Finding Their Balance (36 page)

“Emma, lemme refill your mug.” Jay, breezing by them, scooped up his target.

“Kind, but unnecessary.” Emma eased out of her seat. “Henry, thank you for the hospitality. Your home is lovely, and your pets are more so. I’ve stayed in hotels that weren’t so neatly appointed as your guest room.”

“Yes, Jay does a wonderful job.” Henry stepped away, taking the scent of his crisp, fresh maleness with him. Gaze straying to Jay, he allowed a rare broad grin to dominate his face. “He’s taken on more responsibilities of late and excelled at them all.”

Pouring the coffee despite Emma’s dissent, Jay bounced in place. Goddamn, but he made an adorable praise-hungry wriggle-puppy.

“Sounds like a reason for waffles.” Jay pitched his voice falsetto. “Every good boy deserves waffles.”

As Alice’s laughter mingled with Emma’s, Henry tweaked Jay’s nose, drawing him forward and shaking his head. “I ought to send you to piano lessons so you’ll learn the mnemonic correctly. The scale contains no waffles, my boy.”

Emma brushed nonexistent lint from her tunic. “And I ought to leave you all to—”

“Em, if you needn’t rush off, I have ingredients for
pirozhki
waiting.” Reaching past Jay, Henry brushed the spine of a slender cookbook housed on the open shelf above the sink. “Would you care to give us a lesson from your kitchen?”

Hurried blinks fluttered Emma’s lashes in a storm.

“Chief taster,” Jay crowed. “I call dibs on first out of the oven.”

“Don’t burn your tongue,” Alice teased, with dignity befitting the lady of the house. This house, anyway. The dough Henry had made yesterday must’ve been for this. Suspecting Emma would stay, he’d planned the outcome in advance. Or he’d intended to teach his lovers the recipe either way.

“Never.” Garbling his words, Jay waved his outthrust tongue. “Gotta keep my gear in tip-top shape. I know who’s got dibs on it.”

Henry tapped the cookbook on Jay’s head. “Fetch me the baking sheets and rolling pin, please. The sooner we begin, the sooner we’ll have an appropriate stuffing for your mouth.”

With a grin fit to bust his cheeks, Jay dropped his gaze. If only Henry had picked a less roomy pair of slacks.

Their guest stood like a casting waiting for another’s hand to crack the mold.

Alice slipped between the seats to Emma’s side and hunkered over the island on her elbows. Shoulders brushing, she delivered a light nudge. “Stay.”

Eyes bright, Emma nodded.

“Good.” She gave a firmer nudge. “Sunday brunches are for family. Now, tell me what we’re making.”

They swept into motion, an oddly coordinated foursome rotating around the island. Cherries, apricots, and cream lined the sweet side. Mushrooms, cheese, and onions lined the savory side. Emma guided while Jay provided muscle power for shaping the dough.

Shirt uncuffed, sleeves rolled to his elbows, Henry worked the bench knife with commanding precision, but with a flow, too. His casual happiness wound around her with mellow ease. Their lazy Sunday morning rhythm accommodated this, too. Her place had never been in jeopardy.

Jay rolled, Henry cut, and she and Emma filled and pinched pastry after pastry. When they finished, they’d have a feast beyond what the four of them could eat.

“Even Jay can’t pack away this much food.” She settled the last
pirozhki
on one tray, and Henry swapped in an empty. “Too bad Santa’s not here.”

“Alas, Will’s Sunday brunches are with his in-laws.” Henry kissed the top of her head. “Penance for his debauchery, as his wife assesses it.”

Frowning, Emma pinched too hard, puncturing the dough and spilling filling out the ends. “He sent flowers and a note Saturday morning, the sweet boy.” She scraped the mess clear and began again. “He’s giving up his next Friday playtime to escort me to the symphony.”

“Tanglewood?” Henry focused on his work brushing an egg glaze over the finished tray.

“Mm-hmm. Like old times,” Emma murmured.

More history she lacked. The summer music showplace lay a two-hour drive from the city. But Santa’s cabin, that’d be much closer.

Talk of composers carried them through the last of the dough. Jay, after trading his rolling pin for spoons, delivered what he insisted was a flawless rendition of the best classical music ever.
Chopsticks.

The feast of conversation and companionship lasted the morning. The contentment lingered long after Emma had gone.

