Epilogue

One Year Later

A single beadof sweat snakes down the valley of my back and I am instantly transported back to a very different time and place. No longer am I running along the promenade of Margate looking for my wife on a sunny but cool early spring morning. Instead, I'm kneeling in front of my Chef, next to my wife on that first night we met her, sweating with anticipation and waiting for her next move, not knowing what's going to happen next, surrendering to that sweet, delicious fact.

Maybe I shouldn't, maybe it's weird, but I think about that night a lot.

Slowing to a stop near the walkway down to the beach, I move to the railing and prop my leg up to stretch out my hamstrings. I bend into the stretch, gazing out over the sandy beach and looking at the people scattered around, some in couples or groups, some alone. As I swap legs, I turn my eyes the opposite way and I finally see her.

My wife.

By some trick of fate, just a second after I spot her, she looks up and sees me too. Then she waves. I wave back, taking her in. Her hair, which is a mane of unruly curls today, blows in the harsh sea breeze that we've just about gotten used to, her mouth is stretched in a broad smile, and her bright red coat stands out against the beiges and blues of the sand and sea in her background. And then there's the dog lead in her other hand. I look around then for Harvey, our droopy-eyed English mastiff, the biggest and most slobbery dog you'll ever meet. I don't see him, but that's mostly because my eyes are distracted by another woman who is walking up to my wife. I watch as she steps into my wife's open arms and she comes up on tip-toes to kiss her lips.

My Chef. My beautiful flame-haired Chef. My beautiful, kind Domme. My beautiful, sweet fiancée.

She's not supposed to be here.

She's supposed to be in Dublin for a job with Elite. Since we met Katja last year, and I made her a website and Amara worked a little magic on her PR, she's been in increasing demand, working for some of the most high-profile professionals in Europe. This last job was for some famous social media influencer who wanted a private chef to lead a small catering team for her intimate wedding yesterday. I'm supposed to be picking Katja up from the airport tomorrow morning because she couldn't get an earlier flight, and yet, here she is.

Curiosity gets the better of me and I start running again, making my way over the sand to the two women I love most in the world. Curiosity, and my bone-deep desire to always be near them.

"What are you doing here?" I demand as Katja turns her head, stepping away from Amara although she keeps her arm looped around her.

"I lied about my flight." She beams at me, her hair blowing across her face, its colour almost as bright as Amara's coat. "Wanted to surprise you."

"Consider it done!" I say and I yank her by her hand so she crashes against my body. I fold my arms around her and squeeze, hard.

"Wren!" Katja gasps.

"I missed you," I say, as if to justify why I'm squeezing all the air out of her body.

"It was two nights," she says as she wriggles back a little.

"Two nights too long," I respond before taking her mouth in a long searing kiss. God, it's so good to taste her again, all honey and coffee and fresh air.

"Carry on doing that and I'll drag us all home right this instant." Amara's voice interrupts us.

Amara loves watching Katja and me. Sometimes, when she's feeling a bit dominant, Amara loves directing me as we make love. And other times, Amara loves being told by Katja to sit back, watch and under no circumstances, touch herself. Those are delicious moments, watching Amara sit and squirm while Katja fucks me, knowing she'll only get relief when Katja orders me to crawl over to her and eat her cunt until she comes.

"That doesn't sound like the worst idea in the world," I say, kissing the tip of Katja's nose before finally relinquishing my firm hold on her. But I only do it so Amara can step into the space we create instinctively for her. And she does, providing the third wall of our triangle.

The strongest shape in the world.

After more than a few seconds of our embrace have passed, I start to wonder what people around us may be thinking. Sometimes I'm plagued with worry about what the outside world makes of our relationship, and other times I forget that other people even exist. But most of the time, it's like today, when I think about it briefly, experience a blunt stab of panic about the possibility of a bigoted opinion somewhere among the other dog walkers and beach strollers, and then I push it out of my mind. Because there is nothing more ludicrous to me than letting such opinions even get close to stopping me loving these two women.

Amara and I moved to Margate on a cold wintry Saturday back in January. We had been making weekend visits almost every single week since the first night we met Katja, doing as we promised and taking her out on dates. There were dinners, pub lunches, evenings in the cinema, and one very important trip to a local dog rescue centre where we stood back and watched Katja fall in love with Harvey. A few weeks later, Katja texted us both and said she was ready. Before lunchtime the following day, we'd put our penthouse up for sale and hired an estate agent in Margate.

