Textual Confusion

5. You sexted my boss?!

CHAPTER FIVE

YOU SEXTED MY BOSS?!

Hi.

Can we meet somewhere?

Please.

Mr. Kingston

Tonight at 6:00 PM.

Paradiso Terrestre. 2901 Pratt Avenue.

Asher was worried that when he eventually worked up the nerve to unblock Mystery Man’s number – no, not Mystery Man’s number, Markus Kingston’s number – the next day, the man wouldn’t bother to respond.

But he’d been wrong.

He only had to wait a few minutes for a time and location to be sent to him. It was reminiscent of the very first texts he’d received from Mr. Kingston. Of course, this time the man knew exactly who he was talking to: Asher, another man, not some woman he’d hired for sex.

Briefly, Asher considered not going.

After all, there was a pretty good chance the man was still mad at him for misleading him about his identity (and gender) and then blocking his number. Sure, he hadn’t seemed all that upset when he’d called Asher out for it at the gala, but Asher had heard more than enough stories about the man from Danny to know he had a temper.

Even while he toyed with the idea of not showing up, however, Asher knew he was only kidding himself. He didn’t remember the last time he’d had so much fun texting someone and getting to know them, and it was impossible to ignore the chemistry between them at the gala.

It didn’t appear that Asher being a man was going to be a problem for Mystery Man Mr. Kingston, after all, and he knew he’d never forgive himself if he didn’t give it a chance. So after a morning of humming and hawing with his stomach tied up in knots, he spent a truly ridiculous amount of time getting ready for the outing.

Asher had never heard of Paradiso Terrestre, but a quick Google search revealed it to be a Michelin-rated Italian restaurant. According to the reviews, the food was superb, but to get a table, you had to make reservations months in advance.

In other words, it was fancy as fuck, and Asher would probably end up having to spend half his paycheck on the cheapest dish on the menu.

Also, he had nothing to wear.

The only suit he owned he’d already worn to the gala, so that was out. Eventually, Asher decided on a powder blue sweater that was slightly oversized, but also fashionably short, threatening to reveal a peek of his midriff whenever he so much as raised his arms. He paired it with his nicest jeans – the ones that Sasha insisted made his ass look thick with two c’s – along with a pair of black, slightly heeled boots.

Despite his best efforts, Asher knew he was still underdressed.

That didn’t mean he expected the hostess to literally wrinkle her nose at him when he arrived. She eyed him like one eyed dog shit after accidentally stepping in it.

“What name is your reservation is under?”

“Markus Kingston.”

Surprise flashed in her eyes. Asher had never seen someone do a 180 so quickly, and pursed lips were rapidly replaced with a blinding smile as she led him into the restaurant.

Asher took in his surroundings as he followed her, quickly coming to the conclusion that Paradiso Terrestre was as impressive on the inside as the online reviews claimed. Dangling lights hung from the ceiling, casting everything in a soft glow, and it was so clean that even the floors sparkled.

Most impressive of all, however, was the large terrarium along the back wall of the restaurant, which showcased colorful plants of all shapes and sizes. There were even birds and reptiles.

Asher was confused when instead of leading him to a table, the hostess beckoned him to a door beside the terrarium. “Mr. Kingston’s regular table is through here. It’s in a private room reserved for VIPs.”

The man had a regular table? In a private back room at one of the most expensive restaurants in all of Seattle? It begged the question… just how rich was this guy?

“Can I get you anything to drink?” the hostess asked once she led him to the table and helped him to sit.

“Just water is fine,” he assured, not willing to add a beverage to what was already sure to be an asinine bill.

“Bottled water or filtered?”

Asher blinked. “Whatever you have on tap is fine.”

The hostess’s mouth twitched at his answer, but she nodded gamely before disappearing out the same door she’d led him through moments before.

Asher’s nerves buzzed beneath his skin as he sat there in the quiet, antsy as he waited for Markus to arrive. Desperate for something to distract himself with, he opened one of the menus the hostess had left behind, blanching when he realized that none of it was in English.

He quickly returned the menu to the table, focusing instead on the terrarium.

The table probably had the best view of the exhibit in the entire restaurant, and Asher watched, hypnotized, as a snake winded itself around the trunk of some kind of tree.

