Chapter 75

It's early and Angel lies curled up on her side, spooned into my body. The other side of the bed is empty. I disengage myself and search out Monroe.
It's time to talk.
When I fail to find him in the usual places, I go to the den. Monroe sits in his large overstuffed chair drinking from a half-filled tumbler. He doesn't acknowledge me, just lifts the glass to his slightly swollen lip, and takes a deep drink, draining the glass.
I clear my throat and Monroe's head comes up. "I know it's five o'clock somewhere, but even for you, this is a little excessive."
"I will not disagree."
That's magnanimous for him. "Are you in pain?"
His laugh. It vibrates through me. "Do you mind if I ask how much you've had?"
"Not enough," he grunts.
This is not the Monroe I know. The man was born from alien life forms, maybe the combination of Mr. and Mrs. Spock. I sit in the other chair and decide to keep quiet. Monroe rests his head back against the plush material and lets his eyelids fall shut. Through the years I've realized being close to Monroe is an exercise in patience.
Monroe finally says what's on his mind. "She loves you."
I shouldn't be surprised that this is what's bothering him. "You knew how I felt about her."
He raises his empty glass slightly like he's toasting me. "That is why I kept tabs on her. Did she tell you about her friend?"
I sink back against the chair's cushion. "You mean the one who killed herself? Yes, she told me."
Monroe grunts again. "In her culture, it is the honorable thing to do."
His words cloud my brain with new thoughts. "Do we need to worry about Angel's family doing the honorable thing for her?"
Monroe's head shakes the slightest bit. "No. I took care of that. Hooriya Amin Kassis died of a drug overdose. Angel Philips has lived around the world. Her mother was American and her father, Spanish. She is educated and holds a degree in English literature."
"I take it you pulled strings?"
"Yes."
"And this explains why Angel Philips is your slave, how?"
The silence stretches while Monroe pours himself another helping of amber liquid. He doesn't look at me until he's taken a long, slow pull. "She was terrified when she came here. She thought I meant to kill her." His eyes go to the wall of bookshelves. "I remember the look in her eyes. She was so afraid, but I think she actually yearned for me to take her life."
The tumbler travels back to his lips. I watch Monroe's Adam's apple move as the liquid travels down his throat. As it's happened many times before, I'm mesmerized by everything about him.
Monroe continues reminiscing. "Even after I told her about you, it was obvious she still wanted to die." He moves the glass to rest on his leg and stares at it while talking. "I had no intention of teaching her the finer points of BDSM when I found her. I actually had not planned to bring her here at all.
"You just happen to carry sleeping medication with you wherever you go?" I ask derisively.
Monroe ignores it and continues. "The first week she was here, she existed in an almost ghost-like state. I had seen it before, overseas-shock, self-loathing, and shame. She did not cry and barely noticed what happened around her. I received a slight change of behavior when I talked about you, but it was short-lived. Her nightmares became worse and I finally moved her into the room connected to mine. I surrounded her with your pictures. It helped."
I'm not ready to talk about the pictures. "So you figured if you beat her a little, she might come around?" Yeah, that goes over well.
Monroe's fingers tighten on the glass. It's the first negative reaction I've seen since entering the room and I hold up my hands in apology when Monroe's eyes meet mine. And shit those eyes. They make me wonder if Monroe's look really can kill.
"She asked about the ropes. It started with Shibari. When I bound her, she talked. It was almost as if binding her set her free. I realized I used the rope in the same way. The strands always set me free."
Monroe's giving me insight to what makes him tick, but right now my focus is Angel. "Rope work and slavery are fairly far apart."
He takes another drink. "I am not so sure, my friend. When I create, I hold a model's life in my hands. It is the ultimate power exchange. It even worked on you."
What the fuck? The words tear from my throat, "I'm not your slave."
A shallow laugh clears Monroe's throat. "No, you are not. How simple this situation would be if you were." The tumbler hits the table with a clash. It surprises me the damn thing doesn't break. "I remember you at twenty-five."
"We're not that far apart in age." I try desperately to change the subject.
Monroe's gaze holds mine and he won't let go. "We are decades apart in age. We are also miles apart in our feelings for each other."
I release the breath I'm holding. "I told you many years ago that I'm not gay."
