Ask For the Moon - Part Two

Layla is trying to settle in to a quiet life with her husband, but his two alters are making that difficult.

Rated NC-17 for explicit sexual situations and, depending on your point of view, polyamory.

It was more than two weeks after Layla returned from New York before she had another encounter with Jake. Steven mentioned having conversations with him almost every time he fronted, and even Marc was becoming aware of the feeling of someone other than Steven being present whenever the two alters had conversations. Apparently, when Marc talked to Steven, his guard was down enough to let Jake in, too.

He was still distrustful of the reclusive alter, but Steven had convinced him that if they could talk Jake into leaving Khonshu, they should in turn give him three days to front in a rotation along with them.

“Will Khonshu let him leave?” Layla asked Steven when he told her about the offer. “You were the one who made the deal to let you and Marc go, right?”

“Yeah, but the thing is,” Steven told her. “Marc was the one that made the original deal, so I guess it depends on if Jake actually gave the old bird his own pinkie promise, or if Khonshu is just taking advantage of the fact that Jake has never asked to leave his service like we did.” He shrugged. “The deal was technically just for me and Marc, but we didn’t know about Jake then. Not really.”

Layla was determined to find out, but both times when she woke in the middle of the night, knowing it was Jake moving about the flat and not the man she had last seen before going to sleep, he left before she could say anything more than his name.

“He’s avoiding you,” Marc surmised.

“He’s scared of you,” Steven determined.

Finally, Jake fronted when Layla just happened to still be awake. She watched through slitted eyes as he sat up in the bed and looked back at where she lay on the settee, watching her. His tense body language let her know it wasn’t Steven. As soon as he moved to get out of the bed, Layla sat up. “What hold does he have on you other than suckering you into believing you’re protecting Marc and Steven?”

His head whipped around toward her. “¡Jesús, mujer!” he hissed.

“I’m sorry, did I startle you?” she asked sweetly.

He grunted and stood, heading for the closet. Just the way he moved, so different from Steven, looked incongruous with the joggers and t-shirt he was wearing.

Layla pushed the blanket off and stood, quickly following him, determined to get an answer. “I asked you a question,” she said as she moved to stand behind him.

He turned his head to look at her, his heavy brows low, a solid frown on his face. The vein on his forehead was popping out, and Layla knew from experience that meant intense emotion. Despite Marc’s oftentimes dour moods, she could honestly say he never looked this angry.

Jake stared at her for a long moment, then he turned back to the closet, opening the chest of drawers off to the side and pulling out one of Marc’s t-shirts. Layla didn’t move.

He finally spoke, looking away from her and reaching for a pair of cargo pants hanging to his left. “You really want me to start sharing a life with my brothers?” he asked. “With you?” He glanced at her. “Not sure I’d survive sharing a flat with you for three days straight when it’s my turn to front.”

Layla hadn’t really thought that far ahead. She shrugged. “I can always stay with a friend during your days,” she said, thinking of Lagaro. She knew Jake didn’t really like her, but she really wanted to encourage him to follow through with a decision to leave Khonshu and start a new life openly with Marc and Steven.

Again, he stared at her, but this time his expression held disbelief. “You would do that?”

She met his gaze. “I would do anything in my power to make sure Marc and Steven are happy.”

He turned away from her again, fiddling with the clothing in his hands. Then he paused, took a deep breath, and dropped his head. “I’m planning on retiring from Khonshu’s service after this job, Manita,” he said, not looking at her.

Layla was admittedly surprised. “Have you told Steven?” she asked softly. She was pretty sure Jake had never ‘talked’ to one of his alters when he was fronting, but maybe he had started tonight.

He turned toward her, and she was relieved to see his expression was less severe now. “No,” he answered. He winced. “I’m not sure how smooth it will go, but I told Khonshu I’d continue to be his avatar only until my own personal objectives were completed.” He hesitated. “My last job finished that commitment.”

Layla became wary. “And what ‘objectives’ were you so intent on using Khonshu to complete?”

He focused intently on her. “Making sure any people in Marc’s past that could be a danger to him or Steven were eliminated.” His words were cold and measuring. “The last one was Raul Bushman.”

Why was that name familiar, Layla thought to herself? Marc had mentioned the man. Was he-?

“It was a fair fight,” Jake continued, watching her closely. “At least he had a chance to fight back… unlike your father.”

Realization hit her. Bushman was the mercenary Marc had worked for before Layla had met him. Bushman was the man who had shot Marc and left him for dead. Bushman was the man who had killed Abdullah El-Faouly.

She took a deep breath, uncertain how she felt about hearing this news. While a part of her felt undeniable relief that her father’s death had been avenged, the other part of her wished the man had faced a court and official justice instead. The latter most likely wouldn’t have happened, however, so…

“Fair fight?” she asked, focusing on his earlier words. “Meaning it wasn’t a job you did for Khonshu?”

“He was agreeable to it,” Jake said, raising his chin slightly. Defensively. “But I wasn’t in the suit, if that’s what you’re asking.” He turned and walked past her, his shoulder brushing hers a bit roughly as he passed.

Layla barely registered the rather rude behavior, her mind still focused on what Jake’s admission meant. She turned to follow him as he headed for the loo. “So, you’ll start talking to Marc now, yes?”

“If he’ll talk to me,” he said over his shoulder. He paused before he entered the commode. “And you don’t have to stay with a friend. I can keep myself busy outside of the flat when I’m fronting. I do have some semblance of a life on the outside.”

He entered the loo, closing the accordion doors to give himself some privacy while dressing. As Layla contemplated the sad tone to the man’s voice, she couldn’t help but feel that whatever life he was talking about wasn’t one he was really happy with. She turned away, a tiny bit of amusement filling her as she realized that the Jake she had first met would have probably just started stripping out here, unworried about changing clothes in front of her. Progress?

Or was he really that scared of her?

******

Taweret, through her new avatar, was the one who informed Layla that Jake’s leaving Khonshu’s service had been successful, though not without drama.

Lamari, a young Egyptian woman who had been witness to the great battle in Cairo between Khonshu and Ammit, was Taweret’s voice now, and Layla was both grateful for not having stayed in the service of the god, but also slightly envious; it had been rather thrilling being a ‘superhero’ for a short time. Lamari called Layla the day after her talk with Jake. She had not seen him or his alters since and had begun to worry; she didn’t trust Khonshu any farther than she could throw him, knowing from everything Marc, and then Steven, had told her about the god just how manipulative he was. But Lamari’s call helped ease her worry.

“Your Jake had to fly himself back to London from Cairo,” the woman told her. “He had the credentials for your husband, fortunately, because I don’t think the others have a passport.”

“Well, I guess it’s good he had to come back via mortal transportation,” Layla had quipped. “It means he’s not Khonshu’s servant anymore.”

“And Khonshu is not happy about that,” Lamari continued. “Taweret said she has never seen him so mad.”

“Doesn’t he have other avatars?” Layla asked, remembering her discussion with Marc about Jake only being Khonshu’s ‘London rep.’

“Yes,” Lamari confirmed. “But apparently Jake was different. As were the other two.” She laughed softly. “Your boys are special.”

Layla felt her face heat at the ‘your boys’ comment. “That they are.”

It was Marc who walked in the door late that night, his brow furrowed and looking exhausted and confused. “I don’t know what the hell happened,” he told her immediately. “I fronted outside the fucking airport,” he said as he made his way over to her. “How long have we been gone?”

He opened his arms as he spoke and Layla slipped into his embrace, not only happy to hold him after his short absence, but still giddy with how much more open and affectionate he was now.

“Not long,” she told him. “Jake left yesterday morning.”

Marc pulled back to look at her. “Where did he go?”

She smiled softly and reached up to smooth the crease between his brows. “Cairo,” she said. “You are all officially free of Khonshu now.”

Marc stared at her for a moment, his eyes widening. He huffed a laugh, and she could see his gaze become unfocused in a look that was becoming more and more familiar: He was talking to Steven. When he looked at her again, he looked happy, but then he frowned.

“What’s wrong?”

“As pleased as I am with this news, it means there will be a six-day gap now before I can front and be with you.”

Layla sighed and nodded. She had already been thinking about that.

“I won’t notice the time for the most part,” Marc continued. “But…”

She reached up to brush her fingers through his hair. “I’ll manage,” she whispered. “We’ll just have to make the most of our days together, won’t we?”

It took a few weeks for things to settle into the new routine. Steven was the only one who seemed completely unfazed by the change, and if anything, he was even more enthusiastic about life than before. He and Jake were already the best of friends now that their third alter was completely a part of their lives. Marc took a little more time to become comfortable with the new situation, but Layla could tell he was trying. When he told her he and Jake had had a long talk finally, and he understood more about the reasons for Jake’s behavior, he seemed much more at ease.

Layla wished she could say the same.

She rarely ever saw Jake, as he had promised. The first morning he fronted, he was up early and gone before she ever thought about getting up herself. Steven told her Jake kept a car in storage, a Porsche Cayenne, that he had often used when doing work for Khonshu. He was now hiring himself and the vehicle out to shuttle wealthy people around London. While he kept his fare honest, the tips that came with the job were generous. He would come home well after midnight, after Layla had gone to bed, then would sleep in quite late the following morning. Layla did her best to be quiet while she worked, or she simply left, taking her laptop with her to work at the nearby coffee shop. Jake was always gone again by noon.

They rarely, if ever, spoke to each other, which bothered Layla, but not as much as what was going on between her and Steven.