He couldn’t resisted snapping a quick picture, sending it off to his friends.

If you don’t hear from me again, my last known location was Paradiso Terrestre. You can assume I was either eaten alive by this giant python or lured away to some back alley or sketchy motel and murdered by Danny’s boss.

Danny, you can have my stand mixer.

Sasha, whatever you want from my closet is yours.

Asher wasn’t expecting his phone to immediately start ringing, but in hindsight, he probably should have. He hurried to silence it, a flush creeping up his neck as the ringtone Sasha had specifically set for herself – “I’m Too Sexy” – echoed off the walls of the empty room.

“Aren’t you going to answer that?”

Asher nearly jumped out of his skin at the sudden arrival of Mystery Man – no , Mr. Kingston. He was as good-looking as Asher remembered. Like at the gala, he was wearing a suit, but Asher was pleased to see that he’d nixed the jacket and that his shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows this time, highlighting thick, veiny forearms, the backs of which were covered with a thin layer of hair.

And tattoos. Lots of them. A whole sleeve, in fact.

Asher stared at the intricate ink, dying to examine it more closely. Realizing that drool was pooling in his mouth, Asher jerked his gaze away and swallowed. “I- uh, no,” he stuttered as Mr. Kingston took a seat across from him. He hurriedly shoved his phone into his pocket. “It’s not important.”

Mr. Kingston snorted. “Good to know I’m not the only one who gets my calls ignored by you.”

Asher flushed. “Sorry,” he muttered.

“For what?” the man prodded. “Ignoring my calls? Blocking my number? Or lying and pretending to be the escort I hired?”

So we’re just going to dive right into it, I guess.

Asher’s face felt the hottest it had ever been in his life with all his crimes laid out before him, but he was determined to at least try to explain himself, so he opened his mouth to do just that. “All of it. I-”

“Mr. Kingston, sir! I was so pleased when Jessica told me you were dining with us tonight. It’s always such a pleasure serving you!”

Only to be interrupted by an excitable waitress whom Asher had somehow missed entering the room.

She was pretty, with a thin face and long, black hair that shined under the fluorescent lighting of the ceiling. And she was staring at Mr. Kingston with hearts in her eyes.

Asher was mildly surprised to find himself annoyed.

Not that it was unjustified.

After all, not only had she rudely interrupted him, she was also blatantly eye-fucking the man sitting across from him while completely ignoring Asher.

“The pleasure’s all mine,” Mr. Kingston replied, and Asher felt his mood sour further. “Be a sweetheart and fetch us a bottle of Messato. 2015 if you have it.”

“Of course, Mr. Kingston! I’ll return with that right away.”

“Are you always so friendly with the waitresses here?” Asher couldn’t help but ask (more like snap) after she’d skipped away.

He regretted it immediately upon catching sight of the man’s smirk. “I thought you didn’t like it when I was rude to the waitstaff,” he pointed out.

Asher crossed his arms. “Being polite doesn’t mean flirting,” he mumbled.

“You have nothing to be jealous about,” Mr. Kingston teased, looking entirely too amused. “What man in his right mind would look elsewhere when he has a beauty like you sitting in front of him?”

“I’m not jealous!” Asher automatically denied. “And can you stop?” he hissed, pressing the back of his hands to his cheeks in an impossible effort to taper his blush.

“Stop what?” the man asked, an incredulous twang entering his voice. “Complimenting you?”

“Yes!”

“Sorry, darling, but no. I call them like I see them. Besides, I thought you liked being told how utterly pretty and perfect you are.”

It was a blatant reference to the conversation they’d had about Asher’s praise kink – and it was not helping his turning-as-red-as-a-tomato situation at all.

Asher glared. “I was trying to apologize, you know, but you’re making it impossible.”

Mr. Kingston raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “You’re right, of course. Please, carry on.”

Unable to hold the man’s gaze, Asher lowered his eyes to the table and took a deep breath.

