Chapter 1: The Night Julian Became Jessie
The rain had been falling for hours, a steady, percussive rhythm against the floor-to-ceiling windows of Marcus's loft. Each drop fractured the neon glow of the city beyond, turning the skyline into a blurred watercolor of smeared pinks and electric blues. Inside, the world was velvet and shadow. Low-hanging chandeliers dripped fractured gold across the king-sized bed, its silk sheets the color of midnight, rumpled and waiting.
Julian Ashford stood in the center of the room, his bare feet sinking into the plush charcoal carpet, and he could feel every single one of his heartbeats. They hammered against his ribs like fists. The air was thick with the scent of patchouli and something darker beneath it—musk, maybe, or the ghost of Marcus's cologne from earlier in the evening. It clung to the back of Julian's throat.
He was trembling. Not from cold. The loft was warm, almost tropically so.
He wore a black lace thong that barely contained him, the delicate fabric stretching over the curve of his hips. Thigh-high stockings, sheer and black, hugged his legs and stopped just below the crease where his thighs met his ass. He'd never worn anything like this before. Never even considered it. But when Marcus had handed him the garment bag earlier, his dark eyes steady and unreadable, Julian had taken it without a word.
Now he stood exposed, his slender frame swallowed by the enormity of the room, and he felt the heat rising in his cheeks.
Marcus circled him slowly, his footsteps soft against the carpet. He was a mountain of a man—six-four, broad-shouldered, with forearms thick as tree branches and hands that could span Julian's entire waist. His skin was deep ebony, smooth as polished stone, and the chandelier light caught the ridges of his muscles as he moved. He wore only a pair of black boxer briefs, the fabric straining across his thighs.
He stopped behind Julian, close enough that his body heat radiated against Julian's back. Julian could feel it—a wall of warmth, a promise of something he didn't have words for.
"You're shaking," Marcus murmured. His voice was a low rumble, like thunder rolling across a distant plain.
Julian swallowed hard. "I know."
Marcus's fingers found the curve of Julian's waist, tracing the delicate line of his hip. The touch was featherlight, almost reverent. Julian's breath hitched.
"You nervous, baby?"
"Yeah." The word came out thin, reedy.
Marcus stepped closer, his chest pressing against Julian's back. His lips brushed the shell of Julian's ear. "Good. You should be."
Julian's eyes fluttered shut.
"I've been watching you for weeks," Marcus said, his hand sliding down to grip Julian's hip, fingers digging into the soft flesh. "Watching you pour coffee, watching you smile at customers, watching you bite your lip when you think nobody's looking. You know what I saw?"
Julian shook his head, not trusting his voice.
"I saw a boy who's been hiding." Marcus's other hand came up to cup Julian's jaw, tilting his head back. "Hiding behind that shy smile, those baggy sweaters, that soft little voice. Hiding from what he really wants."
Julian's throat tightened. "I don't—"
"You don't what?" Marcus's grip tightened, just slightly. "You don't want this? You don't want my hands on you? You don't want to know what it feels like to be filled up so deep you forget your own name?"
Julian's cock twitched against the lace of the thong. He could feel himself leaking, the wet spot spreading.
"That's what I thought," Marcus said, a smile in his voice.
He released Julian and stepped back. The loss of contact was immediate, almost painful. Julian turned his head, watching as Marcus walked to the foot of the bed and sat down on the edge, his powerful thighs spread, his gaze fixed on Julian like a predator sizing up prey.
"Come here," Marcus said.
Julian's legs moved before his brain caught up. He crossed the room on autopilot, his stockings whispering against the carpet, until he stood between Marcus's knees. Marcus looked up at him, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. The rain filled the silence.
"You're beautiful," Marcus said quietly. "You know that?"
Julian's face burned. "I'm not—"
"You are." Marcus reached out and hooked his fingers into the waistband of the thong, tugging him closer. "You've got these wide hips, this fat ass, these soft little thighs. You've been hiding all of it under those baggy clothes."
Julian's heart was racing so fast he thought he might pass out.
"But tonight," Marcus continued, his voice dropping to a growl, "the shy barista dies. You understand me? Julian stays at the door. Tonight, you're gonna be someone else."
Julian's mouth went dry. "Who?"
Marcus smiled. It was a slow, dangerous thing. "Jessie."
The name hit Julian like a slap. It was feminine, soft, vulnerable. It was everything he'd tried not to be.