Layla could not deny that she enjoyed her time with Steven almost as much as she did her days with Marc. She met him for lunch when he worked, and they always did something on their evenings together, whether it was going out to eat, going to some other museum or event, or just staying in and watching a movie or binging a Netflix series. It wasn’t uncommon for her to fall asleep with her head on his shoulder on the nights they stayed in, and it was getting harder and harder for her to not think of other things they could be doing, especially when Steven would look at her with eyes that held a sexual intensity that was similar and yet so different from her husband’s.

She thought it was her deepest secret, her feelings for Steven, but one night Marc surprised her, reminding her how good he was at reading people and how well he really knew her.

They stayed in for the most part when he fronted, only going out late at night and usually in areas of London Steven rarely frequented; Marc didn’t want to have to pretend to be Steven should someone recognize him. But on this particular night, while they were watching a rather boring game show on the telly, Marc turned to her, a serious look on his face.

“Are you in love with Steven?”

She looked at him, shock and dismay filling her. “What?” she whispered, trying to stall while her brain worked to find a way to answer him. She couldn’t lie. But she couldn’t hurt him, either.

He smiled softly, then, almost as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. “I already know the answer,” he told her. “But I’d like to hear it from you.”

Layla leaned away from him a bit, still trying to gather her thoughts. “I love you, Marc,” she told him honestly. “With everything in me.”

He nodded. “I know.” He swallowed. “And I love you, more than anything.” He paused. “And I know you love Steven, but I want you to admit that you’re in love with him, too.” His voice was calm and there was no anger or frustration in his expression.

“You are my husband,” she said firmly. “The vows I made at our wedding I mean to keep, forever.”

For a moment, his eyes softened and he blinked rapidly, nodding his head. “I believe you.” He took a deep breath and cleared his throat. “But here’s the deal. Steven is in love with you. He has no interest in dating other women. I asked him. And even if he did,” he shrugged. “How would we handle that? How would you feel knowing he was with another woman? What if he wanted to marry her?”

Layla’s mind raced. She couldn’t lie and say she hadn’t wondered about these things herself, but they had been problems for the future. She lifted one shoulder. “We would… figure it out. Somehow.”

“It’s a moot point,” Marc continued. “He loves you. He has since Egypt.” He paused and bit his lower lip, his expression pleading. “And I want him to be happy. You make him happy. He deserves to be happy.”

“So do you, Marc!” she argued. “I’m not giving you up just so your alter can ‘be happy’!” She shook her head. “Yes, I love him. I’m in love with him. But I love you and you are my husband.” She glared at him, challenging him.

He didn’t seem fazed. “Yes, but in a way, you’re his wife, too.”

Her jaw dropped.

“I’m not asking you to give me up. I’m not giving you up. Ever.” He cocked his head. “But I don’t have to for you to love Steven, too.”

Layla understood what he was saying, but she still found it hard to believe. “So, you’re telling me that you won’t be jealous of Steven? That if I wanted to… be in a relationship with him, you would be willing to… share?” The word brought to mind something Jake had said to her upon their first meeting.

“Is that why you’re here? Because you think you can share Marc with Steven, now? Or are you hoping they’ll share you?” 

She felt her face heat at the memory, and she looked down at her fingers, which she was twisting together in her lap. When she glanced up, Marc was watching her closely, his head tilted slightly to the right, but she was unable to look him in the eye. “If you had asked me that six months ago, I would have said no,” he told her. “I was amazingly jealous of him in Egypt,” he admitted. “But I know him better now. And I know you better.”

A thought occurred to her. “Do you think he’s even ever..?” She still couldn’t look at Marc.

“I’m pretty sure he hasn’t,” her husband responded. “He hasn’t had much opportunity, has he?” She finally looked up and met his gaze, encouraging him to continue. “We are so different,” he said softly. “But we are the same.” He frowned, concentrating. “It’s hard to explain, but the System is still one… soul. The same neshamah. We’re just different branches of the same tree.”

Layla smiled softly, liking the almost poetic description her usually forthright husband was using. “If that’s true, then Jake is my husband, too,” she said, curious to see his reaction.

He drew back, his expression hard once more. “Well, he’s going to have to prove himself before I’ll ever consider him that.”

Layla laughed, unsurprised by his protectiveness; he still didn’t trust Jake. “I don’t think you’ll have to worry,” she said. “He doesn’t like me very much.”

“Proof he is an idiot,” Marc said under his breath.

“Marc!” she laughed again, swatting him on the arm. She saw his expression lighten, but then they both became serious again. “As for Steven,” Layla said. “He’ll never go for it. He’s too respectful of you, of us and our marriage.” The idea she could call both men she loved her husband was wishful thinking anyway.

“Yeah,” Marc nodded slowly. “Which is why you’ll have to seduce him.”

******

It was very difficult to not think back on her conversation with Marc a few days later when Steven fronted again. While he assured her that neither alter had been around during that talk (he could feel the presence of both easily now), Layla still felt exposed. Steven noticed her changed behavior and asked more than once if she was okay. She finally lied and told him she had one of her migraines and the meds weren’t working very well. That had been a bad idea, because Steven was suddenly all excited about finally being able to help her as Marc had taught him to do, and Layla was left desperately not thinking about what else Steven’s fingers would be good at while he massaged the back of her neck and shoulders.

She couldn’t help but remember how she scoffed at Marc when he talked about her seducing Steven.

“Me?” she had laughed. “You really expect me to seduce someone?”

“You seduced me, didn’t you?” he had smirked at her.

Layla felt her face heat as she remembered her first night with Marc. She had been a virgin, but she had known what she wanted, and she was not going to let this man go. He had put up a token fight that night, one she knew now had been due to his past with her father, but he had given in quick enough. “That’s because you were easy,” she said with a smile of her own. “You’d been giving me the look all that night, just wanting me to give you the okay.”

“I don’t think Steven will put up too much of a fight, especially if we both lay the groundwork.”

As Steven’s large calloused fingers kneaded her shoulders with the same gentleness she felt defined him, she decided to see if Marc had started with that ‘groundwork.’

“Has Marc talked to you about...?” she paused.

“About what, love?” Steven asked, softly. His voice was a bit rough, and she wondered if he was getting as turned on as she was right now.

“About us?”

His fingers stopped. “Us?” There was an undeniable squeak in his voice now.

Swallowing nervously, she turned from where they were perched on the side of the bed and looked at him. “Us,” she confirmed. “You and me and what our relationship is becoming.”

Steven’s expression turned panicked, and he stood quickly and moved away toward the kitchen. “We’re friends,” he said sharply. “Good friends. Uhm… sibling-like friends.” He wasn’t looking at her, and his voice was firm.

Layla huffed a laugh. “So, he has talked to you.” It wasn’t a question. There was no reason for Steven to be so nervously defensive if he hadn’t already argued with his alter about the situation. Layla also stood, moving toward the wardrobe that sat between the bed and the corner with the settee that she had taken as her own. She pulled it open. “We are not siblings, Steven. I know you have romantic feelings for me and you need to know I feel the same about you.”

She looked over at him, only to see him standing wide-eyed, his hands in front of him, playing with his fingers. He swallowed. “You’re Marc’s wife,” he said breathily. “You love him. He loves you. Oh, so much.”

Layla nodded at him. “Yes,” she said. “Everything you just said is correct.” She paused. “And he loves you and thinks you and I could be happy… together.” Steven started shaking his head in denial. “I’m not leaving Marc,” she said quickly, making sure he understood the situation. “He thinks… I could be with you both.”

“And you’re okay with that?” Steven asked, his voice small.

“If you are,” Layla responded firmly.

Steven looked at the floor, his brow furrowed, but then he started shaking his head violently once more. “No. You don’t really think that. You love Marc, and Marc deserves your love. He’ll take care of you forever and ever.” He finally looked up. “I’m not going to ruin that.” He nodded decisively, then turned and left the flat.

The rest of the time he fronted, he kept his distance from her, and more than once she found him whispering angrily at himself in the mirror. Arguing with Marc, no doubt. She regretted saying anything to him, as she didn’t like upsetting him or the dynamic between them, and she hoped they could eventually go back to what they had been.

Even if that thought saddened her.

Jake’s turn was mostly the same as always, although he did stop and ask her as he was leaving one day what kind of fight Marc and Steven were having. “Neither of them will tell me anything.”

Good, thought Layla. The last thing she needed was Jake blaming her for creating a rift between his brothers. She just shrugged. “I try to stay out of their squabbles,” she joked. “They’ll make up. They always do.”

When Marc fronted again, Layla prepared herself for more talk on the subject, and she expected him to continue encouraging her to entice Steven into a physical relationship, but he surprised her by not mentioning it at all. They spent a day driving to Southend, and played tourist enjoying the mild winter day on the pier. They stopped at a nice restaurant about half-way home for dinner, and Layla reveled in Marc’s unwavering attention; as she promised, she was going to make every day with him count.

Their last night before Steven was to front once more, Layla was getting ready for bed, prepared to sleep on the settee as had become the norm (though Steven still tried talking her into switching). Marc, however, had other plans, pulling her into his arms and divesting her of her sleep clothes despite her half-hearted attempts to push him away.

“Steven fronts tonight.”

“We have time.”

After not one, but two amazing orgasms, Layla was happy she hadn’t put up too much of a fight. She tried to slip out from under Marc’s arm as he spooned with her, but he held tight.

“Marc, I need to clean up and get to the settee. We should probably change the sheets, too.” She was always worried about that and made sure there were at least two sets of clean sheets ready to switch out in between Marc and Steven.

“No,” Marc said gruffly, his face against the back of her neck.

“Marc, Steven’s going to front tonight,” she reminded him.

“I know.” His arm tightened around her.

Layla realized what he was doing, and her heart, which had just slowed down to normal after her husband’s amazing lovemaking, started speeding up again.

“Marc?” she whispered.