“As I was saying before we were so rudely interrupted,” – Asher ignored the way Mr. Kingston snorted in amusement – “I’m sorry for all the reasons you listed earlier. But especially the lying part. I didn’t mean to deceive you.” A pause. “Well, I did ,” he admitted, “but I didn’t think it was a big deal at the time. I mean, you were really hot, and I was half out of mind with exhaustion when you messaged me the first time. But then we kept texting after that and things kept escalating. I’d like to say I would have come clean eventually and told you I wasn’t who you thought I was, but, honestly, I’m not sure I ever would have.” Another pause. “Although I guess it doesn’t matter since you apparently knew I was lying the whole time. Not that that’s a good excuse!” Asher hurriedly tacked on, not wanting the man to think he was trying to blame him for his own shortcomings. “So… yeah. I’m sorry for lying. Really, really sorry.”

Finally finished with his blabbering mess of an apology, Asher hesitantly glanced up from the table, waiting nervously for Mr. Kingston to pass judgement.

“Why did you block me when I admitted I knew you weren’t who you were pretending to be?” he asked after a moment.

Asher frowned, not expecting the question. “Isn’t it obvious?”

Mr. Kingston raised his eyebrows. “Would I ask if it was?”

Asher huffed. “You know…” he hedged.

Mr. Kingston frowned. “Is it because you have a boyfriend?” he guessed.

Asher blinked. “Huh?”

“Danny Volesky, accountant who works on the tenth floor. Otherwise known as the guy with his arms wrapped around you the entire gala… well, besides the time you were with me.” It was the first time during their conversation that Mr. Kingston sounded genuinely annoyed.

“I… b-but…” Asher stammered, “Danny’s just a friend!”

Mr. Kingston raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t realize friends invited each other to formal events or referred to each other as their dates. Not to mention the way he draped himself all over you.”

Mr. Kingston must have been referring to the way Danny had hovered protectively over Asher after finding out that Barclay had touched him inappropriately. “Danny’s like my brother,” Asher said, completely honest. “We grew up together, and he’s dating my best friend. The only reason I went with him to the gala was because she was out of town, and apparently it would reflect badly on him to go alone-” Asher cut himself off, and it was his turn to frown as a thought suddenly occurred to him. “Wait. You thought I had a boyfriend, but you invited me here, anyway?”

Mr. Kingston shrugged, unrepentant. “As far as I’m concerned, he already proved he didn’t deserve you when he allowed you to be molested and then abandoned you at the gala.”

Asher frowned, choosing to ignore the dramatics of the man’s statement. “So… you promote cheating then?”

Mr. Kingston scowled. “What? No,” he denied. “I just thought you deserved to know you had options, but just so we’re clear…” – Asher tensed when the man leaned forward and reached across the table, carefully taking Asher by the chin to ensure eye contact – “…I don’t share. Ever.”

Asher swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the action. “Me either.”

Mr. Kingston nodded, his gaze dipping down to Asher’s mouth. He gently dragged his thumb down Asher’s lips before abruptly releasing his chin. “Good boy.”

Asher felt dazed – by the words or the tiny bit of contact, he wasn’t sure – but he was relieved when Mr. Kingston didn’t completely pull away. He took one of Asher’s hands into his own, caressing his knuckles with the same thumb that had just played with his lips. “However, that still doesn’t explain why you blocked me.”

So he was going to make him say it.

“I just… I thought you might be mad that I was missing certain parts,” Asher admitted, gesturing at his distinct lack of breasts with his free hand, “and had certain other parts instead.” He didn’t go so far as to point at his dick, but it was clear enough what he was referring to.

Asher’s face was undoubtedly red again, and he couldn’t help but think that at this point he might as well just paint it that color.

For Mr. Kingston’s part, he just quirked an eyebrow. “I think it’s pretty evident that’s not a problem for me.”

“Well, I know that now , obviously, but back then I thought it might disgust you that you’d been talking to another man.”

Mr. Kingston’s eyes flashed. “Don’t talk about yourself like that,” he snapped. “It’s not allowed.”

Asher blinked, caught off guard by the intensity of the man’s reaction. “Talk about myself how?”

“Like you’re anything other than gorgeous. No one’s allowed to badmouth my baby boy. Not even you.”

There was that warm, fluttery feeling in his tummy again. Part of Asher wanted to melt at the protective proclamation. There was just one problem, though.

“But I’m not your baby boy.”

Not yet, anyway.