"Jessie's gonna do everything I tell her to do," Marcus said. "She's gonna bend over when I say bend. She's gonna spread her legs when I say spread. She's gonna moan like a bitch in heat and beg for my cock. You hear me?"
Julian nodded, his entire body vibrating.
"I said, you hear me?"
"Yes," Julian whispered.
"Yes, what?"
"Yes, Daddy."
The word slipped out before Julian could stop it. He didn't even know where it came from. But the moment it left his lips, something shifted in the air. Marcus's eyes darkened, his jaw tightening.
"Good girl," he said.
He stood up, and Julian had to crane his neck to meet his gaze. Marcus was enormous this close, a wall of muscle and heat. He reached down and grabbed Julian's ass with both hands, squeezing hard enough to bruise.
"Fuck," Julian gasped.
"That's right." Marcus kneaded the flesh, spreading Julian's cheeks apart, his thumbs pressing into the soft, yielding muscle. "You've got a lot of ass, Jessie. You know how many guys would kill to bury their face in this?"
Julian whimpered.
"Answer me."
"I don't—I don't know."
"A lot." Marcus leaned down and bit Julian's shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark. Julian cried out, but the pain melted into pleasure almost instantly. "But tonight, this ass is mine. You understand?"
"Yes, Daddy."
Marcus released him and pointed to a leather bench at the foot of the bed. It was low, padded, with chrome legs and a slight incline.
"Bend over it," he said.
Julian's stomach flipped. He walked to the bench on shaky legs, his stockings sliding against the carpet, and positioned himself over it. The leather was cool against his forearms as he braced himself, his knees finding the floor on either side. His ass was elevated, his back arched, his face pressed against the cushion.
The position was humiliating. It was also the most arousing thing Julian had ever experienced.
He heard Marcus's footsteps behind him. Felt the heat of his body as he knelt down.
"Look at this," Marcus murmured. "Look at this pretty little hole."
Julian's face burned. He could feel Marcus's breath against his skin, warm and damp.
"You ever had anything in here, Jessie?"
Julian shook his head. "No."
"Never?"
"Never."
Marcus laughed, low and dark. "Good. I like being first."
He spread Julian's cheeks apart with his thumbs, exposing the puckered ring of muscle. Julian felt the cold air hit his hole and shivered.
"Relax," Marcus said. "I'm gonna take care of you."
Then Julian felt it—warm and wet—as Marcus spat directly onto his hole. The saliva dripped down, slick and obscene, pooling between his cheeks.
"Fuck," Julian breathed.
Marcus didn't respond. He just pressed his thumb against Julian's hole, rubbing the spit into the tight muscle, circling it slowly.
"You're so tight," he said. "Gonna have to open you up."
Julian felt a finger slide inside him, slick with spit, and his entire body clenched.
"Shh," Marcus soothed. "Just breathe. Let me in."
The finger pushed deeper, curling inside him, stretching him. Julian's breath came in short, sharp gasps. It didn't hurt—not yet—but the fullness was overwhelming, foreign, intimate.
"Good girl," Marcus said. "Taking my finger so well."
He added a second finger, and Julian whimpered. The stretch was more intense now, a burning pressure that bordered on pain. But Marcus was patient, working him open slowly, scissoring his fingers, curling them just right.
"You feel that?" Marcus asked, his fingertips brushing something inside Julian that made his vision go white. "That's your prostate, baby. That's where I'm gonna be in a minute."
Julian moaned, his hips bucking involuntarily.
"That's it," Marcus said. "Let go. Let me hear you."
He pulled his fingers out, and Julian felt suddenly, achingly empty. He heard Marcus spit again, felt the wet heat against his hole, and then—
When Marcus finally pulled out, Julian collapsed onto the bench, his legs giving out entirely. He was shaking, sweat-soaked, his mind a blank white static of pleasure. He could feel Marcus's cum leaking out of him, thick and hot, trickling down his inner thigh.
"Holy shit," he whispered.
Marcus laughed, low and satisfied. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the small of Julian's back, surprisingly gentle.
"You did good, Jessie," he said. "Real good."
Julian turned his head, his cheek pressed against the leather, and looked up at him. Marcus was still hard, his cock glistening with lube and cum, but he didn't seem to care. He was looking at Julian like he'd just discovered something precious.
"Stay," Marcus said. "Tonight, you stay."