“He won’t be able to say ‘no’ now.”

Marc drifted off to sleep, his body relaxed and warm against her back, but she lay there, pensive and unable to settle, waiting for the change.  

She had almost drifted off when she felt it.

The body behind her jerked, then stiffened. The arm around her slowly began to disengage, but even as he pulled back away from her, she felt the obvious sign of his arousal poking her buttock. Taking a deep breath, she reached for his hand before he could remove it completely and pulled it back toward her front, gripping his wrist firmly. He stopped moving and she felt his breath catch.

“Layla,” he breathed. “I’m Steven.”

She couldn’t help but smile softly at the tremor in his voice. “I know,” she replied, bringing his hand down so that it was over her breast. She moved her hand on top of his and closed her fingers, which caused his fingers to cup her breast. He gasped softly in surprise, but then she felt his fingers close even more on their own, squeezing her gently. She moaned softly. “Yes,” she whispered. “Just like that.”

“Bloody hell,” he whispered harshly. “I have got to be dreaming.” Despite his words of denial, his fingers kept up with their gentle massage of her breast, and Layla felt a surge of fresh moisture seep out from between her legs.

Biting her lower lip, she grabbed his hand once more and directed it down her body. He didn’t fight her, but his gasp of frustration changed to a groan as she pushed his hand down in between her legs. “Oh! Oh, my!” he practically whined. She drew her hand away, but as she hoped, he did not. His fingers tentatively began to brush along her slit, exploring her, spreading her juices. “Fuck me,” he croaked.

Layla giggled. “I’m trying,” she said, turning to look over her shoulder at him for the first time.

His eyes were huge, his mouth open as he breathed hard. “Layla, I’ve never…”

Well, that confirmed her and Marc’s suspicions. “You’re doing just fine,” she smiled. She felt his middle finger slip inside her a fraction of an inch. He stopped, his eyes widening even more. She just nodded. Taking a deep breath, he slipped it in almost all the way. Layla closed her eyes and moaned. His fingers were so thick! She rocked her hips into him, thrilling at the feel of the knuckle of his thumb rubbing against her clit at her movement.

“Layla!” His voice was desperate sounding, and she opened her eyes to see what looked like fear in his expression. She turned over onto her back and reached up to grab him behind the head, pulling his face down to hers. He kissed her, his lips tentative and unpracticed, just like that first kiss they shared in Egypt, but it didn’t take long for him to sink into her, his hand leaving her sensitive pussy to brace himself on the bed on her opposite side. His kisses became overly enthusiastic as he tried to devour her mouth, his tongue mashing against hers in his excitement. She could feel his erection, hard as a rock, against her thigh.

As his kisses got more and more sloppy, Layla started to push against his shoulder, trying hard not to laugh. She was pleased with his excitement, but also amused. “Steven!” she said firmly as soon as she was able. “Steven, slow down!”

He pulled back, his expression almost drunk-like, his pupils dilated, making his eyes look completely black.

“Steven, we have time,” she continued as he blinked slowly, trying to focus on her. “You don’t need to rush. I’m not going anywhere.”

He nodded, looking a bit abashed. With her hand still on his shoulder, she pushed against him again, but this time followed. He didn’t fight her as she continued to nudge him, and soon he flopped over onto his back, his eyes wide once again, his breathing coming fast. She smiled as she moved over him, pushing herself up so that she could straddle him, another wave of moisture flowing heavily as she felt his impressive cock brush against the front of her mound. He gasped at the brief touch.

“Oh, please!” he moaned.

Holy Hell! She had never heard this man plead like that. Layla shook her head and took a deep breath, trying to center herself. She reached for the bookcase that served as a headboard for the bed and grabbed a condom; Marc had left more than one within reach, and she realized at that moment that he had planned this all along. She smiled to herself, still rather stunned this was actually happening. She was about to take a second lover. Only it was the same as her first. What a bizarre life she was living.

She opened the condom and began to roll it onto Steven’s cock, watching his absolutely enraptured expression as she did so. Then, without letting him think too much, she moved herself over him and slid right down onto him. She wanted to watch his expression then, too, but her own pleasure took over and she cried out at the intense feeling. She tried her hardest to keep her eyes from closing completely so she could see Steven’s reaction, and she was rewarded when his head pushed back into the pillow, exposing his beautiful throat, his mouth open and his eyes shut as he cried out softly.

“Oh, my…” His breath seemed to catch in his throat. “Oh, my stars!”

Layla grinned, reaching down to run her hands up along his stomach and to his chest, brushing her fingers over his nipples, watching as they tightened in reaction. Marc loved it when she played with his nipples. Steven’s eyes jerked open at her touch and he looked at her, his gaze moving from hers down to where she was touching him to where they were joined, then up to her own breasts. With a grunt, he sat up, his hands immediately coming around her as his head ducked down to catch one of her nipples in his mouth.

She gasped, startled by the sudden movement.

He pulled back and looked up at her. “Is this okay?” he asked breathlessly. “I’ve dreamed about tasting you here.”

Layla’s hips were starting to rock without her even thinking about it, the desire to move intense and unstoppable. “It’s fine,” she whispered, trying to find words amongst the euphoria. “Don’t stop!”

Immediately, he went back to her breasts, tonguing her nipples and gently sucking on them, his hands continuously running up and down her back, from her shoulders to her ass. She closed her eyes and let the pleasure flow, trying to absorb every sensation. My God, this was Steven! Steven was fucking her. And it was amazing!

Soon, her hips started driving harder, moving up and down more than back and forth. Steven’s hips began a counter thrust, soft but intense, and he finally left her breasts, letting his lips and tongue work their way back to her mouth. “You feel so amazing, love,” he told her, his voice quivering. She felt a jolt of pleasure at the familiar term of endearment he had always used, remembering when she had dreamed of him using it while fucking her. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

Their movements quickened as desperation filled them both. Layla could feel his body tighten as she gripped his shoulders. “I’m gonna…” he groaned against her mouth.

She brought one of her hands down between them and began fingering her clit, desperate to go with him. He pulled back from her, his eyes dropping down in curiosity. He frowned, bringing one of his own hands down to join hers. “Let me,” he gasped.

Layla started to shake her head, unwilling to let him take over. He wasn’t experienced enough to get her off! But she couldn’t say no as he lifted his huge brown eyes to her, pleading. Soon, his fingers were there, toying with her clit, thrumming it with just the right amount of force. “Oh, my God!” Layla gasped.

“Yeah?” Steven smiled as her thrusts quickened along with his steady plucking. “You gonna come with me?”

Layla nodded, her whole body starting to seize up as her orgasm built to unbearable levels. “Steven!” she cried.

“Ah, fuck!” Steven responded, his body convulsing as his hips jerked up into her erratically.

Layla let herself fall over the edge, knowing Steven was right there with her.

******

Everything about Layla’s life after that first night with Steven seemed to get better and better. She got a promotion in her job, and though she had to leave town more often to be onsite for major auctions, the trips were short and sweet, and provided Marc and Steven were fronting while she was gone, she spent as much time texting them or doing video calls when possible. She was sleeping better than ever, most likely due to the fact that she was in the bed more often than not now, rather than the settee. And Marc and Steven both seemed as equally happy as she was about their new living arrangement.

Marc was getting more writing done, and he was good. He let her read portions of his work often, anxious for her opinion, and she was always able to truthfully tell him it was amazing. He was concise and to-the-point, but still entertaining and understandable, even when the subject matter was serious or depressing. Which, unfortunately, was often. Marc’s life had so much darkness, Layla understood why Steven was the way he was; he was Marc’s only real joy in life for years.

Until he met Layla.

The day he let her read the part about the massacre in Egypt was the day she knew there would never be any secrets between them again. She sat at the desk reading while he sat across the room on the settee, watching her with a nervous expression. She read about her father’s death as he had witnessed it, read about the injuries he had sustained and how he had come so very close to ending it all. And she had read about his first interaction with Khonshu, which may have saved his life, but which had also created even more emotional turmoil. Thinking back on the day she had met Marc at a silent auction put on by one of the museums in Cairo, and knowing now that he had been following her for days beforehand, ensuring she was okay, she couldn’t help but be grateful where once before she had felt betrayed.

With tears in her eyes, she had walked across the room and sat on her husband’s lap, wrapping her arms tight around him. He had gripped her firmly in return, burying his face in her neck. Silently, they had both wept.

Steven received a promotion as well. Since he had proven to be much more dependable, never missing his scheduled days now that Jake wasn’t taking over the body, he was finally given his dream job as a guide. He quickly became a favorite with regular museum goers, and local schools made sure to schedule their class tours on days he worked, because he was absolutely amazing with the children.

He was also becoming more and more experienced in bed, and Layla was more often than not exhausted by the time she moved back to the settee on the nights before Jake fronted.

Even Jake was much easier to live with now. Though it was still rare that she saw him, when she did, he was distantly polite, and his respect for her seemed to have grown. He still kept a night-owl schedule, coming home well after midnight, but he was so quiet when he came in that Layla rarely if ever woke, and if she did, she acknowledged in her sleep-muddled mind that it was him and promptly went back to sleep. One day she came home after one of her out-of-town trips to find a note telling her there were left-overs in the fridge. She had expected to find containers of take-out, but instead she had found a tray full of homemade enchiladas. They had been amazing!

Layla knew that Marc’s mom was Hispanic, her family coming from Mexico, but neither he nor Steven really acknowledged their own Latino background. Jake, on the other hand, seemed to have embraced it with a passion. Not only did he speak fluent Spanish, but he had apparently taught himself how to cook some amazing meals from his mother’s homeland.

