Page 109 of Unstitch

I smile a little self-consciously, because trust Max to decide we need some kind of board meeting—presided over by him, obviously—rather than letting the moment unfold organically. This is scary and grown-up as it is.

I know how I feel about them both—I’ve fallen so hard for them that it bloody terrifies me—but I wasn’t planning on showing my cards yet. I’ve never told any guy I love him, and there’s so much more at stake here. So many moving parts.

Three hearts instead of two.

I haven’t just been trying to work out my dynamic with each of them, but the dynamic between them, too, because it all matters.

It matters if they fall so hard for each other that I get left behind.

It matters if our little trio, so explosive in the bedroom and so contented when we’re alone together, is too radical, too unconventional, for Dex to ever get truly comfortable with.

It matters if Max, a guy who has a shitload on his plate and isn’t used to sharing his life with anyone or making any sort of compromises, tires of his little playthings.

See what I mean? It has the potential to be a clusterfuck. But I don’t think I’ve realised until this moment how much I’ve been taking it day by day, enjoying every time we steal an evening or a weekend together and refusing to let myself hope that there’s any future for us, that our foundations go beyond the kinky to something that can sustain all three of our hearts. Our souls.

And it’s only when Max steeples his fingers and brushes his lips against his fingertips that I feel the icy fingers of fear. Because I know he’s about to say something I won’t like.

76

MAX

Ilook from Darcy to Dex. My Dangerous Ds, both so young, so achingly beautiful. They were both supposed to be conquests—trophies I hankered after and then claimed, moving on when I’d had my fill.

What a fucking joke that was. They have me in a chokehold so strong that their power over me is complete. I’m a useless mess around them, but they don’t seem to understand that.

Still, I haven’t completely abandoned my self-respect, and while I can still cling to the vestiges of my agency, I should draw some lines in the sand. Starting with this.

I’ve grown greedier, you see. The goalposts keep shifting. Initially, I wanted to provoke a reaction in Dex. To make him admit he was queer, make him understand all the things about himself he’d previously denied. Then I wanted to unravel him. To take all his firsts. And I did, and it didn’t help.

Because now I want him all.

I lean forward and take both their hands.

‘This has come sooner than I expected,’ I say, trying to keep my voice even, ‘but you’re right, Dex. We should talk about our feelings and our hopes for this relationship, and it makes sense to do it now.’ I drink them both in. They’re wearing twin expressions of concern, doubt, and they crucify me, so my first priority is to assuage those doubts.

‘I’ve fallen very deeply in love with both of you,’ I tell them with foreign words that feel both revelatory and right. ‘You’re both very, very dear to me, and so is this. I can’t quite articulate how special our relationship is, new though it may be.’

Their faces light up to such an extent that it’s humbling.

‘Oh, thank God,’ Darcy says in a rush, grabbing at the back of my neck with her free hand and pulling me in so she can brush her mouth against mine. ‘I thought you were going to dump us both for a second. Didn’t you, Dex?’

He doesn’t answer, because he’s too busy gazing at me like he could stare at my face for all his tomorrows and never, ever grow tired of what he sees.

‘I’m not finished,’ I say. ‘I know this is special. You know it, too.’ I pause, my eyes fixed on Dex. I squeeze Darcy’s hand more tightly to show her I’ve got her. And then I say, ‘So it deserves more than sneaking around in the shadows and playing platonic friends at our City lunches and keeping these feelings to the privacy of our homes. It deserves oxygen and you damn well know it.’

Darcy lets out a little gasp, as if she can’t believe I’ve called Dex out on this, but it’s time. We’ve been sneaking around for two months now, and if there’s one thing I don’t do, it’s sneak around like I’ve done something wrong. If I do something, I own it.

I stroke her knuckles, but my eyes are on Dex. It’s been effortless with her since the start, but with him it’s been a constant push-pull. Anyone who saw us together (if he ever fucking let anyone see us together, that is) would assume I’m the dominant one in the relationship. That’s true in bed, at least.

But from where I’m standing, he’s been in the driving seat from the word go, and every time I’ve pushed him, it’s been as someone desperate to see him put his foot on the gas. Behind closed doors, our relationship is perfect. It’s loving, it’s exciting, it’s intoxicating.

Something like that deserves to flourish out there in the world, no?

He is a deer caught in the fucking headlights, though he can’t possibly have failed to see this coming. I refuse to look away from his ridiculous eyes, which right now reflect everything from adoration to terror.

Finally, he finds his words. ‘You’re right.’ He falters, glancing at Darcy, who gives him a little nod of encouragement. Her lips are pressed together like she’s trying not to cry. ‘It’s so special—it deserves everything.’

His concession makes me gentle. ‘I know it must always feel like I’m railroading you, but that’s not it. I love you. I want to be able to walk into any bar or restaurant with my arm around you. I’m so fucking proud and delighted to be with you—I want to shout it from the rooftops.’ And if he doesn’t feel the same way, that tells me everything I need to know.

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