Julian nodded, too exhausted to argue.
The rain kept falling against the windows, a steady, soothing rhythm. And somewhere in the back of Julian's mind, the shy barista he'd been just hours ago felt like a stranger.
The rain kept falling. A metronome for the aftermath.
Julian lay sprawled across the leather bench, his cheek pressed to the cool surface. His breath came in ragged pulls, his chest rising and falling against the cushion. Behind him, he could still feel the ghost of Marcus's hands—the grip on his hips, the weight pressing him down. His hole throbbed, a dull, satisfied ache that pulsed with every heartbeat.
He heard Marcus move. The soft rustle of fabric. The creak of the bed as he sat down.
"You still with me?"
Julian turned his head. Marcus was watching him from the edge of the mattress, his dark skin gleaming under the chandelier light. He'd pulled his boxer briefs back on, but they did nothing to hide the thick ridge of his cock, still half-hard, still slick.
"Yeah," Julian croaked. His voice sounded foreign to him. Hoarse. Used.
"Good."
Marcus stood and crossed the room. Julian watched him go—the way his shoulders rolled, the way his bare feet made no sound on the carpet. He disappeared into the bathroom and returned a moment later with a warm, damp washcloth.
"Turn over," he said.
Julian obeyed, rolling onto his back. The leather was warm beneath him now, sticky with sweat and lube and everything else. Marcus knelt between his legs and pressed the cloth to his inner thigh, wiping away the drying trails of cum.
"Spread your legs."
Julian's face flushed, but he did as he was told. Marcus cleaned him gently, methodically, his touch clinical but not cold. When he was done, he tossed the cloth aside and looked down at Julian with an expression that was hard to read.
"You okay?"
Julian nodded.
"Words, baby."
"Yeah. I'm okay."
Marcus smiled. It was softer than before, less predatory. He reached up and brushed a strand of sweat-damp hair from Julian's forehead.
"Good. Because I'm not done with you."
Julian's stomach flipped. His cock, which had been softening against his thigh, twitched with renewed interest.
"I thought—" He swallowed. "I thought you already..."
"I came once," Marcus said. "That doesn't mean I'm finished."
He stood and walked to the bed, pulling back the silk sheets. They whispered against each other, a sound like water over stones.
"Get up here."
Julian's legs were unsteady as he pushed himself off the bench. He crossed the room on wobbling knees and climbed onto the mattress, the silk cool and slick beneath his palms. The bed was enormous—big enough for four people—and he felt small in the center of it.
Marcus climbed on after him, his weight dipping the mattress. He positioned himself against the headboard, his back propped against a mountain of pillows, and patted his lap.
"Come here. Sit on my face."
Julian's breath caught.
"I—what?"
"You heard me." Marcus's voice was patient but firm. "I want you to sit on my face. I want to eat this ass until you're screaming."
Julian's cheeks burned. He'd never done anything like that before. Never even considered it. The position felt vulnerable, exposed. But Marcus was looking at him with those steady, dark eyes, and Julian found himself moving before he could overthink it.
He straddled Marcus's chest, his knees sinking into the pillows on either side. Marcus's hands found his hips, guiding him up, positioning him.
"Turn around," Marcus said.
Julian blinked. "What?"
"I said turn around. Face the headboard. Let me look at that ass while I taste it."
Julian's heart hammered. He shifted, rotating until his back was to Marcus, his ass hovering over Marcus's face. He felt exposed in a way he never had before—his hole still wet and open from their first round, his thighs slick with lube, his cock bobbing against his stomach.
Marcus's hands gripped his cheeks, spreading him open.
"Damn," he murmured. "Look at this. Still gaping from my cock."
Julian whimpered.
"That's right. You're gonna stay open for me, Jessie. Gonna keep this hole ready for round two."
And then Marcus's tongue was on him.
Julian gasped. Marcus licked a broad stripe from his taint to his tailbone, slow and deliberate, savoring him. His tongue was hot and wet, and it circled Julian's rim with expert pressure, teasing the sensitive flesh.
"Oh fuck," Julian breathed.
Marcus hummed against him, the vibration sending sparks up Julian's spine. He licked deeper, pushing his tongue past the loosened ring of muscle, tasting himself and Julian and the remnants of his own cum.
"Fuck, you taste good," Marcus growled. "Taste like my cock and your ass and everything I want."