Asher would like to go on a handful of dates, at least, before declaring something like that. After all, he remembered what had happened the last time he’d jumped too quickly into a relationship.

Luckily, Mr. Kingston didn’t seem offended.

“Not yet,” he allowed, seemingly amused – an echo of Asher’s thoughts.

Before he could decide what to say in response, the waitress returned with the bottle of wine Mr. Kingston had requested. Asher forced himself to sit still and keep his mouth shut as she poured Mr. Kingston a generous helping of wine, forgetting all about pouring a glass for Asher until Mr. Kingston prompted her to do so.

“Have you decided what you’d like to order, Sir?” she asked when she was finished. “Or would you like to hear today’s specials?”

It wasn’t until she asked that Asher remembered his earlier dilemma, namely that the menu was incomprehensible.

Of course, that didn’t seem to be a problem for Mr. Kingston, who didn’t even glance at his menu before turning to the waitress and ordering. “I’ll have the spezzatino di manzo .” He pronounced the Italian words with ease, and Asher had yet another problem on his hands when he felt his blood flow south, his cock tingling with interest. He clenched his legs together, embarrassed to be getting turned from something as simple as the man speaking a different language.

“What would you like, Asher?”

“Oh, um,” he fumbled, eyes dancing over the menu without actually taking any of it in. How could he when nothing was in English?

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the waitress smirk as she realized he didn’t understand Italian, and he felt his cheeks heat in embarrassment.

“Would you like me to order for you, sweetheart?”

Asher glanced up at Mr. Kingston. Never in his life did he think he’d be one of those people who just sat there quietly and let their partner order for them. But the man had asked so nicely. And Asher couldn’t read the menu, so it was an easy decision.

“Yes, please,” he agreed meekly, feeling nothing but relief and gratitude as Mr. Kingston took charge.

“Do you prefer red meat or poultry?”

“Poultry sounds good.”

“Heat level?”

“Mild, please.”

“Any allergies?”

Asher shook his head.

After a moment of perusing the menu, Mr. Kingston ordered a dish called piccata di pollo and the way the Italian rolled off his tongue, lips wrapping sensually around each word, had Asher once again squirming in his seat.

Any desire he felt was quickly overtaken by annoyance, however, when the waitress’s perfectly manicured fingers purposefully lingered over Mr. Kingston’s hand when she reclaimed the menus. “Are you sure there isn’t anything else I can do for you, Sir?” she asked, voice dropping an octave. “Anything at all?”

“Yes, you can apologize to my date for being so unduly rude to him.”

Asher’s gaze jerked in Mr. Kingston’s direction so quickly he was surprised he didn’t give himself whiplash. The man looked deathly serious.

The waitress paled. Then she laughed, though the sound was clearly half-panicked and all forced. “I’m sorry… what?”

“I said you can apologize to my date,” he repeated succinctly, voice like steel. “Not only have you failed to properly address him the entire evening, you neglected to offer him the English version of the menu when it became apparent he was unfamiliar with Italian.”

“I… I’m sorry, Mr. Kingston,” she managed after a moment. “It wasn’t my intention to offend you… or your guest,” she reluctantly tacked on after a moment.

Mr. Kingston was unimpressed. “I said to apologize to Asher, not me.”

The waitress turned towards Asher, and though it was obvious she didn’t want to, she opened her mouth. “I’m sorry, Sir,” she said, speaking stiffly, looking somewhere over his shoulder, “for having ignored you this evening.”

It wasn’t until a beat of awkward silence had passed that Asher realized a response was expected from him. “Oh, um, that’s okay,” he offered clumsily.

Their gazes met for a brief moment, and the waitress’s eyes narrowed before she nodded jerkily and stepped away. “I’ll return shortly with your food,” she said to Mr. Kingston before stalking away, presumably to deliver their orders to the kitchen.

“That was mean,” Asher told the man once he was sure she was out of earshot.

“You liked it,” the man teased, seriousness gone as soon as it’d come. He swirled his wine around in his glass before taking a sip.

Asher couldn’t deny it, considering it was true.