Layla had made both Steven and Marc promise not to tell Jake that she and Steven were now lovers, as she was quite certain he wouldn’t approve, his earlier mocking of her reasons for wanting to live with them still haunting her, and so far, he seemed to be oblivious. Marc had long ago removed any mirrors that faced the bed, and he and Steven both told her that it was easy to keep Jake ‘out of their heads’ now that the man wasn’t so gung-ho about protecting them. To which Layla had just smiled and said, “I told you he was your bodyguard.”

Jake’s new attitude toward her became apparent when Layla arrived back home after another trip, this time from Berlin.

Her flight had been delayed more than once, and she came home to an empty flat, which didn’t surprise her, as she knew it was Jake’s turn to front and he was most likely working. Another note about left-overs was waiting for her, but she hadn’t even bothered to check and see what was in the fridge thanks to the migraine she had acquired on the way home; she had forgotten to replenish her migraine medicine before her trip so she had nothing to take other than OTC meds during the horrendously long wait and eventual flight. Now, it was too late. She was so nauseous she would never be able to keep any medicine down.

She pulled off her jacket and shoes, took her hair out of its professional bun, and despite the fact that the bed was calling her, she made her way over to the settee and curled up on it, wrapping her arm over her head, covering her eyes and using her fingers to put pressure on the back of her skull. She prayed for sleep, wishing one of her boys was there to massage her and help her relax.

The door opened, and her flatmate walked through. For a moment, her heart leaped, her imagination making her hope it was Marc or Steven. That somehow, they had sensed she needed them and had taken over from Jake. But as she raised her arm to look at the man who entered, her heart sank back down as she recognized Jake’s familiar resting-bitch-face. With a sigh, she covered her eyes once more, not even having the energy to ask why he was home so early; it was still light out. She felt tears fill her eyes and became determined to not let him see them.

She heard him move around, unsurprised he was not saying anything to her, and waited for him to leave again. She assumed he had maybe forgotten something and would be heading back to work… or whatever else he did when he wasn’t at the flat. But after a long moment, she felt more than heard him come close to her.

“What’s wrong?”

His voice was amazingly soft. Concerned, even.

Taking a deep breath, she lifted her arm just enough to look at him. “Migraine,” she said, her voice scratchy. “It was a long trip.” She covered her eyes once more.

“Don’t you have medicine for that?”

“I can’t take it right now,” she said, irritation filling her. “I’m too sick. I just need to sleep.” In other words, leave me alone, she thought.

She heard him move away and felt both gratitude and a bit of despair; she hated the feeling of being alone when she was in so much pain, but there was nothing he could do to help her, even if he wanted to.

She heard his muffled voice, and for a moment she had hopes that he was talking to Marc or Steven, asking them to front so they could take care of her, but she immediately chastised herself. Not only was that unfair to Jake, but it made her feel as if she was being far too dependent on her husband. Husbands, she amended. She would get through this. She always did.

She felt herself drift, then woke to another agonizing jolt of pain, tears leaking from her eyes in response. She shifted and realized that Jake had returned and was sitting on the table in front of the settee. Or was it him? She removed her arm and confirmed that the man sitting before her was Jake. He was holding a glass of water in one hand, his fist closed in the other.

“Can you sit up?” he asked.

“What?” she responded, confused.

“I need you to take your medicine.”

Exasperated, she shook her head. “I can’t. I’ll throw it up.”

“Marc told me that’s a lie,” Jake argued, his face a stoic mask. “If you drink slow, you should be able to keep it down.”

Angry now, she snipped, “Then why doesn’t he come make me?”

For the first time, Layla saw Jake look uncertain. His mask slipped and his eyes shifted. He swallowed. “Just take the pill.”

Her head throbbed as the anger receded. There was no point in getting mad at Jake, especially since he was truly trying to help her. She pushed herself up to a sitting position, her vision going dark for a moment. She really did need to drink, she thought; she was getting dehydrated fast. She reached for the glass, noticing Jake’s panicked expression; she must have gone pale and he thought she was going to pass out. She took the glass and drank, then held out her hand for the pill. His expression closed again, he gave it to her, then watched her carefully as she swallowed it, gagging a bit in the process. Breathing through her nose, she sipped the water.

After a while, he nodded, then stood, holding out his hand. “Let’s get you to the bed.”

She didn’t argue. While the settee was comfortable enough when she was feeling okay, the bed, and the love and comfort she associated with it now, called to her. She took his hand and let him lead her across the room. She set the glass of water on the shelf/headboard, then let go of Jake’s hand and climbed onto the big bed.

“Do you want me to rub your shoulders?” Jake asked suddenly. “Steven said it helps you relax.”

So, he had talked to both of his alters about her and her migraines. Had he refused to let them front, or had they refused to do it, insisting that Jake take care of her?

She nodded at him and turned her back toward him. He settled behind her on the bed and tentatively began to rub the back of her neck. “Dios, Cariño,” he said softly. “Eres duro como una roca.” Layla felt herself shiver, not only because of his touch but because of his use of what she knew was a term of endearment. He had never spoken so familiarly to her.

She closed her eyes as his massage became firmer, enjoying the familiar touch and trying not to think about who was touching her. She felt herself relax, and though the pain and nausea were still strong, she felt the kind of exhaustion that she knew meant she would sleep, despite the pain. But then Jake spoke once more.

“Are you and Marc going to try for a baby?”

Layla’s eyes popped open. “What?” she gasped softly.

“He told me he was going to get tested.” He paused. “For STDs. And that he wanted me to… behave.”

Layla felt a laugh bubble up inside her. Marc complained more than once that he hated using condoms. “I’m on birth control,” she said softly. “We haven’t talked about me going off of it,” she explained. “I think he just wants to not have to use…”

“El condòn,” Jake finished for her. He was silent for a while and she started to relax again. “Do you want to?” he asked quietly. “Eventually?”

Layla swallowed. She and Marc had never really talked about children. She loved the idea. But, with his past, would he?

“I don’t know.”

There was no more talk as he continued gently rubbing her tension away. When her head drooped, he took hold of her shoulders and gently guided her down to the bed.

“Sleep, Cariño.”

And she did.

******

Layla’s relationship with Jake changed significantly after that night. While he still worked late, he didn’t head off to who-knows-where immediately after waking in the late morning. He shared lunch with her regularly and asked about her work. She asked about his job as well, and one afternoon, as he was getting ready to head out, he asked if she wanted to go with him.

“It’s mostly boring,” he told her. “But sometimes my clients are entertaining, and you get free food and drinks out of the deal.” At her look, he smirked. “Don’t worry, Hermosa. I limit myself to one drink a night.”

So, out of curiosity, Layla went with him. She was introduced as his roommate to those he picked up that particular night, a wealthy lawyer in his late 50s, his 20-something wife, and her two friends. They bar hopped for a few hours before settling on a club with live music. The band playing was a mix of Celtic and rock, and Layla found herself enjoying the eclectic sound. Like Jake, she only accepted one drink as they sat in the back of the club, keeping an eye on Jake’s clients.

Layla found herself examining Jake as he watched the people around him, his behavior more like a bodyguard than a simple driver. She wondered what he would do if his clients started getting harassed. His entire countenance was so different from his alters. The way he moved, the way he spoke, the inflection of his voice. They were indeed three different people in one body, and it was still amazing to Layla that it was even possible.

He glanced at her, his expression turning bemused. “What?” he asked, a quirk appearing at the corner of his mouth.

She was sitting with her elbow on the table, her chin resting on her hand. She smiled and shrugged. “I’m just comparing you to your brothers,” she told him honestly.

“And finding me lacking?” he asked. His tone was light, as was his expression, but his eyes were serious.

Layla drew back. “Why would you say that?”

His shoulder moved up an inch as he looked away from her. “They have lives. More experiences than I have. Even if a lot of Steven’s memories are made up.” He paused. “I have… violence.”

Layla sat back in her chair. “I remember,” she said softly, thinking back to Cairo, watching him dressed as Moon Knight brutally dispatching several of Harrow’s men, eventually using Ammit’s own staff to subdue Harrow. She distinctly remembered him glancing at her where she had been pinned to a vehicle, stopping before the ax head in his hand had crushed through Harrow’s skull.

And then he had been Marc, stunned and confused. But alive.

“You could have killed Harrow then,” she said softly, somehow knowing he was thinking back to that same moment.

“Not with you watching,” he replied, not looking at her.

His clients stood and started walking toward the entrance. Immediately, Jake stood to meet them. Layla got up to follow as the obviously tipsy man informed Jake they were ready to go home.

This meant dropping off the two friends at their residences, too, and one of the women, after exiting the vehicle, stepped up to the driver’s side window, a mischievous look on her face. Jake opened the window and accepted the tip she offered him, along with what appeared to be a note with her phone number. She was cute, Layla thought. A tall, leggy brunette with subtle Asian features and a stunning smile. Jake smiled back at her and winked before closing the window.

After their last passengers had been safely deposited at their home and Jake started back to the garage where he kept the Cayanne, Layla turned toward him. “Do you get offers like that from your clients often?”

Jake glanced at her, then nodded and shrugged at the same time. “It’s not uncommon.”

“Do you ever accept any?” She wasn’t jealous, she tried to tell herself. Not really. But maybe she was a bit possessive of this particular body…

“I used to,” Jake answered quietly. “And you can tell Marc I always used protection,” he added wryly. “But I don’t accept them anymore.”

Layla focused on him, but he wouldn’t look at her. Finally, she asked, “Why not?”

His jaw tightened, then shifted, but he still wouldn’t look at her. “Reasons.” And that was all he said.

