Page 9 of Piece Us Together

Like a part of me knows him, at least. The part that’s desperate to be a submissive. The part that recognizes the dominance that radiates off him in fucking waves.

“Maison,” he says, his voice warm and fluid, the opposite of Maison’s rough-around-the-edges tone. The name feels different in that voice, as if he’s saying something else, something likehopeorthank you. “I’m glad you decided to come.”

Maison looks surprisingly vulnerable as he jerks his head in a nod, his hands fluttering at his sides. He doesn’t respond, justturning to look at me. Hunter does the same. The moment the man’s eyes are on me, I feel pinned. Stuck. It’s not bad, though. It’s just…something.

He steps forward, offering me a hand. The urge to kneel for him is nearly unbearable. The wanting in me is so severe, my knees buckle. I accidentally sway forward, my hand trembling as it finds his and clings like it’s the only thing keeping me on my feet. His grip is warm and firm and like an answer to a question I’ve been too afraid to ask. His free hand rests on my hip, steadying me. “Hello there.”

“Hello,” I whisper, cutting off the sir that teases along the edge of the sentence. It’d be wildly inappropriate, regardless of how strong the urge to release it may be. He’s not my sir. He never will be. I may not ever have a sir again, in fact. That reminder pops into my mind as I feel Maison shifting anxiously beside us. Hunter isn’t my anything. Maison is.Him and I—that’s the deal we just made, isn’t it?Hunter wasn’t involved, even if the world feels right just having his hand on me.

“You must be Nolan,” he says, the name rolling off his tongue in the same way it did with Maison. This time, the name sounds likebeautifulorgood. I shiver. He grins. “I’m Hunter.”

You’re more than that though, aren’t you?

“Hi,” I say instead. It’s safer. Just like it’s safer to put some distance between me and this man who is a walking temptation. I jerk away, stumbling back until I’m settled against Maison’s side. His hand finds mine, reclaiming it despite the way both our hands are trembling. “Thank you for, um…helping us.”

There’s a flicker ofsomethingin Hunter’s gaze, a displeasure almost, before he turns his focus on Maison. His expression returns to where it was when he first opened the door—warm and welcoming, with nothing complicated beneath the surface.

“I’m happy to help,” Hunter says.

“Yeah. Uh—thanks,” Maison mumbles, his words subdued, his gaze on the doorframe instead of on Hunter. I get the sudden feeling that Maison doesn’t want to be here. That maybe he doesn’t like Hunter as a person, but trusts him as the man who can be an answer to our problem. I hope it’s always been like that—he did pull a gun on Hunter their first introduction, after all. I hope it’s not because he can tell how badly I want to submit to the man after only knowing him for a minute. I hope it’s not because he can sense that every piece of me is begging for Hunter’s touch, begging for his control, begging for his domination.

Either way, I’ll have to keep my expressions and reactions perfectly in check. I can’t let myself ruin this chance for us. I can’t let Maison ever believe that he’s not enough for me, even if…he might not be.

God, I hate myself.

I’m the worst possible person in the world.

Maybe agreeing to this was a mistake.

Maybe we should—

“Come inside before the two of you freak out on my doorstep,” Hunter says with a soft sort of amusement that comes with kindness instead of judgment.

I keep Maison between us as we walk inside, trying not to think about how this is a bad idea. How this might be the reason Maison and I end.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Nolan.” I startle. Hunter is removing my coat for me. His fingers skim along the nape of my neck. I shiver, my eyes falling closed. “I hear you’re an excellent cook.”

W-what?

“Um. Yes, sir.”

Fuck.

Fuck me.

Fucking—fuck.

“Sorry. Not—I didn’t mean to call you—fuck.”

I can’t look at Maison.

I can’t look at either of them.

I stare at the floor, willing myself not to crumble as tears burn my eyes and bile rises in my throat.

Hunter hangs my coat up. Then he has his hands on Maison’s. I wait for Maison to tense or pull away. Maybe to even snap. Instead, his muscles relax, a shaky exhale escaping him as Hunter removes the coat as if it’s the weight of the world on his shoulders.

---