Katja didn't dominate us like she did that first night for a long time. It wasn't exactly talked about but we all sensed that she needed to know our relationship was about more than that dynamic, and while Amara and I talked often about missing our Chef, craving her orders and her rules, her praise and her degradation, and frequently, we touched each other while talking about it, we agreed that it was important Katja chose when to bring that back into our lives.

She finally did on Valentine's Day. While Katja had walked Harvey that afternoon, Amara and I had filled our semi-detached townhouse with rose petals and candles and we'd showered Katja with cards, gifts and a hamper full of her favourite foods from Germany. She'd taken one look at everything and then clicked her fingers, telling us to get down on our knees.

Just like the first time, I'll not forget that night for the longest time. Not least because later that night we asked Katja to marry us and she said yes.

"But do we have time?" Katja asks. "You have your appointment with Shayna."

"Oh, yes, we do," Amara says with a small groan. Shayna is our relationship counsellor who still sees Amara and me every other week, via video calls. We are approaching the end of our sessions, Shayna tells us, and then we will all three of us go to a therapist Amara has found in nearby Ramsgate who has experience with poly relationships.

"That's a good thing," Katja says and she turns her head, no doubt looking for Harvey. "It will give me time to get ready."

"Get ready?" My eyebrows arch.

"Flying always makes me horny and gives me ideas." Her blue eyes fire up, even in the dull light of yet another dreary, cloudy day.

And yet there are no dreary or cloudy days. Not when I have one woman whose hair and lips are as red as the centre of the sun and another woman whose eyes are as dark and rich as the earth that sustains everything.

Before I met Amara, I never knew I was capable of loving someone so fiercely. Until I met Katja, I assumed I only had love like that for one person, but Katja changed everything. Katja – our Chef – made us realise our love was boundless and bountiful.

"Suddenly looking forward to our appointment now," I say, which is not something I usually say, because it's still hard. Talking about our challenges is hard for me, and our transition from a broken two to a very whole three has come with many challenges. I'm still prone to bottling up my feelings. Amara occasionally has big outbursts that take Katja and I by surprise. And now and then Katja reaches for us in bed and asks, "Are you sure? Do you still want me? You still want to be a three?" We always say yes, me with words and kisses, and Amara by sliding down Katja's body and sucking those doubts out of her very centre.

"Come on, let's go," I say, my boxers now feeling a little damp, and not because of my run.

"I have a request," Amara says before Katja and I have moved very far.

"Of course you do, meine kleine, gierigeHure." Katja reaches a hand up to cradle Amara's face.

"Can I wear a strap this time?" Amara says after only the briefest look around. "I've been working on my hip thrusts and bridge lifts with Rashad and I would love to see if I can go a little longer this time."

"You went plenty long enough last time," I say with a light scoff. Only Amara would get private Pilates lessons to try and fuck better.

"But I want to go longer. I want to fuck Katja too this time."

"Well, that wasn't exactly in my plan," Katja says thoughtfully before she brings two fingers to her lips and whistles loudly for Harvey. "I was planning on wearing a strap today."

"Next time then," Amara concedes, an act that wouldn't have happened so easily, so comfortably a year ago.

"Wait." I hold up a hand. "Why can't you both wear a strap?"

"Both of us?" Amara's surprise quickly melts into excitement as she hands the lead over to Katja's open palm. I love how things like this happen between the three of us. Unspoken actions, shared thoughts, finished sentences.

"Yes, you can—" I say, but don't get to finish my sentence when a great heavy weight knocks into the side of my legs. "Harvey!" I bend down – albeit not much – and stroke him vigorously, shaking his many jowls.

"I like this plan," Katja says briskly as she hooks the lead back onto Harvey's collar. "You can fuck Wren, while I fuck you."

Amara leans in and rubs her nose on Katja's cheek. She says something to Katja in German and while I understand some words, I have deliberately chosen not to learn the language to the same extent Amara has. They need their own things, just like Katja and I do. Amara and I still have our own things too, but we had many, many years of just us. Right now, it's more important Katja knows how our love for us as a three eclipses our love as the couple we were.

Because it does. A year ago, we were given a little glimpse into what our future could be as a three, a precious taste of honey, and it wasn't a lie. Because loving these two women, and being loved by them, just as I am, just as they are, is the sweetest adventure of my life, one that I will work hard to ensure never, ever ends.