret is pretty simple. The moment I mention that I'm seeing someone, my family will ask me the obvious question. If I’m in a relationship, does it make sense to proceed with the fertility treatment?

I’m so torn. I genuinely have no idea what to do. My family wants what's best for me, but I need to work this out on my own before throwing it open for discussion. I value their advice, but right now, all it will do is confuse me further.

“What about you, Simon?” Dad asks. “What's going on with you?”

“Cantor Lane is finally done,” my brother says triumphantly. “We finished on Friday. The homeowners loved it.”

“Of course they did,” Papa says. “You do good work.”

“Do you have your next job lined up?” Dad is always concerned with our financial stability. Another leftover from the havoc Denise wrecked on our lives.

“Not yet, no. I'm going to take some time off first.” He catches sight of Dad's expression and hastily adds, “Just a couple of days. I'll check my messages on Wednesday, I promise.”

Ben looks exasperated. “You still haven’t checked your voicemails? You can’t do it all yourself, Simon. Hire an office person.”

“It’s on my list.”

Simon mentioning voicemails reminds me of Julian’s hothouse. “Hey, did Julian Kincaid call you about a job?”

“Soph, there are thirty-eight unheard messages waiting for me to deal with,” Simon responds. “I have no idea. Who's Julian Kincaid?”

Ben is staring at me through the screen, his eyes narrow. I avoid his gaze. “He's a friend of mine,” I reply. “He lives in that big house on Hill Street.”

“Kincaid,” Simon says thoughtfully. “Hang on, are you talking about Kincaid Castle?” He sits up. “That place is beautiful.”

“It’s also falling apart,” I tell him. “Anyway, he's looking for a contractor to help him fix up the place.”

My brother’s eyes sparkle with interest. “Really? I should give him a call. I'd love to work on a place like that.”

Ben calls me after dinner. “Julian's not exactly a common name,” he says without preamble. “Any chance this is one of the guys you had a threesome with before they got you fired?”

My head jerks up. “How did you know about that?”

“You told me,” he replies. “Papa paid for you to fly home for Christmas that year, remember? The two of us went to a bar. You got very, very drunk, and then you told me the entire story. I’ve tried very hard to block out that conversation. After all, you're my baby sister.”

“Don't be such a prude. When it comes to sex, my life looks positively tame in comparison to yours.”

Ben laughs uncomfortably. “Let's not talk about our sex lives,” he suggests. “So, is it the same guy?”

I’m not going to lie to him. “Yes,” I admit. “I'm seeing them again. Both of them.”

He’s quiet for a long moment. “Okay,” he says finally.

“That's it? That's all you're going to say?”

“What do you want me to say?” he counters. “Do you want me to warn you to be careful? I can do that. When you talked about them, it was obvious they were important to you, and you really liked them. Be careful, Soph. Don’t get your heart broken again.”

Don’t get your heart broken again. I don't remember anything about that Christmas. I don't even remember having this conversation with Ben.

“I’m glad you’re seeing them,” he adds. “I always thought you gave up on them too easily.”

“What? They got me fired.”

“That’s what you’ve always said, but did they?

” His voice is skeptical. “You certainly jumped to that conclusion. You never tried to figure out what really happened. I get it, Soph. I do the same thing. I give up on things too soon. You know it’s because of Denise, right?

If you don't get attached, then you can't get your heart broken.”

I don't know what to say to that.

“We’re pretty similar, you and me. We’re always waiting for the other shoe to drop.

” Ben’s voice softens. “But it doesn't have to be this way.

Whatever happened when we were children, it's over. Denise has no power over us anymore. We’re all grown up, and she can't take away our happiness. Only we can do that.”

Tuesday afternoon, just after lunch, I’m struggling to focus on a spreadsheet when Julian calls me. As soon as I see his number flash across my display, my heart leaps. Stupid heart. “Julian,” I say, doing my best to keep my voice casual. “How is the renovation going, or shouldn't I ask?”

He groans. “Don't ask,” he says. “Listen, about tomorrow. Any idea what you want to do?”

“I haven't thought about it,” I answer honestly. Relive our night together in excruciating detail? Check. Use my new memories as prime spank bank material? Also, check. But I refused to let myself think about the future, and that includes tomorrow night’s date.

“You seemed to enjoy being tied up on Saturday,” he says. “If you wanted to kick it up a notch, I thought we could go to Club M.”

“Club M?” My pulse starts to race. “Is it even open on a Wednesday?”

“No, and we’re not members either. But this is where it helps to know Xavier.

Occasionally, people use the club when it's officially closed. Politicians, celebrities, and people who can’t take the risk of being seen in a sex club.

The monitors will still be there, but there won’t be any other guests.

” He hesitates. “After what happened the last time around, Damien wasn’t sure if you would be up for it. ”

“What do you think?”

“We both enjoy domination, and you seem to like stretching your limits. I think that you might be nervous about the idea, but you’re also a little turned on.” His voice lowers intimately. “Am I wrong, Sophia?”

I squirm in my seat. Is it wrong that I’m getting aroused at work? Yes. Bad Sophia. Thank heavens my office door is closed. “No,” I whisper. “You’re not wrong. About either of those things.”

Do I want to go to the club? Yes.

Why am I hesitating then? I don't work for Mrs. Caldwell anymore. I just raised three million dollars for the community health center. Patricia’s not going to fire me.

Ben’s words from earlier this week echo through my mind. I can’t spend my entire life waiting for the other shoe to drop. The worst-case scenario isn’t always going to come true. I control my own happiness.

Julian’s waiting for me to answer. “Yes,” I say before I can change my mind. “I’m in.”

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice a seductive purr. “The club has rules. Things are more formalized now. You’ll start by filling out a checklist of your hard and soft limits. That way, a monitor will know to check in on you if they see you do something you’ve marked as a limit.”

BDSM has been in popular culture lately, and Julian's words don't take me by surprise.

“Okay.” If I sound breathless and needy and aroused, it’s because I am all of those things. The promise of tomorrow sends a shock of anticipation through me.

“I look forward to spending all night learning what turns you on, Sophia,” he says. And then, before I can make my sex-addled brain form words, he hangs up.

How am I supposed to focus on work after that conversation? I shake my head dazedly and get up to splash some cold water on my face. Maybe that’ll help douse the fire running through my blood.