Page 46 of Love Language

Richard and Marco were just so different.

Richard wanted Greg to be sexy and obedient and bratty and vulnerable. He wanted Greg to just spill out all his messy feelings in a giant explosion that he could paw through before putting Greg back together again. Richard put himself first, and expected Greg to turn himself inside out to serve him in a breathtaking intensity.

And Marco… Marco was sweet. He listened. He was still, undeniably, in control, but only some of the time. When they agreed on it or when it was just little details. He figured out what Greg needed, and he took care of him. Marco, he realized, put Greg first. Marco wanted him to be happy.

But was that happiness?

Could he even be the same person and thrive on both what Richard gave him before, and what Marco gave him now?

Or was he actually a different person now? When he was young and wild, he’d needed an older man to tame and direct him.

Now, he was older himself. Steady and sure of many of the parts of his life. Broken by sorrow, but still ticking along, and maybe ready to think about moving on. He didn’t really need intensity in his life, beyond the occasional scene, just comfort. Or at least that’s how it felt right now.

He’d also thought that once people discovered their kinks, that was kind of it. He’d been confidently telling people for years about what he was into, and now Marco had turned all that on its head.

Apparently, he could be into CNC and sensory play. If you’d have asked him when he was in his twenties, he probably wouldn’t have considered some of what Marco did to him to be a kink. It was certainly milder, intense but without that flash of fear.

He still sank in just as deep, though.

Did that mean that he was replacing Richard with Marco?

The idea churned in his gut. He didn’t want to be a different person than the boy his Sir had loved. And he definitely didn’t want to believe that he could have another relationship like that again.

Greg volunteered to drive on the way home, using the endless stretch of highway to let his mind drift.

Marco, always attentive, seemed to pick up his melancholy mood. He asked him a few times if he needed anything or wanted to talk, but then left him alone.

They stopped at another little diner, but the food was terrible, and then hit the road again.

Marco decided to drive after the stop, but he was hesitating before getting in the car. He seemed a bit cautious, and Greg realized that it was his fault for pulling away.

Which only made him feel guilty toward both Marco and Richard, and didn’t help at all.

When they were both seated, Marco slid a white box with a bakery label onto his lap.

Since the dinner wasn’t very good, I thought you might like this.

Greg blinked. This wasn’t from the diner.

I got it from the bakery when I helped your brother return the rental stuff from the party.

Oh. That made sense.

I… want to apologize. I think I did something wrong, and I’m not sure what. I probably shouldn’t have forced my way into your family trip.

Greg shook his head instinctively. Marco hadn’t done anything wrong at all. He felt horrible. You didn’t do anything. This is all me.

Marco gave him a quelling glare, telling him silently not to lie. And he wasn’t lying, or at least not quite.

Sorry, Greg signed miserably. I should be over this soon.

Marco signed. Go ahead and open it.

Right. The pastry box.

Inside was a lemon bar, with a white chocolate flute and a sparkling, translucent slice of candied lemon on top.

Dammit.