Page 24 of Love Language

He knew that they’d agreed to an experiment. But he wanted to know that Greg was alright.

And maybe snuggle him up and give him everything that he needed until he smiled again.

Marco’s Daddy Dom instincts were not helping the situation.

And still, no text.

Alright, Marco couldn’t sit still any longer. It was time to leave the house.

He followed up his email by printing off the three versions of the logo, glad to at least have an excuse. In fact, some exercise would be perfect right now.

He headed to his room to pack a gym bag.

He’d texted Greg and he hadn’t heard back. He needed to accept it for what it was. It sure sucked, though.

Chapter 6 Greg

April

Greg hated the phrase “time heals all wounds.” Mostly because it was true.

When Richard had died, it has been like a great, gaping laceration, hemorrhaging blood and leaving him close to death. Now, though, it had scarred over. It was still there, but it only hurt at odd and unpredictable times, like an old injury that ached when it rained or he strained it too much.

Some days he felt like he was a mess of scars, like he should be able to show all his pain to the world like a physical disfiguration. And some days, in the way of scars, he just forgot about them and went on about his life.

He wasn’t sure which type of days were worse.

And now, he had a new abrasion. Smaller, but still raw.

It was named Marco.

It had been almost two months since he answered his last text, their conversation leaving everything unfinished.

He thought about him. Maybe not all the time, but often enough. Like a skinned knee that you kept bumping into or a papercut that stung every time you washed the dishes.

Marco had been… well, objectively, he’d been extraordinary. He’d been a fascinating conversationalist and a supportive listener. He’d handled Greg’s grief without pity, listening to him but not pressuring him. The chemistry between them had been intense, and he’d been honest in his attraction and his care.

As a Dom, he’d been amazing. Greg had thought that he knew what he liked, but Marco had surprised him. He woke up sometimes, dreaming of that night.

Greg’s relationship with Richard had been everything to him. But he realized now that the selection of kinks that they’d played with had been limited. His Sir had enjoyed rough sex and impact play, often in a role play. In recent years, they hadn’t played as much, but that was only to be expected.

When they still did, it was always electric. Hot and dangerous and edgy. Greg lived for that fear and rapture, the torment intertwined with ecstasy.

Their dynamic the rest of the time had been more about domestic discipline and, as they’d both gotten older, it had mellowed a bit into a set of required tasks and expectations. Greg liked doing what he was told, and they’d both gotten off on his Sir’s small routines and requirements.

He’d privately thought that Richard might be a bit OCD, with the way that he wanted every item in the house arranged just so. But it had worked well for their dynamic, giving him some visible way of showing his commitment.

Greg had still acted up sometimes, playing up a bratty persona because they’d both enjoyed it when he got in trouble and needed to be punished. With Sir’s rules so strict, it hadn’t taken much for him to receive a punishment when Richard thought he needed one. And sometimes he’d pushed it to the limit just to see what would happen.

Usually when that happened, he hadn’t been able to sit down the next day. He’d loved it.

Shibari with Marco, though, had been a revelation. It had been gentle, but somehow even more intense because of it.

Marco had been a revelation, too.

Greg realized that he’d been woolgathering, his thoughts all too often spiraling around the two men who seemed to endlessly inhabit his head.

He only had a few minutes left of his lunch break and he really should be heading back to his desk. He picked up his sandwich wrapper and found one of the trash cans conveniently placed throughout the park.