Hail to the King: Kings of the Tower Book Three

by May Sage

  Ryn nodded, somewhat reassured. “I know, but we’re both busy, so I don’t know when I’ll see her again. I mentioned I’d pass it along, if you wouldn’t mind?”

  “Of course. I’m headed to The Tower tonight, if you have it here?”

  Ryn went to fetch the painting from her bag. She’d put it in an envelope and closed it, but she wasn’t surprised to see Callum open it and pull the piece of paper out the moment she handed it to him.

  She blushed. “I know it’s nothing much. Lillie asked to see what I paint, and well, you know how hard it is to resist her, so…”

  Her boss lifted his hand, as if to tell her to stop talking. He paid her very little attention for the next few moments, contemplating the paper in his hand.

  Did it suck that much? She bit her lip.

  Finally, Callum’s eyes returned to hers. He seemed…amused?

  “Well, that’s quite interesting. And of course, I’ll pass it along. Now, I’ve kept you way too long tonight. Better get going.”

  21

  The Deal

  Four weeks ago

  Desmond surprised himself. He didn't feel uncomfortable with Ryn around his place. She didn't bother him, and he didn't find himself wishing she'd stop talking, as he so often did with others. Whenever Ryn was done talking, he found himself asking a question to prompt further discussion. She intrigued him. Probably because she was so thoroughly broken, and yet there was light left in her. A spark that the cruelest abuse hadn't extinguished.

  He didn't understand it. Part of him resented her for it. She should have been weaker, like he had been. She wasn't. He was fascinated, enthralled, and confused by his own desires. Part of him wished he could study her under a microscope, and he simultaneously wanted to lock her up in a tower where she'd be safe and guard the door. The need to set her free in the world after mending her broken wings reared its head from time to time. There also was another need, that darker need he wasn't acknowledging. She didn't need to read it in his eyes. Hell, he didn't need to feel it right now. Pure, potent, undiluted lust.

  That wasn't the first time. He remembered seeing her at The Tower, sitting on the floor next to Wallace, her head on his leg while he'd been caressing her hair like she was his lapdog.

  That was a thing, pet play. Who was he to judge? He certainly had his kinks. But although he didn't really get how people were into that stuff, he remembered watching her and getting hard as fuck. That she was a submissive was undeniable. She belonged here at his Tower. Just not with Wallace.

  He'd told her the truth the previous day: he had believed that she was a gold digger trying to please Wallace in order to replace Mrs. Clarke. What he hadn't said was that at the time, he'd felt a strange impulse he had a hard time battling. Desmond had considered going to her, whispering to her ear while breathing her scent in. Letting her know that there were worthier masters she could kneel to, offering to take care of her. He wouldn't marry a gold digger, but he could still take care of her, buy her a place, pretty things, and fuck her to his heart's content.

  The only reason why he hadn't done it was because Wallace was working for him. If he'd been a stranger, Desmond would have stolen her away from him without a second thought, but he didn't mess with business.

  Dammit. Why her? He’d thought.

  * * *

  His dick wasn't getting involved. She couldn't even suspect that he wanted her. That was the last thing she needed right now. She was in pieces, like a china doll smashed on the floor. A woman like that needed, and deserved, softness, normalcy, security.

  They spent the morning talking. It hadn't been the plan. They were waiting for Nate, and in the meantime, he wanted to catch up on work. He had an office upstairs, on the third floor. The penthouse technically had five floors: guest rooms on the first floor, his living room and kitchen on the second, then the third floor where he had an office, a small theater, and a fully equipped playroom. His bedroom occupied the fourth floor and the roof was divided into a gym and a covered pool.

  Back in the day, he'd lived here with his two brothers. After they'd started to profit from their various ventures, Mav had his own place built in another one of their buildings, and Callum left to live in The Tower.

  Every single weekday, he worked his ass off, twelve to fifteen hours straight, then he somehow found the energy to fuck, or at least discipline, the woman he chose for the night. Callum functioned on four hours of sleep per day. Maverick had often called Desmond a cyborg. Desmond suspected that if one of them was part robot, it was Callum.

  For some time now, Desmond had felt like the place was too big for him. The playroom had been Callum's; it barely saw any use now, as Desmond rarely fucked at home. Most of his lovers belonged to The Tower; he took them there. Occasionally, he made house calls when it was worth it. Recently, it had mainly been with Tori and Bryant Parker, a newlywed couple with a penchant for exhibitionism, voyeurism, and swinging. Back when Tori had had little experience in their circle, she hadn’t felt comfortable playing with strangers at The Tower, but she had loved a third party in the bedroom. Desmond had been happy to oblige. She was more outgoing now, but he still met up with the couple from time to time.

  Some days. Other times, joining them was daunting. Their townhouse was as large as his place, and yet it didn't feel empty. They filled it with noise, laughter, sex, and love. Desmond hated them a little for that.