His laugh returns, but this time there's an undercurrent of anger. "My feelings go far past sexual, Zach. They always have. You are the one who insists on putting love in a box. I rescued Angel for you, but then she rescued me. I have no plans to give her up."
I can't process all of this right now and I need time to think about the whole situation. "Then I should leave. I'll-"
"And that has always been your answer. You run."
I do. Running is my middle name. "What exactly do you want from me?"
"That is easy." Monroe's dark eyes lift and sink into me until I shift in my seat uncomfortably. "I want it all."
I can't remain still. I rise and pace the room. I want so badly to run, but Monroe is right; I always run. I'm older now, I tell myself, more mature. That makes me laugh-maturity has nothing to do with this. I'm scared shitless and pull my hand through my hair in frustration. I stop in front of Monroe. "When you say these things, all I can think about is sex, and sex with a man is not my thing. I'm a kinkster for Christ's sake. I admitted it years ago. I have no problem with homosexuality or any of the other shit involved in this lifestyle, but being with a man doesn't do it for me." Christ, I'm lying to myself now and I can't seem to stop.
"What about a woman and a man?" Monroe asks.
He'll never get it. "Is there a difference?"
There's a flash in his eyes, almost a twinkle. "I think there could be. Angel needs us both and we need her. I have touched you before, Zach. You got over my touch many years ago."
"I never got over it." And it's the most honest I've been about these feelings. Monroe's touch stays in my mind for weeks after a scene. I fucking jack off while thinking about it.
His damn eyebrows lift. "No, I guess you did not but neither did I."
"I can't believe we're having this conversation." I start pacing again.
"I cannot believe it has taken us this long."
It's like Monroe has a screw loose or something. He's not wired like most people. He has never conformed. "You actually think a threesome will work for us?" Just thinking about the three of us together makes me angry because it's something we'll never have. And that's on me.
"No, I do not think a threesome will work. This is more than that. I want you to marry her."
Now it's my turn to laugh derisively. "So now you're picking my bride. Is there any facet of my life you could manage not to control?"
Monroe studies me before answering. "Interesting. You did not say no."
"No! She loves you, and you want me to marry her?"
"Now you are being obtuse. She loves us both, but she needs marriage. She needs to feel clean and have her shame completely wiped away."
"Then you marry her!"
"No."
Christ, I can't believe this is happening. "So if I marry her, she'll just jump into bed with both of us and feel no shame?"
"I think with time we would all adjust."
"Adjust? You think her sleeping with two men is an adjustment? I know for me it goes far beyond a simple modification of my thought process."
"Why?"
He's so damn frustrating and always has been. "You can't be serious?"
"Do you remember when I made you go to the club and submit to a Domme?"
Oh boy do I. "Yes, that's a memory I'm not likely to forget."
"To be a good Dom, you need to understand what a sub goes through, how they feel, what it takes to completely give up your power. You were at the Domme's mercy. If I remember, she beat the living shit out of you. You could have used your safe word but you did not. Even when she put a butt plug up your ass, you did not safeword."
I stop pacing and face Monroe, trying to decide if I should finish the beating I started last night. "Your cock is never going up my ass."
He shrugs and offers a small smile. "Make it a hard limit."
I'm too stunned to speak for all of thirty seconds. "You actually think about putting your cock in my ass?"
His eyes run from my head to my toes before meeting my gaze again. "I doubt there is anything concerning you I have not thought about."
"This is fucking unbelievable!"
Monroe's lips thin. "Your feelings for me are wrapped up in a tight, neat package. But what about your feelings for Angel? She loves us both. We could have it all."
"You'd be the one having it all. In my fantasy you don't figure in the relationship I want with Angel."
"You need to stop lying to yourself. My hands have been all over your body. I have seen the way you watch me. You think there is nothing sexual in your feelings for me?"
Fuck. "No, I don't," I practically yell with finality. It's also a lie, and we both know it.
"When are you leaving?" Monroe asks because he always knows what I'm thinking.
"This afternoon. I need to say goodbye to Angel."
"She will never stop loving you."
"I doubt I'll ever stop loving her," I say and walk out.
In my room, I change into sweats and then take off for a long jog. I run five miles; five miles of running from every fucking thing Monroe said to me. All I get is a sore-as-hell knee and a long walk back to the estate.