Silence fell between them then – not the awkward kind, but it was still intense. Mostly because Mr. Kingston insisted on staring at Asher, no sense of shame or humility in his gaze at all as he allowed his eyes to roam over Asher’s form. Asher couldn’t help but notice how his eyes kept straying to his clavicles, peeking out of the wide neckline of his sweater, or the way they continuously flickered to his lips.

Asher fidgeted under the scrutiny. Needing something to do with his hands, he took his glass of wine and swirled it, copying what he’d seen Mr. Kingston do. He sipped at the sweet liquor, mostly just so his mouth was occupied and he wouldn’t said anything dumb.

“So how come you had to hire someone for sex? Is there something, like, wrong with you?”

Well, so much for that.

“I just mean that you’re so good-looking!” Asher exclaimed upon noticing Mr. Kingston’s incredulous expression. “I’ve seen models with less impressive jawlines. And your body is insane. I mean, you obviously work out. And if your cock is proportionate to the rest of your body, it’s clearly massive-”

What the fuck are you saying? Asher’s brain screeched, desperately trying to rein in his sudden case of verbal diarrhea.

“Then there’s the fact that you’re super rich and successful,” he said, hastily pivoting away from discussing the man’s dick size. “I mean, you’re the CEO of one of the biggest financial firms in the entire country. I would think you’d have hordes of people begging for the chance to be with you. It’s just… it’s weird is all, that you’ve been reduced to… well, you know… paying for it,” he finished weakly.

Asher wasn’t sure what kind of reaction he was expecting to the avalanche of intrusive thoughts spilling out of his mouth, but he fully prepared himself for the possibility of Mr. Kingston simply getting up and walking out of the restaurant.

Instead…

“You’re adorable,” the man all but cooed.

Asher flushed. “That’s not an answer,” he muttered petulantly.

“You already answered for me,” he replied. “I’m rich and successful. That comes with a price. As acting CEO of Kingston Enterprises, I don’t have time for relationships and the ridiculous games that typically come with them. And even if I did choose to make time for a relationship, I find most people are more interested in my money than me. But I’m still a man with needs, so I thought to myself, why not just cut through the bullshit?” He shrugged. “It seemed logical to hire an escort.”

“Oh.”

It made sense, Asher supposed. He couldn’t help but wonder what made the man change his mind about hiring an escort and giving this thing with Asher a chance, but he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. (Whatever the hell that particular saying meant.)

“I’m glad to hear you find me so attractive, though,” Mr. Kingston added cheekily. “It means a lot coming from a literal angel.”

“Ugh, you’re ridiculous,” Asher complained, even as he warmed at the compliment. “You play the part of this big, bad CEO, but in actuality, you’re just a giant softie on the inside, aren’t you?”

Mr. Kingston snorted. “I assure you, there’s nothing soft about me.”

Prove it , Asher desperately wanted to say, show me , but he swallowed the retort down, taking another swig of his wine. “You’re a terrible flirt. It actually made me kind of mad at you at the gala,” he revealed instead.

The man’s brow crinkled. “Mad at me? Why?”

“Because you were being all coy and come-hither, even though you’d been sending flirty text messages to me not long beforehand.”

“You blocked me,” Mr. Kingston reminded him.

“So? It’d only been a week. I would have unblocked you eventually… you know, probably.”

“So, to make things clear, you’re upset and accusing me of two-timing you because a week after you stopped talking to me, I flirted with someone… who was also you.”

Asher pouted. “When you put it like that, it sounds silly.”

“Would an apology make it better?” the man teased.

“Maybe.”

“Well, I’m afraid you won’t be getting one.”

Asher stared in disbelief. Then he huffed.

What a-

“After all, how can I be sorry when it led to the prettiest boy in all of Seattle sitting across from me?”

-a bold, sweet-talking charmer.

“I thought I told you to quit with the compliments,” Asher protested half-heartedly.

“Why would I do that when it causes such a delectable reaction?” Mr. Kingston pointedly eyed his flushed cheeks. “You know, I can’t help but wonder how far down that sweet blush goes…”

Asher nearly choked on his wine. “Mr. Kingston!” he whined, like he hadn’t speculated aloud about the size of the man’s cock a few minutes earlier.

The man’s eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me?”

“Exactly, excuse you.”

“No, no, not that. What did you just call me?”

“Um, Mr. Kingston?”

