Fuller dropped his gaze to meet Marcella’s. She always liked that he treated her as a person and not as a servant. He had an easy manner with everyone. It explained at least some of the reasons for his popularity among fans. “Marcella? Are you okay with this?”
If she couldn’t perform in front of him in a private setting, how did she expect to not disappoint Sean in front of a hundred spectators? She swallowed her trepidation. “It’s probably a good idea. I’d hate to get out in front of all those people and have a panic attack or have to use my safe word.”
Fuller stared at her for the longest time. At last he turned his attention back to Sean. “You got pissy when I hugged her at the door, and you spent all the time she was working staring over your shoulder at the foyer, looking for her. Do you really think you can do this?”
Sean stiffened. “If you don’t want to help, then just say you don’t want to help.”
“Help.” Fuller played the word like a question or a heavy concept worthy of great consideration. He came around the table and held his hands out to Marcella. She placed her hands in his, and he tugged her to standing. True to form, once she stood, he kept hold of her hands. “Are you asking me to watch or to help? Those are two very different requests.”
Sean didn’t answer, and Marcella bit her lip. She knew what he was thinking. “In the second round, I have to orgasm from being whipped. I haven’t done that in a long time. I think Sean might need your assistance, even if you’re only there to give advice.”
He massaged his jaw with one hand and looked at Sean. When he dropped her other hand, Marcella felt her confidence fade. Perhaps Sean found her attractive, but Fuller had his pick of beautiful women. His flirting had always been harmless and innocent. It wasn’t like either of them expected Fuller to have sex with her. Perhaps this request crossed the boundaries of their friendship.
Finally he broke the tense silence. “What’s your safe word?”
Fuller’s hand dropped from his chin, and both brows disappeared under his floppy bangs. His surprised expression morphed into an easy smile. “Oasis? Then by all means, let me help out.”
Did Fuller know about Oasis? Would he tell Sean about her subterfuge, tell him he was the fulfillment of her fantasy? Marcella glanced at Sean, a quick movement to check out his reaction to Fuller’s abrupt commitment to helping. His brows knit in momentary confusion, but then they straightened out. He slipped his arm around Marcella’s waist and guided her toward the door on the far side of the room that led to the dining room.
“Let’s eat first. I can’t have my slave passing out too early in the game.”
Once inside the dining room, Sean pulled a chair out for Marcella. This wasn’t something new. He always opened doors and seated her first, even when they ate in informal settings. She glanced up at him, an unasked question in her eyes.
He leaned close. His breath tickled her cheek. “Don’t worry, slave. You’ll make it to my lap by the dessert course.”
The way his tongue lingered over the word dessert caused a shiver to run from Marcella’s breasts to her pussy. She sat where he indicated and spread her cloth napkin over her lap.
Sean took the seat next to her, and Fuller settled in across the table. The long table could easily accommodate twelve, yet they managed an intimate arrangement. The door to the kitchen opened, and Gabriella, the chef’s assistant, brought steaming plates to them. Sean wasn’t big on soups or salads, except for lunch, so they generally only ate two-course meals. This suited Marcella just fine. Although Sean’s personal chef had a habit of making meals saturated with butter and fat, over the course of the past year, Marcella had advocated for healthier meal choices.
The savory smell of peanuts assaulted her nose as Gabriella, a woman in her sixties who enjoyed bossing Sean around, set the plate on the table. Marcella’s shoulders slumped at the chicken satay with a spicy peanut sauce. There were a handful of dishes she couldn’t resist, and this was one of them. Living with Sean meant she would never have that chic, thin body every other woman around him seemed to have. Visions of how Gretchen would look naked danced in front of her eyes, taunting her with a Hollywood ideal she could never achieve.
Gabriella winked at Marcella. “We used reduced-fat peanut butter and light coconut milk. Three hundred calories, tops.”
Sean wrinkled his nose at her. “You lose any more weight, I’m going to tie you to that chair and force you to eat a healthy amount of food.”