The night with Kris had been intoxicating, a whirlwind of passion and desire that left me breathless and aching for more. But as the first light of dawn crept through the curtains, I knew I had to leave. Kris was still asleep, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, his arm draped possessively over my waist. I carefully extricated myself from his embrace, my body protesting the loss of his warmth. I dressed quietly, slipping into my clothes from the night before, the fabric whispering against my skin. I left a note on the pillow beside him, a simple "Thank you" scrawled across the paper. It felt inadequate, but I didn't know what else to say.

The drive home was a blur, the city lights giving way to the soft glow of the rising sun. My mind was a tumult of emotions—guilt, desire, confusion. I loved Mark, I truly did. But Kris... Kris made me feel alive in a way I hadn't in so long. I pulled into the driveway, the house dark and silent. Mark was still asleep, oblivious to my late-night escapades. I slipped into bed beside him, my body curling into his warmth, seeking comfort in his familiar presence.

The next morning, I woke to the scent of coffee and the sound of sizzling bacon. Mark was in the kitchen, his back to me as he moved around with practiced ease. He was wearing an apron, the one I'd bought him as a joke, with "Kiss the Cook" emblazoned across the front. It was a sight that would have made me smile on any other day, but today it just made my heart ache. He turned, a plate of food in his hands, his eyes soft and loving. "Good morning, sleepyhead," he said, his voice gentle. "I made your favorite."

I sat up, the sheets pooling around my waist, and took the plate from him. "Thank you, Mark," I said, my voice thick with emotion. He sat beside me, his hand resting on my knee, his thumb tracing idle patterns on my skin. I took a bite of the toast, the buttery flavor melting on my tongue, but my appetite was nonexistent. I set the plate aside, my hand covering Mark's. 

"I need to talk to you," I said, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside me.

Now, some days ago, I humiliated him so much in our bedroom with Kris, but now it seems I have become softer towards Mark again; maybe I had plans in my mind.

Mark's eyes flickered with something—fear, maybe, or resignation. He nodded, his hand squeezing mine. "I know," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. I took a deep breath, steeling myself for what I was about to say. 

"I love him, Mark," I said, the words tumbling out in a rush. I just couldn’t imagine how I got so bold, maybe the developing love for Kris.. "I love Kris. I didn't plan for this to happen, but it has, and I can't ignore it."

Mark's hand trembled beneath mine, his eyes searching my face. "Are you leaving me?" he asked, his voice raw with emotion. I cupped his face, my thumb brushing away a tear that had escaped his eye. 

"No, Mark," I said, my voice firm. "I'm not leaving you. I'm keeping you. You're mine, and I'm not letting you go."

He let out a shaky breath, his body sagging with relief. He leaned into my touch, his eyes closing as if savoring the moment. "I don't know if I can share you, Kate," he admitted, his voice barely audible. "But I don't want to lose you either." 

I pulled him into a hug, his body fitting against mine like a puzzle piece. "You're not losing me, well… in fact, you don’t really have a choice here, do you?" I murmured into his hair. 

The next day, Kris called, his voice a low rumble through the phone that sent shivers down my spine. "I have an idea," he said, his tone playful. "How about a picnic by the lake? Mark can come too, if he wants..." I agreed, my heart fluttering with anticipation. Mark was quiet when I told him, his eyes unreadable. But he nodded, his hand finding mine and giving it a squeeze.

The picnic was a blur of laughter and sunshine, the three of us sprawled on a blanket by the lake. Mark had packed the basket, his careful hands arranging the food with precision. He served us, his movements graceful and efficient, a smile playing on his lips. Kris and I were tangled together, our bodies pressed close, our lips meeting in heated kisses. Mark watched us, his eyes dark with desire and something else—contentment, maybe, or acceptance.

"You're good at this," Kris said, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair from Mark's face.

Mark blushed, his eyes flickering away before meeting Kris's gaze. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice soft. Kris's hand dropped to Mark's shoulder, squeezing gently. 

"You're welcome," he said, his voice warm. "We appreciate you, Mark. You're important to Kate, and that makes you important to me."

I leaned into Kris, my hand finding Mark's and giving it a squeeze. "He's right, you know," I said, my voice firm. "You're important to me, Mark. And I love that you're here with us." 

Mark's eyes met mine, his gaze steady despite the turmoil I knew he was feeling. "I love you too, Kate," he said, his voice raw with emotion. "And I'll do whatever it takes to keep you happy."

Later, as the sun began to set, Kris drove us home, his hand resting possessively on my thigh. Mark sat in the backseat, his eyes on the passing scenery, his thoughts unreadable. When we got home, I turned to Kris, my hand finding his. "Stay," I said, my voice a low plea. He nodded, his eyes dark with desire. Mark was quiet, his eyes flickering between us, but he didn't protest. He simply nodded, his hand finding mine and giving it a squeeze.

The night was a blur of passion and desire, Kris's body moving against mine in a primal rhythm. Mark was downstairs. We let him stay away, not that night. He simply served us breakfast in bed the next morning, waking me and Kris, while our nudes bodies were cuddled in each other, his movements careful and precise, a smile playing on his lips. It was a strange dynamic, a delicate balance of power and submission. But it worked, for now. And as I looked at the two men in my life, my heart swelled with emotion. I didn't know what the future held, but for now, this was enough.