When they arrived back at the garage, Layla was startled when he pulled out a handgun from underneath his jacket and put it in the glove compartment. She hadn’t seen him take it out, though she had admittedly been distracted by the car for a while upon their arrival. She glimpsed the shoulder harness he wore under the jacket and wondered if he had hidden that here in the car as well back when he was still hiding himself from his alters or if it was a new thing.

He locked up the car and they set out, walking the short distance back to the flat. It was after 1 am in the morning, but Layla didn’t feel scared at all. If there was one thing she knew for certain about this man, it was that he would protect her with his life, if only because he knew Marc would expect it of him.

Though Layla never rode out with Jake again while he was working after that night, she did convince him to go with her to a local car show one afternoon, and they went out to eat lunch together a couple of times as well. Layla was relieved that finally there seemed to be peace and contentment in her home.

It was a few weeks after she had gone to work with Jake that the peace and contentment she so loved was destroyed because of her carelessness.

She could have blamed Steven, really, because he was the one who started it all. The night before Jake was to front, while they were watching a movie, Steven started getting handsy. Normally, this wasn’t something that Layla would have minded, but it was late, and she knew what, or rather who, was coming later.

“Steven, Jake fronts tonight,” she whined softly as he palmed her breast through her sleep shirt. “I already changed the sheets.”

“We don’t have to use the bed,” Steven told her huskily. “In fact, let’s try this!” He stood quickly, pulling her along with him, and practically dragged her to the desk. “I’ve always wanted to try this!” he said, backing her up against it.

As he fumbled with the ties on her sleep pants, she murmured against his mouth, “I’ve created a monster.” But she wasn’t about to say no. “Make it quick!”

“Yes, ma’am,” he grinned. And it was quick, but not so much so that it wasn’t worth it, as Layla came hard, her butt on the edge of the desk and Steven wedged between her thighs. Afterward, he shuffled off to the bed while she made a quick trip to the loo to pee and clean up. That was the only complaint about them not having to use condoms anymore; she got a lot messier. She curled up on the settee, sated and happy.

When she woke, it was barely light out, and she was surprised to see Jake was already awake. He usually slept in his first morning fronting, to prepare for a late night ahead. But this morning he was sitting at the dining room table, his hair mussed from sleep (and her fingers, she knew), still wearing the joggers and t-shirt Steven had worn to bed. But his expression was all Jake.

She sat up. “Hey. You’re up early.”

He just grunted. It was reminiscent of the days before they had finally made peace and become friends. He was staring at her, and though his face was in shadow, it sure looked like he was angry.

She stood and walked toward him. “Jake?”

“Did Marc front last night for some reason?” His question was sharp.

“What?” Layla was a bit confused by the question. They always kept the same order. Marc, then Steven, then Jake, then Marc again. “No. Not that I’m aware of.”

“Did Steven have a date?”

Just with me, she thought, but she didn’t say it out loud. She shook her head. “No. He’s not dating anyone.” She tried hard to keep her voice neutral.

Jake nodded, his expression still hard. “No lover?”

“Steven?” Her voice squeaked a bit. “Uh… no.”

“Then why did I wake up smelling like sex?” His voice was a low growl now. “He may have tried to clean up, but it’s my body, too. I can tell what it’s been doing.”

Layla froze. Steven had used some tissue to clean himself, but he obviously hadn’t done a thorough job like she had.

“You’re fucking him, aren’t you?”

“Jake-“

“Does Marc know?”

“Of course, Marc knows!” Layla exclaimed. “He… he encouraged it.”

Jake scoffed. “Anything to make you happy, I suppose,” he groused, standing suddenly. “I was right. You’ve always wanted them both. And you got what you wanted. Control of the body.” He brushed past her, heading for the front door. He slipped into Steven’s trainers, then grabbed his own leather jacket. “Well, almost. Two out of three ain’t bad.” He turned to face her. “The fact that all three of you kept it from me…”

“I told them not to tell you!” she said, defending her husband and Steven.

“Why?” he shot back. “Afraid I was going to think you were a slut?”

The accusation angered her. “I knew you didn’t like me,” she argued. “You’ve always believed I’m using Marc. For what, I don’t know! But I didn’t think you would approve of any kind of relationship with Steven, either.” She squared her shoulders. “But I love them both, and they love me, and we’re happy.”

“I swear to God, if you hurt either of them…”

“Hurt? Why would I hurt them? Haven’t you been listening to me?”

“You won’t control me the way you control them!” he continued to argue. “I’ve had enough of always being the one left in the dark. The one who never has the final say in this stupid life! I’m outta here. You won’t see me again, Puta!”

“What? You’re overreacting!” She moved toward him. “Jake!”

“I’ll find someplace else to live during my time fronting,” he said, turning to reach for the door handle. “Don’t worry. Marc will find his way back when it’s his turn. The three of you can have your little polyamory nest without me.”  

Layla stopped. “You almost sound jealous,” she snapped.

He turned to glare at her, his intense eyes almost frightening. “Like you were jealous the night I told you about accepting offers from my female clients?” he retorted. “Marc and Steven may be under your spell, but this body is not yours, Layla.” With that, he opened the door and left the flat, slamming it behind him.

******

Layla spent a good hour pacing the flat after Jake left, her mind going over their argument again and again. She had always known he wouldn’t be happy if he found out about her and Steven, but she had never expected him to be quite so angry. A part of her understood why, knowing he had issues with control and his own individuality away from his alters and Khonshu, but his reaction had still startled her, especially since she truly felt they were finally becoming friends.

But maybe that’s why he had reacted so badly. Maybe he had begun to trust her and this revelation had ruptured that trust. She wished so badly she could talk to Marc about it, or even get Steven’s perspective. But of course, she couldn’t. Unless his alters were aware of what happened, and since they had been doing such a good job of staying out of each other’s business of late that was doubtful, she would probably not see Jake again and would have to wait another three days to see Marc.

Unless… Maybe Jake would settle once he cooled down and thought more about the situation. He’d realize he overreacted and come back to apologize and talk it out with her. She had to believe it was possible, even if his temper was the hottest of the three of them. She had to believe he cared enough about her and their relationship to try and mend it. She knew she would do what she could, including promising to never keep any secrets from him again.

After she tried his cell phone, only to have it ring from where it was still sitting on the shelf behind the bed, Layla settled down to eat some toast and logged on, late, for work. She apologized to her supervisor, claiming a family problem. Which was the truth, she thought. Jake was, by all intents and purposes, her husband.

That evening, she headed out to get her supper at one of the delis. Spring was right around the corner, but you wouldn’t know it by the cold, wet fog that currently enveloped the city. It was nights like this she truly missed Egypt and the desert. As she walked along the street, she found herself looking for Jake, hoping upon hope that he hadn’t actually gone too far and might still be hanging around, watching for her. But even if he was, she knew he was too good at blending in and she would probably never notice him. She wandered to the garage where he kept his car, unsurprised to find it missing from its normal spot.

Finally, she went back home, her heart aching knowing that no one would be there to greet her.

Layla went to bed on the settee that night, still hoping Jake would change his mind and come back, but as she lay there, she began to wonder if he would instead console himself with one of his clients. If maybe that was the real reason he didn’t like the idea of her ‘in charge’ of the body, as he put it. Maybe he was looking for a separate relationship of his own. She didn’t fall asleep until well after midnight. Around three a.m., she awoke to noises in the hall outside the door. She sat up, her heart racing. Was it Jake? Was he back?

The soft knock startled her. There was a pause as she got up from the settee and moved toward the door, then another knock.

“Mr. Grant?” a feminine voice called. She sounded nervous. “Steven Grant? Please? Are you there?”

As she moved up to the door, Layla wished, not for the first time, that she had Jake’s gun. Carefully, she opened the door, leaving the chain in place. She peeked out, recognition hitting her hard.

“What do you want?” she asked the dark-skinned woman on the other side of the door. “Detective Kennedy? Is that right?”

The woman winced. “Former Detective,” she said, sighing. “Please, is Steven Grant here? Or… Spector. Marc Spector? Right?” She looked down the hall nervously as she spoke.

“Steven doesn’t want to talk to you,” Layla grumbled. It didn’t matter that she was probably wrong, and that as good-natured as Steven was, he would probably want to hear this woman out. He wasn’t here, so Layla would argue for him. “Harrow is dead. Ammit is dead. Maybe you should consider leaving London and starting a new life outside of a cult.”

“I wish I could,” the woman hissed, looking back at Layla. “But there is someone after me and the other survivors.”

Jake? Layla cocked her head. But she thought Jake was done with his revenge. That was the only reason he had stayed with Khonshu, wasn’t it? “Who?” she asked. “I thought after Harrow was killed, that was it? Is Khonshu’s new avatar messing with you all?”

The woman shrugged. “I don’t know who it is. All I know is one of my former mates was killed two days ago. Throat slit. I was hoping your husband knew who it was and could call them off.”

Two days ago. Steven had been fronting then, so it couldn’t have been Jake. Layla was actually relieved; she didn’t need Jake to end up in prison because he was out doing vigilante stuff without Khonshu’s support and Moon Knight’s cover.

The former detective looked down the hall again, as if she was worried she was being followed. She looked at Layla pleadingly. “Let me speak to him. Please?”

“He’s not here,” Layla finally admitted.

“Then let me explain everything to you so you can talk to him?”

The woman looked desperate. Scared. With a sigh, Layla closed the door, undid the chain, and opened it. Almost immediately, someone far larger than Bobbi Kennedy pushed the door in, shoving Layla so hard she almost fell to the floor. Recovering quickly, Layla lunged for the kitchen and the knife she knew rested next to the cutting board. Her hand had almost reached it when her hair was grabbed from behind. She swung around, her fist knocking the man’s hold loose, then she brought up a leg to kick out. She made contact with the man’s sternum and he shouted in surprise, falling back.