Jay bounced through the club’s lobby Friday evening despite the weight of Henry’s duffel slung over his shoulder. Whatever props Henry had brought, he’d kept the packing list to himself. A pair of panties for her to wear later, maybe.

Her basic black dress flowed to her knees, concealing private joys. The garters holding up her stockings and their thin belt circling her hips swayed and tugged with her steps. Hidden to sight and hidden to awareness parted ways between her thighs. The free flow of air created a tiny but powerful underskirt breeze across her bare lips. She floated on the same thrill Jay did, except with deeper knowledge of the layers beneath their buoyancy.

Standing before the desk, the source of their excitement betrayed no hint of what the night held. Though Henry wore a sharp suit, the black a match for her dress, what cloaked him wasn’t fabric but confidence. Yet even his unruffled calm carried an expectant air. “Good evening, Caitlyn. I trust all is in order?”

“Yes sir, Master Henry.” After stowing their phones in Henry’s numbered box, Caitlyn dug under the desk. “She handled everything upstairs herself before she left. You’re all set.”

She
could only be Emma. The details would be exact, crafted however Henry wanted them. Reliable friends made for wonderful nights.

Caitlyn slid two red ribbons across the counter. “May I provide any other service?”

“Actually, yes.” Henry pushed a single ribbon back. “You may exchange this for yellow.”

Jay jerked in a stuttering sideways step, hair flying and duffel banging his hip. “Who’s wearing yellow?”

“Easy, stud.” As she snuggled against him, she triggered his automatic hug-back response. “The yellow’s for me, but I’m still all yours and Henry’s.”

“Ours.” His exhale heated her scalp.

“Entirely, wonderfully so.” Lending weight to their embrace with a firm caress down Jay’s back, Henry raised the red in his other hand. “Keep hold of this, please, my boy. We’ll dress you properly upstairs.”

Ribbon gripped tight, Jay followed each motion as Henry shaped the yellow one into a floralesque corsage and pinned it to her dress. When they both wore red, they were equals. Co-conspirators. Tonight, Henry granted her a different role.

He took them each by a hand, and they climbed the stairs three abreast.

Wearing a yellow ribbon, she could tell off a pushy dominant—politely—if necessary without needing to shout for a play monitor. The lack of red on her chest marked not a downgrade in Henry’s claim but an upgrade in her autonomous power and his trust in her to wield it well.

Not spilling what she knew of Henry’s plans grew harder the closer they got. But she wouldn’t miss Jay’s expression for anything.

At the top of the grand staircase, Henry paused. They had the broad second-floor landing to themselves. The salon lay to the right, the changing rooms to the left beyond the auxiliary reception desk.

“All right, my dears.” Henry swept a disobedient strand of Jay’s hair from his forehead. “Jay and I have the matter of his apparel to consider.”

Speculative glances traveled from the duffel to Henry to her, strong evidence of Jay-mapping. He’d see the options Henry had packed first. She’d have to wait until he emerged in them.

Kissing her right cheek, Henry fortified her with grazing knuckles down her left. “We’ll see you soon, my dear.” In an intimate rumble, he added, “Think of the salon as your room.”

Adrenaline poured in to meet—and exceed—the challenge he’d set. With his encouragement of her spot checks and rewards for Jay in the second bedroom, he’d put them on this path. Jay bestowing an affectionate title on her had paved it.

“See you soon.” She broadened her smile for Jay and his curiosity-laden brows. “I’ll be waiting.”

Henry collected Jay with an arm around his back and led him to the changing rooms. Whispering, he tugged the strap over Jay’s shoulder.

With his boisterous laugh filling the space, Jay cast a final look her way before he disappeared.

The closing door unstuck her feet. She had minutes, not hours, before she’d see them again. Inside the salon, a few players clustered in chatty knots of twos and threes. Fifteen, give or take. Two in yellow ribbons anchored cozy seating areas and raised expectant faces at her entrance.

“Sorry, boys.” Muttering under her breath, she turned right and kept count of her steps. Jay would be delighted she’d remembered his retelling of his first date with Henry. “I’m not the partner you’re looking for.”

Twenty-seven. She took shorter steps in heels than Jay in sandals, or used a less direct route than Henry had taken five years ago. But her twenty-seven steps brought her to the same place, two cozy blue chairs on spindly, curving legs. The curves gave them strength disproportionate to their slender design, spreading the weight of the high chair back and solid arms outward and down to the floor.