Julian's hips bucked. He braced his hands against the headboard, his knuckles going white, and let his head fall forward. Marcus's tongue worked him open, licking and sucking and probing until Julian was trembling, moaning, grinding his ass against Marcus's face like he'd been doing it his whole life.
"That's it," Marcus said between licks. "Ride my face, baby. Use me."
Julian did. He rocked his hips, grinding his hole against Marcus's mouth, chasing the pleasure building low in his belly. He could feel his own cock leaking, dripping onto Marcus's chest, and the thought made him moan louder.
Marcus's hands slid up his back, nails dragging lightly over his spine. One hand tangled in Julian's hair, yanking his head back.
"You gonna come like this?" Marcus asked, his breath hot against Julian's hole. "Gonna come on my face without my cock?"
"No," Julian gasped. "I want—I want your cock."
Marcus laughed. "Greedy little bitch."
He shoved Julian off him, and Julian tumbled onto the mattress, breathless and aching. Marcus rolled on top of him, pinning him to the silk sheets, his body a wall of heat and muscle.
"You want my cock?" he demanded.
"Yes. Please. I want it."
"Beg for it."
Julian's throat tightened. "Please, Daddy. Please give me your cock. I need it. I need you to fill me up again. I need—"
"Fuck." Marcus's eyes were wild. He grabbed Julian's hips and flipped him onto his stomach, yanking his ass into the air. "You want it? You're gonna take it."
He didn't bother with lube. Didn't need to. Julian was still slick with spit and cum, his hole loose and ready. Marcus lined up and shoved inside in one brutal thrust.
Julian screamed.
It was pain and pleasure in equal measure, the stretch overwhelming, the depth staggering. Marcus was so deep that Julian could feel him in his throat, in his stomach, in every nerve ending of his body.
"Take it," Marcus growled, pulling out and slamming back in. "Take this cock like the good little bitch you are."
Julian's response was a broken moan. He clawed at the sheets, his face pressed to the mattress, his hips angled up to meet every thrust. Marcus fucked him hard and fast, no gentleness now, just raw, animal need.
"You like that?" Marcus demanded. "You like being fucked like a whore?"
"Yes," Julian sobbed. "Yes, I love it. Don't stop. Please don't stop."
Marcus didn't. He grabbed Julian's hair and yanked his head back, arching his spine, changing the angle. Every thrust hit Julian's prostate dead-on, and Julian saw stars. His cock throbbed, untouched, dripping pre-cum onto the sheets.
"I'm gonna come inside you again," Marcus said, his voice ragged. "Gonna fill this ass up until it's dripping. You want that?"
"Yes. Yes, please. Fill me up. Breed me. Fuck, please."
"Say it again."
"Breed me, Daddy. Put a baby in me. Make me yours."
Marcus roared.
His hips stuttered, his rhythm breaking. He drove into Julian one last time and came with a guttural groan, his cock pulsing, shooting thick ropes of cum deep inside Julian's ass. Julian felt it—the heat flooding him, the fullness, the overwhelming intimacy of being filled like that. And then he was coming too, his cock jerking against the sheets, his body convulsing with an orgasm that seemed to rip through him from the inside out.
Marcus collapsed on top of him, his weight heavy and grounding. They lay there, tangled and gasping, as the rain continued to fall.
Minutes passed. Maybe hours.
Julian didn't know. He didn't care.
Marcus pulled out slowly, and Julian winced at the loss. He felt the cum leaking out of him, thick and warm, trickling down his thigh. Marcus watched it, his eyes hooded and satisfied.
"Stay," he said again.
Julian didn't argue.
He turned his head, his cheek against the silk, and looked at the man beside him. Marcus was still catching his breath, his chest rising and falling, his skin slick with sweat. He was beautiful in the low light—all sharp lines and soft edges, dangerous and tender all at once.
"What is this?" Julian asked quietly.
Marcus turned his head. "What do you mean?"
"I mean—" Julian gestured vaguely, encompassing the room, the bed, the two of them. "This. What are we doing?"
Marcus was quiet for a long moment. The rain filled the silence.
"I don't know," he said finally. "But I want to find out."
Julian's heart stuttered.
"Me too," he whispered.
Marcus reached over and pulled him close, tucking Julian's head beneath his chin. Julian could hear his heartbeat—steady, strong, a counterpoint to the rain.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, the shy barista he'd been just hours ago felt like a stranger. But for the first time in his life, Julian didn't miss him.