She recognized him as one of the Egyptians Harrow had recruited sometime after his group’s arrival in Cairo. She also remembered him being knocked down by Steven as Mister Knight during that final battle, but obviously he had recovered and had managed to survive Jake’s wrath. Layla turned toward the knife again, but an arm wrapped around her throat from behind. Kennedy. Like Layla, she was trained in physical defense, and as slight as the woman was, she was tough.

But so was Layla. She let her feet leave the floor, then used the momentum of falling forward to pull Kennedy over her shoulder. Unfortunately, the woman didn’t let go and carried Layla with her as she fell. The man was back by then, grabbing Layla’s arms and pinning them behind her while Kennedy got her feet back under her and faced Layla, the knife Layla had been aiming for now in her left hand and at Layla’s throat. She reached into her pocket with her right hand, bringing out a syringe and needle.

“Sorry, Mrs. Spector,” she hissed. “But you’re coming with us.”

Layla barely felt the needle prick in her arm as the woman injected her. “It should only take a couple of minutes to kick in,” Kennedy said to her partner. “Then we’ll get the hell out of here. I don’t know where Spector went or when he’s due back, but we don’t want to be on his turf when he gets here.”

The man still holding Layla grunted in response, not loosening his hold.  

“Why are you doing this?” Layla whispered, already feeling the effects of whatever drug she had been given. “Harrow is dead.”

“That’s why!” Kennedy shot back. “He killed Harrow. It’s his fault everything was ruined. My life. My job.”

“You did that yourself by following Ammit,” Layla argued.

Kennedy shook her head. “No. It’s Spector’s fault. And Khonshu. I can’t do anything about the monster god, but I can get my revenge on Spector.”

“He won’t come for me,” Layla whispered as her vision started going black, thinking of Jake. “He won’t.”

“Oh, I think he will.”

******

Layla woke gradually.

The first thing she was aware of was the throbbing headache. It was different than one of her migraines. Her head felt extraordinarily warm, as if someone had placed a hot poker inside her skull, setting the whole thing on fire. The nausea that followed was also different than a migraine; a reaction to the pain rather than an actual symptom. She kept her eyes shut and focused on breathing through her nose and swallowing, willing moisture back into her dry mouth.

Finally, the pain eased and she was able to swallow with a little more comfort. She opened her eyes, grateful the room she was in was dim, though not so dark she couldn’t see her surroundings. She was in a sparsely furnished room, small with ancient looking wallpaper, indicating it was an older building. A shade was drawn over the one window and it was chilly; she wondered if it was still cold and foggy outside. Carefully, she sat upright, giving a soft snort of laughter when she realized she was lying on a settee very similar to the one she slept on at home.

Slowly, she stood, closing her eyes when the pain in her head surged briefly and a wave of dizziness filled her. Eventually, the reactions to her rising faded and she opened her eyes and walked over to the door, reaching for the knob. It turned under her hand, but the door didn’t budge. It was probably locked with a dead bolt on the outside, she thought. Without hesitating, she turned to the window, lifting the shade on the side to peek around it. It was daylight, but still incredibly foggy, and she was at least four stories up with no balcony or ledge near the window to climb onto. The street below was empty of any movement, and she guessed she was in or near one of the older, poorer neighborhoods by the look of the buildings around her. She turned and looked about the room, searching every corner for any other openings, but there were no vents of any kind, and very little in the room she could use as a weapon.

A plastic bottle of water sat on the floor near the foot of the settee. She walked over to it, relieved to see it was still sealed and therefore not spiked. She cracked it open and drank almost half the bottle, then sat on the settee, breathing deep and trying to decide how to proceed.

Kennedy and other survivors from Harrow’s cult were out for revenge on Marc and were using her as bait. She shook her head, wondering when her life had become the plot of some science fiction mystery novel. She had hoped her world would settle down after the Blip, but instead it had gotten crazy. Why had she ever allowed herself to fall in love and marry a freaking super hero? A ‘wannabe Avenger’ he had once joked shortly after he had confessed his secret to her. She rubbed the area between her eyes and sighed. She knew why. She had been in love with him long before he had told her he was Moon Knight. She had been in love with him almost from the day she met him. And despite the revelation of his past with her father, the horror story of his own youth, and the craziness of his DID, she still loved him with everything in her. Even more now than then.

She had so hoped that when Jake had dumped Khonshu, life would normalize and they could start thinking about a future. About those children Jake had asked about. She took another long drink of water, then nodded decisively. When she got out of this, and she was going to get out of this, she was going to talk to Marc about children. And Steven, of course, though she suspected Steven would be more than thrilled with the idea.

And Jake?

Immediately, her determined attitude deflated. Where was he? How were Kennedy and the others even going to get a hold of him to let him know they had her? And would he even care?

Of course, he would, she thought. He would care, if only because of Marc.

But would he come himself, as the protector of the System, or would he let Marc front and let him handle this? Which would she prefer? Would Marc be so worried about her he wouldn’t realize it was a trap? A part of her hoped that it was Jake who would come. He would be dispassionate, distant, even cruel. Kennedy and the others would never know what hit them.

Which is why it would be best if she escaped on her own rather than wait until Jake found out what happened to her, especially since that might not be for a couple of days, when Marc fronted and came home. In which case, Marc might not let Jake front again…

She heard a sound on the other side of the door. Adrenaline poured through her, easing the pain that was still in her head and pushing her to her feet. She sprinted silently to the side of the door in her socked feet and crouched down, ready for whoever came in, hoping they thought she was still too drugged out to be a threat.

It was the big Egyptian that entered. He was probably 20 centimeters taller than her and outweighed her by more than 50 kilos, but he also wasn’t expecting her. She had him by the arm and had flipped him over onto his back before he could even shout for help, then she ducked out the door, pulling it closed and locking it with the brand-new bolt on the outside. He was pounding on it and swearing at her in Egyptian Arabic.

“Magdi?” she heard Kennedy call from another room. Layla immediately turned and headed in the opposite direction, trying to imagine the layout of the apartment she was in. This unplanned escape attempt would most likely not lead to freedom, but if she could get her bearings, she could have an advantage when Marc came for her. She was fairly certain Kennedy wouldn’t kill her. Hopefully.

Suddenly, there was a loud crash from behind her. She turned, surprised, wondering if the brute she had locked up had managed to bust through the door, but she saw it was still intact and closed.

“Bobbi?” she heard the man named Magdi call out, just as two pops of gunfire sounded from the room that Kennedy had shouted from. Layla opened the door she was next to and ducked into what appeared to be another bedroom, closing the door to just a crack so she could peek out. There were shouts and more sounds of crashing. “Bobbi!” Magdi called out again, panicked, then there was the sound of gunfire from inside the room she had been in. She hadn’t even thought that Magdi might have a gun, but apparently, he did and he was using it to shoot at the bolt. One of his shots hit the edge of the metal just enough to loosen it, and he pushed through, his expression angry as he charged for the other room.

Before he even got near the corner, a very familiar man appeared. His expression was savage, his brow furrowed deep. His gloved hands were in fists and there was blood on the shoulder of his black Henley and on his lower lip. He was armed, wearing his shoulder harness, but the gun was still holstered. He rushed Magdi as soon as he saw the man bring his gun up, grabbing it and swinging the Egyptian around without letting go of his arm. Layla heard the crack of bone as the man’s arm snapped and the gun fell to the floor. Magdi screamed, but then pulled a knife from his belt with his left hand, swinging it at his assailant.

Jake lunged back, barely avoiding the knife, then kicked up, knocking Magdi down with a blow to the neck. He grabbed the knife as it fell, then brought it up in a flash, slitting Magdi’s throat with barely any effort. The larger man collapsed, dead.

Breathing harshly, Jake stood straight, then turned and looked directly at Layla, as if he had always known she was watching. Trembling from a combination of adrenaline and fear, she stepped out of the room. She glanced down at Magdi as she walked slowly forward and she saw Jake look down at the body as well. He grimaced, then looked back at her, his expression almost contrite. He dropped the knife and took a step back.

There was a noise behind him and he swung around. Layla gasped as Moon Knight appeared around the corner.

“Thanks for taking away my fun,” the figure said in slightly accented English. “Khonshu had me keeping an eye on these four, but I was out of town when they decided to enact their revenge.”

“Of course you were, Sokar,” Jake grumbled.

“Four?” Layla asked. She wasn’t surprised there were more than just Kennedy and Magdi, but had Jake just taken out all of them?

“Four,” the current Moon Knight confirmed. “And he didn’t leave any for me.”

“They had Layla,” Jake grumbled. “I didn’t know how long you would take to get here.”

“And you weren’t going to wait?”

“No.”

The figure shrugged. “And I guess your other personalities would have done the same?”

Jake nodded. “They would,” he said softly.

Moon Knight nodded back at him, then looked down at the man lying dead on the floor between Jake and Layla. “I’ll take care of this mess,” he said. “You two better get out of here.”

Jake looked back at Layla, one eyebrow raised. Without saying a word, he held out his gloved hand toward her.

Taking a deep breath, she took it.

******

Jake was silent throughout the whole drive home.

Layla expected him to drop her off at the flat without one word being spoken, but instead he drove back to the garage, parking in his usual spot. Together, they walked silently back to the flat as the day darkened into night. Had it been just yesterday morning that they had argued, Layla wondered? It seemed like a lifetime ago.

As they entered the flat, Layla turned to him. “How did you know?” she asked softly. “I… I’m not going to lie. I expected Marc. And not for a couple of days.”

Jake stared at her for a moment, then grimaced and looked away. “I came back to…” he took a deep breath. “To apologize.”