“We’re on a date,” the man pointed out, incredulous wrinkle still prominent on his brow. “I think you can call me by my first name.” He paused. “Hold on. Is Mr. Kingston how you’ve been referring to me in your head this entire time?”

Well, he’d been Mystery Man for a solid week first, but... “Maybe,” Asher admitted shyly.

“Cute,” the man said, seemingly enamored, hiding a grin behind his wine glass.

“It’s just, you never officially introduced yourself,” Asher defended himself. “The only reason I even know your name at all is because Danny told me.”

Mr. Kingston frowned, whether it was at the mention of Danny or at the realization that Asher was right, he didn’t know. “You’re right. I suppose I’m just used to everyone knowing who I am before I speak to them.”

Asher snorted before he could stop himself. Arrogant, much?

“It’s the truth,” Mr. Kingston argued, “but I supposed you’re a special case.”

Asher wasn’t prepared for the man to reach across the table and take his hand before bringing it to his mouth. He pressed a chaste kiss to the back of it. “My name is Markus Kingston, but please, call me Markus.” A pause. “Or Daddy, whichever you prefer. It’s my absolute pleasure to meet you.”

Asher wasn’t sure whose face had more red splotches, his or the waitress’s, who’d returned just in time to witness the spectacle and hear Mr. Kingston’s Markus’s words.

“Your spezzatino di manzo , Sir,” she said, voice tight as she set down the man’s meal. Spezzatino di manzo was apparently a hardy stew. Asher spotted beef, potatoes, carrots and onion all floating together in a bowl. It smelled like it’d been marinated in wine and looked delicious alongside the fresh dinner roll that had been served with it.

“And your piccata di pollo … Sir,” she tacked on resentfully, setting Asher’s dish down with a loud clatter in front of him. “Please let me know when you’re ready for dessert,” she pushed out between gritted teeth before stalking off.

Asher couldn’t deny the vindictive satisfaction he felt shoot through him as she marched away, but he didn’t dwell on the feeling. Instead, he turned his attention to his food. Piccata di pollo was apparently chicken smothered in a lemon butter sauce with capers. It was served with a side of roasted green beans.

“It looks delicious,” he admitted, unable to resist snapping a picture with his phone.

Markus snorted at antics. “Gen Z,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“Millennials,” Asher teased back before freezing. “Wait, you are a Millennial, aren’t you?”

“How old do you think I am, exactly?” Markus asked. Luckily, he seemed amused rather than offended.

“Not that old! It’s just, you know, you’re a super successful CEO, so…” he trailed off.

“I’m thirty-four.”

What a relief. An eleven year age gap wasn’t that outrageous. Unless Markus thought it was. Asher bit his lip. “I’m twenty-three,” he admitted reluctantly.

Markus didn’t seem fazed. “My sweet baby boy,” he teased good-naturedly instead.

Flushing, Asher returned his attention to his food. He was holding back a moan as soon as the first bite hit his taste buds. The chicken and lemon was a classic, but delicious flavor combination. “It’s yummy,” he declared after swallowing. “Thanks for ordering for me,” he added shyly.

“Of course.”

As tasty as the food was, the company was even better. Conversation flowed naturally between them as Asher asked Markus how he’d learned Italian. (Apparently, his parents were immigrants, but his grandparents still lived in Italy, and he’d visited them often as a child.) Markus enquired about Asher’s job as a baker, and Asher described his role at Honeycomb Café. Of course, talking about work inevitably meant talking about Sasha, and Markus seemed amused by the shenanigans they always seemed to get up together – unless the shenanigans involved Danny, which still seemed to be a bit of a sore spot for the man.

Before Asher knew it, his belly was pleasantly stuffed and the waitress was returning to clear off their table and ask about dessert. Asher honestly wasn’t sure if he had room, but he was reluctant for the date to end, so when Markus suggested they split a slice of cheesecake, he was quick to agreed.

The cheesecake came topped with whipped cream and was served with a side of fresh berries. Despite his full belly, Asher’s mouth watered at the sight. Before he could pick up his fork, however, Markus was using his own utensil to scoop up a bit of cheesecake and hold it to Asher’s mouth.

“May I?” he asked.

