Free Twice the Touch by Cara Dee Page A

house—the thought intrigues her as much as it scares her. I doubt I'll ever call her a masochist, and that’s a good thing seeing as I'm not a sadist, but yeah, I think she gets off on a fair amount of it. And Brayden…the jury's still out on that one.
    "You may stand," I say and stand up myself. Unlike their incredibly appealing getups, I 'm in black leathers and a T-shirt. Bare feet. Nothing special. But what I have planned is. And I'm ready to get started. So, I usher them both inside, close the door behind me, and then position myself in front of them. "First of all, thank you for this." I kiss Evangeline on the forehead and gather Brayden close, draping an arm around his shoulders. "I'm definitely pleased." In fact, I might make these outfits their standard ones when we play in public. When . Not if. "Secondly, I'm Mark until I say so. Not Sir. Understood?" They nod. I crack a grin. "I won't punish you if you do call me that." I'm only saying this because my title seems to come naturally for them. "But it's not necessary. We're just going to have dinner now—get to know each other a little better. I want you comfortable, and I want you to feel that you can talk about anything without asking. All right?"
    " Okay." Evangeline smiles. Brayden nods, and I detect a hint of nervousness, more now than before. I bet this is what Evangeline was talking about before. Opening up might be more difficult for him than simply following an order to do something.
    We'll work on that.
    "Good. I don’t cook well, so I ordered in a bunch of stuff." I extend an arm, motioning them to the kitchen. "We'll do the grand tour thing later, 'cause I'm fucking starving." No lie.
    "Oh, I love your kitchen," Evangeline gushes. "My kind of place—old building with character. And this…" She reverently runs a hand over the solid wood kitchen island. Her finger ghosts over the surface, the age-old traces of knives cutting in, and the few darker rings left behind from damp glasses. I wonder if she's forgotten her state of dress…or undress, as it is. Or maybe she's simply comfortable that way. "Not easy to hose down—" she flashes a grin "—but it gives…"
    I chuckle silently and swipe a beer from the table. "Character?"
    "Right." She gi ggles and ducks her head. "Sorry—I just have a thing for furniture that’s not mass-produced and brand new. I love modern accents; that, for example." She points to my fridge and freezer, all in stainless steel. "It blends in, but there are limits." The image of Evangeline keeps getting clearer and clearer. Little bits of information give greater peeks into her mind. "I'll shut up now."
    "Don’t," I reply softly and pull out her chair. "Now I know never to take you to IKEA." I wink at her and she sits down , smiling happily. "You too, Brayden—sit down." The round table seats four, and after some deliberation, I pick the seat next to Evangeline. I don’t want to crowd Brayden, though I hope he won't think I'll ask him any fewer questions. I'll just…give him a slightly slower beginning. A bit more distance. "Dig in, guys. There should be something you like." For myself, I grab a container with paella, glad it's still hot.
    People say I can be a man of few words; I know that already, but Brayden takes the prize, no doubt. However, unlike me, he wants to speak more. He's just not comfortable yet. Throughout dinner, I study him in my periphery and notice several things. For one, Evangeline is his world. If she speaks, he listens. And I find that I do the same, only I can still keep an eye on my surroundings. Not that Brayden isn't aware of my presence, because he sure as fuck is, but it's clear that he could live to make her happy and die to make sure she stays that way.
    Another thing I notice is that he's on guard. His walls are up, and if I asked him something now—something off-limits—he would either bolt or…or…yeah, that’s it: Evangeline would swoop in. I'm willing to bet he banks on her