Layla snorted a soft laugh, then turned toward the kitchen. “Well, I’m glad.” She took a glass out of the cupboard and filled it with water from the sink. “As capable as I know Marc is, I think you were the best one to come for me.”

He stepped closer, cocking his head at her. “You’re not disgusted with what I did to them?”

Layla remembered back to less than an hour previously, when Jake had led her through the front room of the apartment she had been held captive in, past the unmoving bodies of the others who had been involved with her kidnapping, including Bobbi Kennedy. She blinked at Jake. “When I remember what every one of those people were doing in Cairo under Ammit’s orders? No.”

Jake nodded, his expression contemplative.

She took a sip of water and winced. Her stomach was roiling and her head still hurt, especially now that the adrenaline from her escape had left her system. Jake noticed.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m not sure what they drugged me with,” she told him. “I still feel gross.” She took a deep breath and focused on him. “Are you still bleeding?” she asked, looking at his shoulder. He had long ago wiped the blood off of his split lip.

He shrugged and shook his head at the same time. “It’s a scratch.”

“Yeah, right,” Layla responded wryly. “Let me have a look?” She passed him and headed for the loo to get the first aid kit out of the medicine cabinet. When she came back, Jake was sitting at the table, his shirt and gloves off. She moved a chair over and sat down next to him, looking at his shoulder. It was more than a scratch, of course, but it was still fairly mild for a knife cut. She took a cotton ball and some rubbing alcohol and began to clean it. “Sorry,” she whispered as he hissed in reaction. Once done, she smoothed some antibiotic ointment over it generously, then took a gauze pad and taped it over the deepest part of the wound. “You need to know I’m sorry, too,” she said quietly as she finished. “I shouldn’t have told Marc and Steven to keep our relationship from you. There should be no secrets between the three of you. Ever.”

Jake looked at her intently, then he blinked and sighed heavily. “I shouldn’t have said what I did,” he told her. “I know you love them. And I know you would never hurt them.” He started fingering a dent in the table in front of him. “I just… I was jealous.”

Layla nodded. “You don’t have to be,” she told him. “They both care about you and want you to live a good, independent life. How they feel about me won’t change that.”

He huffed a laugh. “I’m not jealous of you,” he said sharply. “I’m jealous of them and the life they’re living now.” He wouldn’t look at her.

She remembered back to her thoughts on Jake finding someone of his own to love. “If living apart from us, from me, will help you feel like you’re in charge of your own life, then I am okay with that. If you find… someone…” She paused as he looked at her, surprise on his face. “If it will help you find someone to spend your life with, then I will make sure you have that privacy. You deserve to have the life you want, Jake.” She looked away, trying not to feel the tightness in her stomach at the idea of this man falling in love with someone else. He didn’t love her like Marc and Steven did. She couldn’t expect him to.

“What if you’re what I want?”

Layla felt her eyes widen as she looked back at him, more than a little shocked by his words. “You don’t even like me,” she argued, her heart racing.

He shook his head. “I didn’t want to like you, Querida,” he told her softly. “You’re stubborn and arrogant and overly confident and you decide things for other people, namely me and my alters, without taking into consideration our feelings.”

Layla was more than a little insulted. “I do no such thing!”

“But you’re also beautiful and smart and brave and loyal and unfortunately, more often than not, right. And you have this tremendous, amazing ability to love a man that is fractured so badly he will never be completely whole again.” He paused, and Layla realized she had never seen such warmth in Jake’s eyes before. “At least, I hope you can someday love all of his pieces.”

Layla blinked back the tears that suddenly formed in her eyes. “I already do,” she whispered.

Jake brought up his hand, cupping her cheek, his brow furrowed. “Layla?” he breathed.

She leaned in, taking his lips with hers, pleased when he kissed her back, though it was somewhat tentative. Very unlike Jake, she thought. She pulled back and looked at him, frowning. He was watching her, uncertainty filling his eyes, an unusual sight in this confident man. “What’s wrong?”

“Marc,” he said. Simple and to the point.

“Is he here?” she asked.

Jake shook his head. “No, but… I can’t… if he…”

“Jake,” Layla interrupted. “Marc once told me, when he was telling me that it was alright to love Steven, that I was his wife as much as Marc’s. And that he would consider you my husband, too, if you proved yourself to him.” She cocked her head at him. “I think you did that today.”

“He doesn’t even know what happened, yet,” Jake said softly.

“He will.” She moved close again, bringing her lips to his once more. “Later.”

This time Jake let himself sink into her kiss, and she was able to revel in how different it felt compared to Marc or Steven. They may share the same body, but she could easily tell them apart in almost every way.

She stood suddenly and grabbed his hand, pulling him to his feet and tugging him toward the bed.

“I thought you didn’t feel good,” he muttered, a smirk on his face.

She gave him a one-shouldered shrug. “I’m still kind of ‘blah’,” she said. “But I think the knowledge that I don’t have to sleep on the settee ever again will make me feel better.” She winked at him.

He laughed. A full, open, beautiful laugh. She had never seen him laugh. “So, that’s the real reason you’ve seduced all three of us?” he said, still grinning. “You’re tired of the settee?”

“I haven’t seduced you, yet.” She cocked her head at him.

“Oh, yes, you have, Querida,” he grumbled. “Body and soul.”

He reached for the hem of Layla’s t-shirt. She was still wearing what she had put on for bed last night: oversized t-shirt, joggers, and socks. With that realization came a sudden desire to wash away all that had happened since she had been awakened at 3 am. “I should take a shower,” she mumbled as she grasped Jake’s wrists lightly.

He paused. Then he continued what he had started, pulling the shirt up and off. “Yeah, we both should,” he acknowledged. He tossed the shirt aside, his eyes scanning her bare torso. “Later.”

He reached up and cupped her face with both hands, staring intently into her eyes. “Unless you’re really not ready to seduce me.”

She looked at him, and once more saw uncertainty in his expression. This man may be the protector of the system, but the result was a man that was unconvinced of his worth outside of that responsibility. Giving him what she hoped was a playful smirk, Layla reached for the buckle of his belt. His eyes seemed to flare with excitement as he swallowed nervously, then he backed away slightly, stepping out of his shoes. They weren’t Steven’s trainers, she realized belatedly. Knowing he most likely hadn’t bothered to change clothing upon realizing she had been taken earlier today, she figured he kept a change or two of clothing in his car.

They both stripped down quickly, and Layla pulled herself onto the bed, giggling with pure joy as she realized that she truly wasn’t going to have to sleep alone on the settee anymore. Jake crawled up her body as she settled with her head on the pillow, and she spread her legs eagerly, knowing his body well enough to know his hips would fit perfectly between her thighs. Jake situated himself over her and began to kiss her, firmly but gently. She responded by running her hands over him, touching him everywhere she could. While she knew this body well, she was very aware that this man was discovering her touch for the first time. He would learn her body, she thought, but they would both have to learn of each other’s likes, turn-ons, ticklish places.

She couldn’t wait to get started.

He was touching her now, tentatively, slowly, his hand running along her side and reaching down to stroke her belly. Finally, his fingers found her center, where she was already hot and wet for him. He groaned. “Aw, mì Cielo. Estàs listo para mì!” *

She arched her hips up into his touch. “Yes!” she cried softly. “Please, Jake!”

He pulled back and looked at her. “Tan necesitada, Mamacita,” ** he practically growled. “Maybe it’s a good thing you have three men to warm your bed, as desesperada as you are.”

Layla felt her face heat at his insinuation, but she couldn’t deny it. She wanted them all. So very much. In answer, she arched her hips up again, whining softly.

Jake moved downward, once again slow and deliberate, reaching under her thighs and hooking his elbows under her knees. “No condòn?” he asked, one eyebrow arched high.

She shook her head, her breathing coming faster as he pushed her knees up toward her head, sliding back up and positioning his cock, hard and weeping, at her entrance.

“And when are you going to talk to Marc about going off birth control?”

Layla’s breath caught in her throat. “How did you..?”

He smiled softly. “You want babies, mì Corazon. I bet Steven does, too. So, the only one you’re going to have to convince is Marc.”

“You..?”

He slid into her, slowly, steadily. “Sì,” he breathed. “Let me breed you, Mamacita.”

Layla cried out, his words sending a fire through her whole body. “Oh, God!” she moaned. “Urjuk!” Please!

Jake began pumping in and out of her, slow and deep, keeping her thighs pinned, her feet in the air. He started kissing her, whispering words and phrases she barely heard as her head began to spin with pleasure. “Eres hermosa. Tan sexy, mì vida. ¿Sabes cuánto tiempo te he deseado? ¿Cuánto he envidiado a mis hermanos?” ***

Layla’s first orgasm hit without warning, the shock of how slow and gentle Jake was being at odds with its intensity. She shouldn’t be surprised, she thought, as her tremoring body eventually eased. As strong and violent as Jake had to be all of his life, it was no wonder he wanted soft and tender here, in this safe place. His home.

After she was able to focus once more, Jake pulled back a bit, allowing her legs to drop down, then he moved into her again, his thrusts still gentle but deep. Oh, so deep. Layla brought her legs, which felt like jelly, up and around him, hooking her ankles behind his back. He smiled, then kissed her, his tongue exploring her mouth with no shame. He continued like this for so long that Layla was actually worried about coming again before him, but as she felt the insistent pull of another orgasm work its way to the surface, his pace increased. His brow furrowed and he began to utter soft moans with every thrust. As Layla reached for release, she felt him stiffen above her, and her body began to spasm just as she felt the warmth of his seed fill her.

It was a long moment before she released the hold her legs had on him and he allowed himself to fall to her side. He propped himself up on his elbow, watching her with dark eyes. “You’re going to need to ask Marc to put back all the mirrors,” he said softly. “Make sure they’re facing the bed.”

