Page 12 of Daddy Marc's Gem

Foster straightened, thrown off by the unexpected call. He’d forgotten all about the market. The day after Edward left, he’d started searching for any and all options where he might be able to sell his items. The market had been a desperate move since they were already filled. They were the last place he’d expected to hear from.

“Oh, yes. Yes, I do. Quite a large collection.”

“Wonderful! If you’re still available to do the market, I’ll need some photos of the type of items you’ll be selling. Would you be able to email some to me?”

“S-sure.” Of course, those pieces would have to be dug out of storage. “When do you need them by? I have everything in storage.”

“As soon as possible. If you’d like to give a deposit on the space, I can hold it for a week while you get the photos to me. After that, I’m afraid I’ll have to offer the space to the next person on my list. We’d refund your deposit, though.”

Foster rubbed his forehead. Visions of hauling everything to Boston and running the market by himself for the weekends it was open filled him with dread. But then again, so did not having any money and living in the streets. What was the worst that could happen?

He rolled his eyes at himself. That was the last road he needed to go down. One of his superpowers was his ability to envision the most vile and terrifying possibilities. But he needed the money. And preparing to attend the market might be the distraction he needed from obsessing over Marc.

“I can do that,” Foster’s words sounded more confident than he felt. “I’ll get the deposit to you tomorrow and the photos by the end of the week.”

“Perfect!” Chloe seemed genuinely pleased. “I’ll text you the details for payment and my email for the photos.”

After finalizing the arrangements, Foster hung up and stared at his phone. An opportunity had just landed in his lap, something that could give him purpose and maybe even help him build a life in Boston. Yet all he could think about was how much he wished he could share the news with Marc.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered, disturbing Dolly again. “I barely know the man.”

But oh, how he wished that would change.

Foster’s mouth went dry as an idea sprang into his head, a way to help him decide about Marc. It was a terrible one. Truly awful. Yet…

Nope. One major decision a day was plenty for him. Waiting another day wouldn’t hurt.

Foster growled to himself and snatched up the TV remote. If there were a theme to his life, waiting would pretty much sum things up.

* * * *

Marc finished typing up the notes of his last session for the day, then shut off his computer. He leaned back in his desk chair, glancing at the lights of downtown, the familiar sight not as comforting as it usually was.

Maybe I should head over to the club tonight.

He tapped his fingers on the Mission Arts and Crafts oak desk, one of his prized possessions. He let his head fall back with a sigh, the antique piece immediately making him think of Foster. Should he call him? Their dinner had been nice, and he’d loved spending time with Foster. However, the experience had shown him one very important thing.

Keeping things in the friend zone would be next to impossible. His offer of only friendship might not work out. It would be unfair to Foster to keep seeing him when all he wanted was to make him his precious boy. He groaned. How could he give up on Foster so soon? He hadn’t said no to the Daddy lifestyle yet. He’d only asked that they not discuss it for the night.

He should probably at least call him. So far, he’d been putting it off because he didn’t want Foster to feel pressured. Being controlled by his abusive ex had definitely made Foster hesitant to consider a power exchange dynamic, and who couldblame him? Marc pressed his lips together. The thought of poor Foster being bullied made him want to do things that law enforcement might frown upon.

Marc pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to dispel thoughts of Foster’s ex. His protective instincts had been in overdrive since meeting the younger man. It was more than mere attraction—something about Foster’s vulnerability combined with his quiet strength called to him on a primal level.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered to the empty office. Three days of silence, and he couldn’t get the blond beauty out of his mind.

Marc pulled out his phone, staring at Foster’s contact information. His thumb hovered over the call button before he set it down again. No. He’d give it another day. It would be Thursday, and he could invite Foster to dinner for Saturday again. Show him he was still interested in hanging out while also giving him some space.

Marc stood and moved to the window, watching raindrops trace patterns down the glass. The city lights blurred through the watery veil, mirroring his own muddled thoughts. Being a Daddy Dom wasn't just a bedroom role for him—it was integral to who he was, how he connected, how he loved. Zane had reminded him of that, and he’d accepted that Foster’s rejection of his lifestyle would be the end of their relationship.

His phone buzzed on the desk behind him. Marc turned, hoping it was Foster calling to tell him he was ready to explore being his boy. He swallowed his disappointment. The screen showed the call was from Zane. A small burst of shame hit him over being sorry that his best friend was reaching out.

Marc sighed and picked up the phone. “Hey, Zane.”

“Marc! Are you still at the office? It's almost seven.”

“Just finishing up some notes,” Marc said, moving back to his desk. “What's up?”

“Checking in on you. Haven’t heard from you or seen you at the club since our little chat about your boy-who’s-not-your-boy. How’s that going?”

---