Page 54 of Donovan's Men

“Oh, it will. I’m good at convincing people.” Donovan turned back to me. “I’ve had many play partners—a bunch as repeats—but I’ve never had a serious relationship. I mean one like Cole has with Caressa and Michael. In fact, Cole had never had one either.” He pursed his lips. “I’m not speaking out of turn, but Michael was much the same. Caressa was involved with a sleazebag, but Cole and Michael put an end to that.”

“I’m curious whatput an end to thatmeans, but I suspect I don’t want to know.”

Donovan chuckled. “No, probably not. Nothing illegal.” He held up the hand that wasn’t gripping mine to Tyson.

Tyson snorted. “You’re incorrigible.”

“I own that.” Donovan turned back to me. “So what Tyson is pointing out is that I’m interested in some form of a BDSM relationship with you. Now, that might mean playing, that might mean submission, or—if you want nothing to do with it—then I walk away from BDSM altogether.”

After a moment, Tyson cocked his head. “Are you even capable of that?”

Slowly, Donovan nodded. “Yeah, I am. I think Cole has. For the right people.”

“But you’d miss it.” I squeezed Donovan’s hand. “We’re getting ahead of ourselves. I certainly won’t rule out something, uh, kinky in the future. But I’m not agreeing either.”

“Before you do, make certain you talk about negotiated catharsis.” Tyson released my hand. “Are we finished with dinner? I spotted a cherry pie that I can’t wait to heat up so we can dig into it.”

I pushed my plate away. “I’m finished. I’m not certain I’ll have room for pie.”

“By the time it’s warm, I’m certain you will be.” Donovan winked. “Cherry pie is the best.”

Yep. More heat flooding to my cheeks.

Fuck my life.

Also…I’ve never been happier.

Chapter Twelve

Donovan

As much as I wanted to drag Tyson and Hamish off to that lovely, huge bed in the primary bedroom—that I’d happily foisted on Hamish—or even have them join me in my smaller bed, I didn’t do it.

Huh.

If I convinced them to join me in my bed, we’d have to get closer. Three warm, male bodies. All exertions and sweaty and—

Nope. Couldn’t go there. Getting an erection wasnotgoing to help my current predicament.

Instead, we sat in the living room.

Well, delineation was a challenge as the cabin had one massive great room—with a kitchen in one corner, the huge dining table next to that, and this lounging area across the way. Several sectional couches as well as two recliners. Most facing the mammoth television, but some also pointed out toward the view. Which was just of trees. But to a guy like me—a creature of the city—trees were stunning to look at.

“You guys ever spend a lot of time around trees?”

We were sitting on one of the sectional couches—at my insistence. This time, Tyson sat in the middle. I didn’t like having Hamish so far away from me, but he wasn’t the one who truly needed convincing about this.

“Trees?” Tyson closed his left eye—as if deep in contemplation. “Sure. My dad took me camping up at Manning Park every year. We had a great time.” He sighed. “Some of my better memories.”

“Is your dad—” Hamish swallowed. “Sorry, none of my—”

“He died. Recently.” Tyson winced. “He had lung cancer. I took care of him in those last few months. My, uh, wife…she gottired of the constant coughing and, more importantly I think, my inattention to her. She left me a few weeks before he passed. She served me divorce papers, we sold the house, and I went back to work and bought the two-bedroom on the Quay in New West. Nothing more really to say about it.”

If ever I’d heard ashutting this down now, that was it.

“I want to say I’m sorry.” Hamish said the words quietly—but with clear compassion. “Because that’s what we say. Losing someone is never easy. Cancer is a bitch of a disease. But what your wife did—”

“Bitch comes to mind.” I dug my fork into my pie and cut a smaller piece off. Then I glanced up to meet first Tyson’s, then Hamish’s gaze. “What?”