Nestled between the chairs, a tall table held two cork coasters and a neatly folded card reading
Reserved
in Emma’s elegant script. The paper rasped under her fingernail, a rough weave with a feathered fiber edge.

The chair, embracing her in its flaring sides, angled her gaze to the wide-flung double doors. As she smoothed her dress, the garter clips beneath bumped her palms. She shivered, once, the last kick before sinking into dreamland.

A flash of black crossed the doorsill. A brown-haired man in a decent suit, but not Henry.

Closing her eyes, she tucked laughter behind her teeth and let amusement crowd out all else. To the nameless man in the nice suit, she would’ve looked as sweetly attentive and eager as those yellow-ribboned men had to her. The stray urge for the approach of a stranger tickled. Just one, one excuse to tell the room she had plans, that she both cared and was cared for.

She breathed out emotional overabundance and held tight to a kernel of calm. Pictured the low-slung vanity in the second bedroom. Pulled open the shallow center drawer. Extracted her Jay-book and jotted the date on a fresh page. As the proper mindset cascaded into alignment, she opened her eyes.

Henry stepped into the doorway. The crisp cut of his suit showcased strong shoulders above a broad, bold chest—her powerful lover when above her and the perfect resting place when below. Smiling as he spied her, he lifted his chin and spoke over his shoulder. Jay would be waiting at his heels.

She scuttled the urge to stand or present her submission for evaluation. This room belonged to her.

Her men flowed inside with measured steps. Bare, tanned skin flickered beside Henry, Jay a gently offset shadow shielded by his body. Wearing wide-eyed delight, Jay craned his neck and gazed at her over Henry’s shoulder. His mouth hung open, his full lips round and pink.

Worth waiting for. Five years before, Henry had sat with Jay in these chairs and taken the initial steps toward a relationship. This first date would be one all three of them could treasure.

Even as Henry closed his eyes and pursed his lips, he navigated the room with ease. He made the same face when savoring a perfectly seasoned meal. The reason sharpened as they neared—Jay’s panting enjoyment carried whimpers past Henry’s ear. A tenor soloist singing for his supper.

They made a striking couple. Their passage turned heads and lowered conversation levels, but only she would get to claim them. Her thoughtful, sensitive dominant, with his insistence on transforming every moment into some memorable design. Her sweetly astonished submissive, touched by the simplest gestures and overjoyed to follow into any wonderland of Henry’s making.

Rising to her feet, she wobbled not from the height of the heels but from the force of their love. Henry paraded his in a cloak thickened by confidence and unsullied by jealousy. Jay’s longstanding assertions of non-jealousy manifested in more than abstract notions. His satisfied pride lived in her now, the meaning and purpose guiding her life. Bonds they each shared as pairs added depth to the relationship they built as a triad, a truth shaped by all of their needs and desires.

Her men halted in front of her, and Henry’s sidestep threatened to put her on her ass.

Jay was naked. Full-on, bare-ass naked.

The tails of his red ribbon dangled from a bow tied above his right bicep, and plain sandals covered the soles of his feet, but nothing decorated the beautiful body between. And his smile, God, his smile covered his whole face in the sort of holy bliss reserved for witnessing miracles.

Henry extended his hand. “Mistress Alice?”

She tore herself from admiring Jay’s—belonging. This was Jay at his most natural, content to be petted and admired in meaningful service.

Inclining his head, Henry quirked his lips as he swept her with his gaze, undoubtedly sketching her in memory. “It’s a pleasure to meet you in person.”

“Master Henry.” She lingered in the handclasp, in the warm approval he spread with a thumbstroke. “I’m honored you responded to my request.” Sinking into the role-play framework she and Henry had agreed on, she settled her voice in a deeper, slower rhythm. Words carried the weight of meaning and choice here. Consent. Trust. “I’ve heard you have a knack for finding perfect pairings.”

“It’s something of a hobby. Graciously accepting perfection when its bounty is laid at your feet is the difficulty.” In his exploration of Jay’s toned chest, he paused his wandering palm at his sternum. “I’m grateful my boy Jay offered with such persistence.”

Cheeks flushing pink, Jay bowed his head.

Henry surveyed the grouping of chairs and table. A slender ring of empty aisle, wide enough for two to stroll or pass, gave them privacy from neighboring arrangements. “May we join you?”

“Please.” As she reclaimed her chair, she gestured opposite. “Have a seat.”