He pressed a kiss to Marcus's chest, closed his eyes, and let himself drift.
And in the quiet dark, Marcus's hand traced slow circles on his back, and whispered something Julian couldn't quite hear—something that sounded like a promise.
Marcus breeds again.
The silk sheets had grown cold by the time Marcus stirred again. Julian felt the mattress shift, felt the weight of Marcus's arm slide off his waist, and he made a small sound of protest—half-asleep, not ready to let go of the warmth.
But Marcus was already moving. Already sitting up, his massive silhouette backlit by the rain-streaked windows.
"Don't move," he said.
Julian blinked, trying to focus. His body ached in ways he hadn't known were possible. His hole throbbed, still slick, still leaking. He could feel Marcus's cum drying on his thighs, crusting in the creases of his skin.
Marcus disappeared into the bathroom again. Julian heard water running, heard the clink of glass, heard the low hum of the ventilation fan. When Marcus returned, he was carrying a glass of water and a small black bottle.
"Drink," he said, handing Julian the glass.
Julian pushed himself up onto his elbows. His arms shook. He took the glass and drained it in three long swallows, water dribbling down his chin.
"Easy," Marcus said, a smile in his voice. "You'll choke."
"I don't care." Julian wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I'm so thirsty."
Marcus sat on the edge of the bed and uncapped the bottle. Julian caught the scent immediately—something herbal, medicinal, mixed with the undertone of something sweeter. Lube. Fancy lube.
"What's that?"
"Something I picked up." Marcus poured a generous amount into his palm. The gel was thick and clear, catching the chandelier light. "You're gonna need it."
Julian's breath hitched. "Already?"
Marcus turned and looked at him. His eyes were dark, unreadable, but his mouth curved into that slow, dangerous smile Julian was starting to crave.
"Already."
He reached out and grabbed Julian's ankle, yanking him across the bed with one hand. Julian yelped, his body sliding on the silk, his legs falling open. Marcus settled between them, his thighs spreading Julian's wider, his weight pressing him into the mattress.
"You're not sore yet," Marcus said. It wasn't a question.
"I mean—a little."
"Lie to me again and I'll make it worse."
Julian swallowed. His cock was already twitching, already filling, even though he felt like he'd been run over by a truck. His body was a traitor.
"Okay," he admitted. "I'm sore."
"Good." Marcus slicked his fingers and pressed them against Julian's hole. "You should be. I fucked you hard."
Julian whimpered as two fingers slid inside him. The stretch was easier this time—his body still loose, still open—but the pressure against his prostate made his vision blur.
"But here's the thing," Marcus continued, working his fingers deeper, "I'm not done with you yet. And I don't give a fuck if you're sore."
He crooked his fingers, and Julian's back arched off the mattress.
"Fuck!"
"That's it." Marcus pulled his fingers out and slicked his cock, slow and deliberate, watching Julian writhe beneath him. "You're gonna take every inch of me, over and over, until I'm satisfied. You understand?"
Julian nodded, breathless.
"Say it."
"I understand."
"Say the rest."
Julian's throat tightened. He knew what Marcus wanted. He knew the shape of the words even if he didn't know how to say them.
"I'm yours," he whispered. "I'll take whatever you give me."
Marcus's eyes flared. "Good girl."
He pressed the head of his cock against Julian's hole and pushed.
The stretch was brutal. Julian had been opened twice already, but Marcus was thick—almost obscenely thick—and the burn of entry made him gasp. He grabbed fistfuls of the sheets, his knuckles white, and forced himself to breathe.
"Relax," Marcus murmured. "Let me in."
Julian exhaled. His body yielded. Marcus slid in slow, inch by agonizing inch, until his hips were flush against Julian's ass. The fullness was overwhelming—so deep Julian could feel him in his ribcage, in his lungs.
"Fuck," Marcus groaned. "This ass is perfect. Grip like a fist."
He started moving. Slow, deep thrusts that made Julian's eyes roll back. Each one pushed the air from his lungs, each one dragged against his prostate with maddening precision. Julian's moans turned to whimpers, turned to broken sobs of pleasure.
"Touch yourself," Marcus said.
Julian reached for his cock, but Marcus caught his wrist.
"No. Not with your hand."
Julian blinked up at him. "Then—"
Marcus pulled out, the sudden emptiness making Julian cry out. He flipped Julian onto his stomach, grabbed his hips, and yanked his ass into the air.