Asher hesitated. His first instinct was to say no. He was perfectly capable of feeding himself, after all. But the hot, heavy feeling forming in his lower belly stopped him. He hesitantly nodded, opening his mouth and accepting the bite of dessert.

“Good?” Markus asked when Asher had finished chewing.

“Very.”

Markus used the same fork to feed himself a bit of the cheesecake before offering Asher some more. Perhaps Asher should have been grossed out that they were sharing the same utensil, but he just wasn’t. In fact, he felt taken care of in a way he never had before, the feeling in his belly growing until he felt warm and tingly all over.

“Raspberry?” Markus asked when the cheesecake was gone, holding the red berry to Asher’s mouth.

Asher’s compliance was much quicker this time, and he nodded, opening his mouth so Markus could press the piece of fruit inside. The tip of the man’s thumb brushed up against Asher’s tongue.

“Thank you,” Asher murmured shyly, licking the juice from his lips.

“You like being taken care of, hm?”

Feeling embarrassed, Asher hitched his shoulders and fought the urge to sink down into his seat and hide.

“Hey now,” Markus chided gently, “it’s nothing to be embarrassed about. In case you couldn’t tell, I like taking care of you. The only thing I ask in return is a certain amount of… compliance,” he decided on after a moment, “on your part.”

Asher frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I like to be in control,” Markus said bluntly. “In the bedroom, in particular.”

Asher blinked. “Like BDSM?” he asked tentatively.

“Nothing as extreme as that. I just like an obedient partner, someone willing to give up control and trust me to take care of them.”

“Oh.” Asher thought it over and found he didn’t have any immediate objections to the idea. Sure, the thought of giving that kind of power over to another person was a little scary, especially considering his past, but this was Markus, not his ex, and Asher couldn’t deny that the idea of just lying there, forced to take whatever the man gave him, reduced to little more than a pillow princess… well, it held a certain appeal.

Asher shifted in his seat, clearing his throat before his imagination could run away from him. “That doesn’t sound so bad,” he admitted.

“I suspected that to be the case, but I’m happy to hear you confirm it,” Markus said. “Arrangements like ours require a certain amount of openness and trust. If this is going to work, we both have to be honest with each other.”

Asher agreed that being open and honest in a relationship was important, of course, and he was all for gauging sexual compatibility, but it seemed an awfully personal topic for a first date.

Then again, their relationship hadn’t exactly had a conventional start. Asher had already referred to the man as Daddy, after all. Multiple times.

“Right.”

“Of course, sexual limits are just as important as our inclinations. I don’t ever want to make you uncomfortable. Which is why we can’t just rely on verbal consent. Written consent is important as well, for both of our protection. Which is why I brought these.”

Asher watched as Markus opened a suitcase he hadn’t even noticed the man had brought into the restaurant with him and pulled out a thick manilla folder. He slid it across the table for Asher to look at. A confused frown pulling at the corners of his mouth, Asher did just that.

Inside the folder was a document. A very familiar document. The first several pages made up a standard non-disclosure agreement, and the rest was an exact replica of the contract Markus had sent Asher over a week ago – back when he was still pretending to be Bianca.

Numb with shock, Asher glanced over the section about soft and hard limits before returning his attention to the meat of the document, his eyes catching on phrases like “ explicit consent ”, “ contractual obligations ” and “ payment options ”.

What the fuck?

Asher swallowed around nothing. “What is this?” he asked.

“Paperwork,” Markus explained succinctly, “to make our arrangement official.”

“So… you want me to be your sugar baby?”

Not your boyfriend?

“The term used in the contract is escort, but, essentially, yes.”

Asher’s stomach suddenly felt like it was filled with lead, the warm feeling he’d been basking in as Markus fed him dessert long gone. Instead, Asher felt a coldness creep inside him, starting in his chest and spreading out to the rest of his body, until even his fingertips were freezing.

Were you really stupid enough to think this was a date? A voice in his head berated him. (It sounded chillingly like his ex.) Or did you conveniently forget how you two met? You knew from the start what sort of relationship this guy was after.

Not a relationship, at all, but an “arrangement”.

But the texts they’d exchanged over the phone… and the way he’d acted at the gala… Asher had been convinced Markus was interested in more than just sex.