Layla felt her whole body heat as she laughed. “Are you serious?” The thought of having the others watch…

“Mmmm-hmmm,” he nodded. “If any one of us demands privacy, including you, the others will respect that. But if not…”

She shook her head at him, baffled by the perplexity of this man. The fact that he had fucked her so gently while telling her such naughty things… “You are an enigma, Jake Lockley.”

“I hope to always keep you guessing, Mrs. Lockley.”

She raised her eyebrows at him.

“Or do you prefer Mrs. Grant?” he continued, unphased by her look. “Have you ever gone by Mrs. Spector?” He cocked his head, his eyes glowing with mischief.

Smirking, she responded, “How about all of you going by Mr. El-Faouly?”

Jake nodded sagely. “I can live with that, mì reina.”

******

-      * Ah, my heaven. You’re ready for me.

-      ** So needy.

-      *** You’re beautiful. So sexy, my life. Do you know how long I have wanted you? How much I have envied my brothers?

******

A little over forty-eight hours later, Layla had a decision to make: stay naked in bed with Jake until morning, or dress and go back to the settee until she could talk to Marc the next day.

Everything inside her refused to let her go back to the settee.

“I hope you know what you’re doing, Querida,” Jake whispered to her as she settled in his arms. “Marc has never been one to enjoy surprises.”

Somehow, she fell asleep, only to wake a few hours later when the man she was curled up against pulled away from her and sat on the edge of the bed, his naked back stiff and his breathing rough. She slowly sat up, reaching over to her left to turn on the reading light that Steven had put next to the bed, as the sun wasn’t quite up, yet.

“Marc?”

He turned his head slightly, enough that she could see him close his eyes and swallow. He frowned, concentrating, and Layla knew without a shadow of a doubt that he was talking to one or more of his alters in his head. He sighed and opened his eyes. Without looking at her, he asked, “Are you okay? How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” she answered immediately. Jake must have told him what happened to her. “Though I am starving.” He finally glanced at her, his expression almost relieved that she was talking to him normally. “And I should probably take a shower,” she added tentatively. She and Jake had worked up quite a sweat last night.  

He nodded, then stood, heading toward the closet and pulling out a pair of boxers from the drawers next to it. “I’ll make you some breakfast while you shower,” he told her, finally looking at her, his expression still a bit tight, but not angry. Just… worried.

She nodded and crawled out of the bed carefully. She was still a bit sore from being drugged and manhandled two days previously. “Can I have some of those beef breakfast sausages you got last week?” she asked as she walked to the same drawers and pulled out one of Steven’s oversized sweatshirts; it was cold in the flat, and while she knew a hot shower would warm her up, she wanted to be comfortable for breakfast.

“Absolutely,” she heard Marc answer, and she could tell he was trying to be positive and upbeat. She smiled sadly; he could never fake being happy.

Twenty minutes later she found herself sitting across from her husband, watching him carefully as they both ate. She hadn’t lied when she said she was hungry. She had not eaten at all the day of her kidnapping, and though she was well past that, she still felt the results of going without food for so long. Marc also seemed extra hungry.

Finally, they both finished, and Marc seemed much more relaxed. It was time to clear the air.

“Marc?”

She didn’t say anything else. He needed to start this conversation. She had no way of helping him work through this until she knew exactly what he was thinking.

He took a deep breath. “Please tell me it wasn’t out of gratitude.”

She felt her eyebrows go up and a laugh formed, but she held it in. “Are you serious? You really think I would have sex with someone just because they helped me out of a dangerous situation?”

“Well, not just someone,” Marc responded, shifting uncomfortably. He focused on her. “Him.”

Layla took a deep breath, bringing her elbows up to rest on the table, and setting her chin on her folded hands. “I love him.”

Marc watched her for a long moment, then nodded decisively. “You belong to the System, now,” he said softly. “I don’t know whether to be happy for you or feel sorry for you.”

She stood quickly and made her way around the table, sliding onto Marc’s lap as he pushed his chair back to make room for her. He wrapped his arms around her waist tightly, burying his face in the crook of her neck. She hugged his shoulders with one arm and burrowed the fingers of her other hand into his thick hair. “I love you, Marc.”

“I know, baby,” he whispered. “But you haven’t taken on an easy task,” he continued. “If you thought I was hard to love when it was just me…”

She laughed softly. “You are all worth it.”

His arms tightened. “I love you so much, Layla.”

They sat quietly for a long moment, just holding each other, but when Marc began to pull away ever so slightly, Layla looked down at him, the devil on her shoulder ready for some action.

“Jake has a request, Habibi.”

Marc looked up at her, one eyebrow raised. “Yes?”

“He wants you to put all the mirrors you took down back. Facing the bed.”

She recognized the flare of excitement in his eyes immediately. “He does, does he?” He cocked his head. “And you’ll be okay with that?”

She brought her hand up to push his hair off his forehead. “Yes.”

“I’ll get right on it,” he said, his voice heavy with desire. “Later.”

******

Early Summer

The days gradually became warmer, the sun appeared more often, and Layla was reminded why she loved London. Steven and his job were the reason they stayed in this city, and no one had ever thought about changing that. However, two weeks ago she and Marc had made a visit to Chicago. Layla had been determined to meet Marc’s father and have Marc visit Randall and Wendy’s graves, and she had both Steven and Jake’s help in convincing Marc to do it.

Layla had found Elias Spector to be a decent man, easy to get along with and full of questions about how she and Marc were doing. As pleasant as he was, Layla was always fully aware of how he had failed his oldest son, and could never truly enjoy being in his company. While some could argue that Marc suffered from his DID because he was weak like his father, Layla believed it was the opposite. His DID came about from his strength, his mind’s ability to help itself. Steven and Jake may be the result of Marc’s trauma, but it was their existence that had given Marc purpose and belonging.

After a day spent with Elias, she and Marc had said their goodbyes and spent the rest of their time in Chicago playing tourist; Layla had only been to the U.S. for business trips, both unofficial and official, and had never really been able to just enjoy seeing the sights. Marc was more than happy to show her his favorite places in the largest Midwestern city in the country. They visited the Art Institute, where Steven fronted, took a bus tour to learn about the famous mob bosses, where Jake fronted, and took a cruise down the Chicago River. Wrigley Field, Garfield Park Conservatory, the Lincoln Park Zoo, several different restaurants, and the Navy Pier. The boys took turns fronting in various locations, keeping Layla on her toes; she had never dealt with them all bouncing back and forth like they did on that trip.

She waited those couple of weeks after they returned home to make sure things settled back into their normal routine before she decided to get their help making one of the biggest decisions of her life. She chose a time when Marc was fronting, but made sure the others were present, letting them know she wanted to talk to them all at the same time. It was evening, the windows to the flat were open, letting in a warm summer breeze, the crickets chirping loud outside. Layla stood leaning back with her butt against the kitchen counter as Marc sat at the table, the chair turned to face her, his expression a little nervous.

Layla was also nervous, but she had decided it was now or never.

“Okay,” she started. “I wanted you all to hear what I have to say, but I also want you all to know that this is a group decision, and all of us have to agree or it’s not going to happen. Okay?”

Marc nodded, his brow furrowed in confusion. His eyes shifted for a moment, and she knew he was listening to the others. He looked back at her. “Okay. All or nothing.”

Layla took another deep breath. “I want to have a baby.”

Marc looked stunned for a moment, just staring at her, then his face changed right in front of her. His eyes widened, his jaw relaxed, his shoulders slumped a bit… Steven.

“Well, I obviously can’t speak for the others, but I… will be terrified but excited and would be absolutely over the moon if you have a baby, love!” He got a panicked look on his face for a moment. “Oh, boy. A baby. Wow.” He took a deep breath and focused on her once more. “You have my vote.” He nodded sharply, then his eyes lost their focus and his face changed once more. The jaw tightened, the shoulders stiffened, the brow lowered. Jake.

“You already know how I feel about the subject, Mamacita.” He pumped his eyebrows up and down and smirked, making her laugh. “I vote yes.”

Then Marc was back. He leaned forward in the chair, resting his elbows on his knees, blinking rapidly. “Looks like I’m outnumbered,” he muttered.

Layla moved to squat in front of him, grasping his hands. “It only counts if it’s unanimous,” she argued. “If you aren’t ready, we won’t do it.” She squeezed his hands.

“What if I’m never ready?” He looked at her, and the fear in his eyes wrenched her heart.

She shrugged. “Then we won’t do it.” The idea saddened her a great deal, but Marc had to be okay with the idea of becoming a father. There was no other option.

He stared at her, the love in his eyes almost overwhelming in its intensity. She smiled softly and reached up to cup his cheek, running her thumb over his bottom lip. He kissed it softly, then sat back. Layla stood and stepped back, watching him as he took another deep breath.

“Okay,” he said softly, looking up at her. “Let’s have a baby.”

Layla felt her heart start to race. “Really?”

Marc gave her a soft smile and nodded. “Really.”

She began laughing, then stepped forward to slide into his lap. He reached for her, pulling her close, but then his eyes lost focus again. He snorted after a moment, then looked at Layla. “Steven’s already wondering how we decide who the father will be.” He smirked at Layla, his eyebrows raised in question.

She reached up and ran her fingers through his hair. “I guess you’ll just all have to take your turn every night until I get pregnant,” she said slyly. “That way none of you can claim it exclusively.”

Marc grimaced, then rolled his eyes. “Jake is cheering and I’m sure Steven is blushing,” he said with a smile.

“And you?” Layla asked.

Marc reached for the buttons on the front of the sleeveless blouse Layla was wearing. “I say let’s get this party started.”

THE END