Page 7 of Daddy Marc's Gem

Foster nodded. “That’s okay, no problem at all.”

They bussed their table and made their way outside, the afternoon sun casting long shadows across the sidewalk.

“I'll see you Wednesday, then?” Foster’s hands were tucked into his pockets while he rocked slightly on his heels.

“Looking forward to it," Marc replied, resisting the urge to reach out and brush a strand of hair from Foster’s face. "Meet me at the museum entrance at noon?”

“Noon works perfectly,” Foster ducked his head with a shy smile that made Marc’s chest tighten. “I'll be there.”

They parted ways, Marc heading toward his office while stealing one last glance over his shoulder. Foster was still standing there, watching him go, and when their eyes met, the younger man gave a small wave before turning in the opposite direction.

The days until Wednesday would pass with excruciating slowness. Even before meeting up with Foster for coffee, he found his thoughts drifting to blue eyes and honey-blond hair. Somehow, Foster had wormed his way into Marc’s thoughts, taking up residence in corners of his mind that had been empty for too long.

He picked up the pace of his stride. As soon as he finished his paperwork, he’d see if Zane planned to be at the club later. The last thing he wanted to do was play, but Club Sensation and his closest friend helped ground him.

He swallowed hard as he entered the building where his office was located. If his lifestyle was what grounded him, then what would his future portend with Foster? While he waited for the elevator, he gave himself an internal lecture. Zane would probably tell him the same thing he told his own clients when they worried about what might happen. He also already knew the answer to his dilemma, but emotional support never hurt.

After he stepped into his office, Marc moved his personal issues to the back of his mind and spent the rest of the afternoon handling admin and meeting with two clients. At last, it was time to wrap up for the day. He wasn’t going to bother with heading home to change into his gear. His suit was fine, and if he went directly to the club, he’d arrive early enough before it got too busy.

As Marc drove to Club Sensation that evening, the city lights blurred through his windshield, a visual echo of his jumbled thoughts. The familiar route to the downtown establishment should have been comforting, but tonight, each turn only reminded him of the growing complexity of his feelings for Foster.

He parked in his usual spot behind the five-story nondescript brick building, its true nature hidden behind tasteful signage and discreet security. Marc nodded to the doorman, a hulking figure named Vince who'd been checking IDs since the club opened.

“Evening, Sir Jameson,” Vince said with a respectful nod. “Master Zane mentioned you might be stopping by. He said to tell you he’s in his office.”

“Thanks, Vince. Appreciate it.”

The familiar sensation from the bass-heavy dance beats thrummed through Marc’s body once he entered the club. The lighting was dim, casting everything in deep shades of pink and purple, a stark contrast to the bright afternoon he’d spent with Foster. Several regulars nodded in his direction as he made his way through the main room, past a scene already in progress on a raised platform.

Marc acknowledged the greetings with slight nods but kept moving. On any other night, he might’ve paused to observe the scene—a seasoned Dom demonstrating rope techniques on his willing sub—but tonight, his mind was elsewhere.

He traveled down the long hallway past the bar where the administrative offices were located, the music fading to a dull throb. Zane’s door was ajar, warm light spilling into the hallway. Marc knocked lightly on the frame.

Zane looked up from his desk, then broke into an easy smile. “Come in. I was waiting until you arrived before calling the restaurant. I figured we could have them bring over something to eat. I’m assuming you came straight from the office?”

Marc entered the large room that could double for a luxurious study in a fine mansion. He appreciated Zane’s ability to create a space that balanced professionalism with comfort—dark wood paneling, leather furniture, and just enough personal touches to make it feel lived-in.

“You know me too well.” Marc chuckled, sinking into one of the plush chairs across from Zane’s desk. “Food would be great.”

Zane, tall and imposing even when seated, studied Marc with piercing gray eyes that missed nothing. His salt-and-pepper hair cropped short, his posture impeccable even in casual moments, and his black button-down pristine despite the late hour.

“So,” Zane said after placing their usual order from the club’s adjoining restaurant, “you look like a man with something on his mind. And since you're here in work clothes instead of your leathers, I’m guessing this isn’t about scene advice.”

Marc ran a hand over his beard, buying time before he had to put his confusion into words. “I met someone.”

“Ah.” Zane leaned back in his chair, a knowing smile playing on his lips. “And this someone isn’t part of our little community, I take it?”

“His name is Foster.” Marc sighed, the name alone making his heart flutter. “He's new to the state, recently out of a bad relationship. Sweet, genuine... completely vanilla as far as I can tell.”

“And you're smitten.”

It wasn’t a question. Marc didn't deny Zane’s conclusion, merely nodded and stared at his hands.

“We had coffee today. I’ve invited him to the Gardner on Wednesday.” Marc leaned forward, clasping his hands between his knees. “I don’t know what I’m doing, Zane. He’s nothing like the men I usually date.” He searched for the right words, hands gesturing in the air. “But there’s something about him. It's not only physical attraction—though there’s plenty of that.” Marc smiled at the thought of the sweet Foster. “He’s gentle in a way that draws you in. Authentic. No pretense.”

“That's rare enough these days.” Zane studied him, his expression thoughtful rather than judgmental. “I take it he’s not looking for a Daddy?”

Marc groaned. “He doesn't even know that part of me exists. We’re meeting at the museum Wednesday, then dinner Friday. I'm torn between hoping something develops and knowing I should probably tell him sooner rather than later. I was planning on saying something to him after the museum on Wednesday.” Marc drew his eyebrows together. “I don’t want to wait untilwe’re on what I’m sure he considers a true date to drop that bomb on him.”

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