Nope, he just wants your ass, Asher. Like usual. It’s the only thing about you that anyone ever seems to covet, and even then, they grow bored of it eventually.

“What’s wrong?”

Asher’s gaze jerked up from the papers, taking in the man before him. He had the nerve to look genuinely concerned. It stung, and Asher’s first instinct was to lash out. He wasn’t prone to fits of violence and would never slap someone, but dumping wine over Markus’s head? It was a tempting thought. That way, he’d gain at least a little satisfaction from replaying the memory before he went home and cried over it.

Maybe it was dramatic, but in that moment, it felt like his life was falling apart around him. His ex had cheated on him. No one else wanted him – unless it was for sex. The only people in the whole world who cared about him at all were his college roommate and a childhood friend. He was going to be out of his job at the café in a few measly months-

Wait.

The café.

Asher froze, the thought getting stuck in his head. Like a last second assignment, his brain slapped together an idea. A terrible idea, probably, but… Asher glanced back down at the papers, eyeing the amount of money Markus had proposed in exchange for his… services.

Ten grand a week.

He could make $40,000 by the end of the month. $80,000 by the end of the year. It wasn’t enough to buy the café outright, but it was more than enough for a down payment, and he could get a loan for the rest.

But you’d essentially be whoring yourself out for the money.

Sure, but it wasn’t like it’d be a chore to have sex with the man. Markus was probably the most attractive person he’d ever met, and Asher would do it for free – gladly – if they’d met at some club. Why not sign the contract and take the deal?

But what about your heart? You already have feelings for this guy – unreciprocated feelings, apparently – and they’re only going to grow if you have sex with him.

That was a problem.

“Asher,” Markus snapped, sounding more urgent now, “talk to me.”

Asher licked his lips before forcing himself to speak. “Sorry. It’s just…”

“Is it not enough?” Markus asked, the tiniest hint of frustration (or perhaps alarm?) audible in his voice. “Because payment is open to negotiation if-”

“No, no, it’s plenty,” Asher said, cutting the man off in a panic. Ten grand a week was already mind-boggling. “It’s just this is the first time I’ve done anything like this,” he admitted, which was true, but wasn’t what had him so upset. “I’m nervous.”

“There’s nothing to be nervous about,” Markus assured. “You can terminate the contract at any time. It’s not like I’m going to chase after you or beg you to be with me if you decide to end things.”

Considering the situation with his ex, the words should have been a relief, but they felt like another blow to his already battered heart.

“Right.”

“So, what do you think?”

Asher thought over his options. He could still dump the wine over Markus’s head. Or he could simply turn him down and calmly walk away with his dignity intact. But neither of those options resulted in him owning his own storefront in a few short months.

Asher licked his lips. “Do you have a pen?”

3 missed calls

Sasha

Answer your damn phone!

Do you think it’s funny leaving a message like that only to go MIA?

Danny

If you’re not already dead, Sasha’s going to kill you, just an FYI.

Also, what am I supposed to do with a stand mixer?

Also, also, wtf are you doing at some fancy Italian restaurant with my boss?

Sorry! Not dead! Please don’t kill me, Sasha.

Sasha

What the fuck, Asher?

You can’t just text something like that and then ignore my calls. Danny and I were about to call the police.

Danny

Lie. We’re actually eating take-out in front of the TV right now.

Wow. Your concern for my well-being is truly touching.

Sasha

Well, we would have called them eventually. I was practicing what to say to 20/20 when they called for an interview.

Why is 20/20 involved?

Danny

I think the real question is… wtf were you doing with my boss?

About that… remember Mystery Man? The guy who sent me that not-quite-a-dick-pic?

Sasha

Yeah…?

Danny

I don’t like where this is going…

Turns out Mystery Man’s real name is Markus Kingston.

Sasha

!!!!!

Danny

Are you serious?

You sexted my boss?!

Sasha

I’d argue that your boss sexted Asher.

Also, is this your way of telling us you’re dating Danny’s boss now?

Danny

If there is a God in heaven, you’ll say no.

No.

Thank you, Jesus.

I actually just agreed to be his sugar baby.

Welp, it’s official.

I’m an atheist now.