"I want you to grind against the sheets," Marcus said. "Humiliate yourself. Show me how desperate you are."
Julian's face burned, but his hips moved before his brain could object. He pressed his cock against the silk and started rocking, small, pathetic movements that barely registered as friction. Marcus watched for a long moment, then shoved his cock back inside without warning.
Julian screamed into the mattress.
"That's it," Marcus growled, setting a punishing rhythm. "Fuck yourself on my cock. Use those hips. Show me what a good little whore you are."
Julian did. He pushed back against every thrust, meeting Marcus's hips with his own, the slap of skin against skin echoing off the walls. The sheets were ruined—slick with lube and sweat and pre-cum—but Julian didn't care. He couldn't care. All he could do was take it, take it, take it.
Marcus's hand tangled in his hair, yanking his head back.
"You gonna come again?"
"I don't—" Julian choked. "I don't know if I can—"
"You will." Marcus drove deeper, angled harder. "I want to feel this ass tighten around me. I want you to soak these sheets while I breed you again."
The words sent a shock through Julian's body. He felt his balls draw up, felt the pressure building behind his cock, felt his hole clenching around Marcus's length.
"That's it," Marcus breathed. "Come for me, Jessie. Milk my cock."
Julian came with a shriek, his entire body seizing, his cock spurting ropes of cum across the ruined sheets. His hole convulsed around Marcus, gripping like a vice, and Marcus followed with a roar—pumping load after load into Julian's already-filled ass, fucking it deeper, marking him from the inside out.
When it was over, Marcus didn't pull out. He stayed buried, his weight draped over Julian's back, his breath hot against Julian's neck.
"Jesus Christ," Julian managed.
Marcus laughed. Low, satisfied.
"We're not done."
Julian's eyes widened. "What?"
Marcus pulled out slowly, and Julian felt the gush of cum that followed—thick and hot, spilling down his thighs, pooling on the sheets. Marcus watched it with a kind of reverence.
"I told you," he said. "Tonight, you're mine. And I'm not finished with you until I say so."
He rolled Julian onto his back again, spreading his legs, positioning himself between them. His cock was still hard—still dripping with cum and lube—and he pressed it against Julian's hole without hesitation.
"Again?" Julian whispered.
"Again."
And he pushed inside.
The third round was slower than the second—more deliberate, more intimate. Marcus fucked him like he was trying to crawl inside him, like he wanted to leave bruises on Julian's soul. He kissed Julian's neck, bit his collarbone, whispered filthy things against his skin.
"You're gonna dream about this," Marcus said. "You're gonna wake up hard and aching and you're gonna think about my cock splitting you open."
Julian moaned.
"You're gonna come back to me. Tomorrow. The next day. Every day. You know why?"
"Why?"
"Because I own this ass now." Marcus thrust deeper, and Julian's eyes rolled back. "I own you, Jessie. You're my bitch."
Julian came again—dry, this time, his body shuddering through an orgasm that had nothing left to give. Marcus followed a few thrusts later, emptying himself into Julian's wrecked hole for the third time.
That was when Julian noticed it.
A pressure. A strange, insistent throb in his lower belly that had nothing to do with the sex. He frowned, his hand drifting to his stomach, and Marcus noticed.
"What is it?"
"I don't know." Julian pressed his palm flat against the slight swell just above his pelvis. "It feels... weird."
Marcus leaned back, studying him. His expression was unreadable.
"Weird how?"
Julian shook his head. "I don't know. Like something's moving."
Marcus was quiet for a long moment. Then he reached out and placed his hand over Julian's. His palm was warm, his fingers steady.
"You feel that?" he asked.
Julian nodded. He did feel it. A flutter. A pulse. Like a heartbeat that wasn't his own.
"Twins," Marcus said.
Julian blinked. "What?"
"Twins grow fast."
The words didn't make sense. They hung in the air like a foreign language, like something from a dream. Julian stared at Marcus, waiting for the punchline, waiting for the laugh.
But Marcus wasn't laughing.
"What are you talking about?" Julian asked, his voice small.
Marcus leaned down and pressed a kiss to Julian's stomach, right over the flutter. Right over the strange, impossible swelling that hadn't been there before.
"Twins," he repeated. "And they're growing fast."
Julian's heart hammered. The rain kept falling. The chandelier light flickered.
And somewhere deep inside him, something impossible kicked.