  He wasn't opposed to finding a partner, contrary to what his brothers assumed. The problem was finding a partner who interested him for more than a night—and that didn't happen often—and then there were the harder things. He wouldn't even attempt to enter a relationship unless his lover could accept him for what he was. No one really wanted to play his games, not seriously, for the rest of their lives. Most men and women didn't mind playing in their youth, when they were single. Then, they tried to settle once they were paired up. Stop fucking around, so to speak. Exclusivity was expected.

  Whenever he'd attempted a relationship in the past, his partner, male or female, had progressively become possessive, and started to lose interest in the sorts of things that Desmond loved. He was thirty-six now. He knew what he was; he accepted it. Fucking a man or a woman was fun, no matter what, but what truly touched his soul was sharing the partners he cared about.

  Bryant was so fucking lucky to have found a woman who loved it as much as he did.

  That was why he wouldn't approach Ryn, ever. Making a move on her now would have been idiotic regardless of the circumstances, but he knew for a fact that he could never have her, regardless of how much he wanted her. The things he liked would repulse her; worse yet, it might actually hurt her broken soul. She'd been given, sold, against her wishes. Better to put her out of his mind now. Better to ignore that his cold house felt lived in, comfortable, with her here.

  They were chatting about her college days when the concierge called.

  "A Mr. Knightley for you, sir."

  "Thank you, Paul. Let him in, please." He turned to Ryn. "Nate is on his way."

  Three hours later, he was pissed, confused, and conflicted. They’d come to a solution, decided on a very effective way of putting Clarke away for good. But he hated it. Hated it.

  It involved letting Ryn return to him, putting her at the mercy of that monster.

  “I’ll do it,” she’d said, and it wasn’t his place to tell her not to, however much he wanted to.

  Knightley left, but he invited Ryn to stay until Monday morning. To his relief, she accepted. Good. She wasn’t returning to Clarke, and she sure as fuck wasn’t returning to her shitty place in the slums. Ever, if he could help it.

  He headed out of the house. He’d had to. If he’d remained with her, he might have done something stupid, like touch her. Kiss her hair. Her cheeks. Her plump lips. Told her to stay. Told her he’d protect her.

  So, he’d invented an engagement and gotten the hell out until nighttime.

  * * *

  Desmond found himself calling the
only person he could talk to right now. “Callum?”

  “Brother.”

  Callum was the one man who listened without judging, lecturing, or preaching.

  “I’m so fucking screwed up, man. I want that woman. That poor fucking woman.”

  On the other side of the line, Callum remained silent for a moment, before asking, “What are we talking about here? Lust, infatuation, or something else?”

  “I dreamed of her last night. I feel like she’s mine to protect. Mine to touch. After everything that happened to her, I can’t do this. I can’t feel like this. I sure as fuck can’t act on it.”

  “Mm,” Callum mused.

  “Don’t. Don’t tell me I could right now. She’s been through too much.”

  “She has. Sounds like she might need some protecting. Potentially touching, too.”

  “Callum!”

  Shit, he should have called Maverick. Their younger brother had some common sense and humanity at least.

  “I’m just saying, brother, that the lady may be interested. Now, if she isn’t, get your head out of your ass. If she is, wouldn’t it be a shame to let go of the very first person who made you feel?”

  Desmond was breathing deep and slow. “I can’t. I’m not what she needs.”

  “What does she need, then?”

  Desmond thought it through while watching New Yorkers pass him by in the street.

  “A job. Outside of K.C.’s office. She won’t want to stay there. A place to live. Friends, a life. Normalcy.”

  “All right. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I canned Theresa after she got her hand down my pants. I’ll take her in. Hopefully, she won’t suck. If you’re serious about wanting to give her…normalcy.” He said the word with some disgust. “Then you stay away while she gets it.”

  Desmond nodded, although his brother couldn’t see it.

  “But, Des? This is a temporary solution. I’m only indulging this for one reason. You need perspective.”

  Desmond didn’t have to ask what it was.

  “When the timing ceases to be a concern, you’ll have to make a decision.”

  “Thank you.”

  “No thanks necessary. You’re my brother. End of story.”

  Callum hung up, and Desmond breathed a little easier. His brother was giving him what he needed right now: time to sort out what was happening in his head. Time to get back under control. Time to forget Ryn Woodrow.

  22

  Maneuvers

  Now

  There was something seriously wrong with him. There had been since the previous day. He’d started to feel wrong, out of sorts, from the moment Ryn had walked out on him after refusing to go to the gala with him and then paying for his fucking beer. But he'd thought that a night of leisure at The Tower would have sorted him out.

  Ryn liked what she saw when she watched him. He'd refused to even wonder whether she was attracted to him at first. Now, it was just obvious. The furtive glances. The way she bit her lips when she didn't know he was watching. Crossed her legs and blushed. She wanted him, and she was fighting it because she knew who he was. What he was. He was all raw desire, baser needs. She needed softness and safety. She knew it, he knew it. But Ryn's defiance still got to him. Watching her purposefully push him like that made him want to tell her to get on his lap. Pull her skirt up, and spank her bouncy ass, hard, caressing it in between each stroke. Slide his fingers along the slit of her pussy.

  He was just frustrated because he hadn't had sex for a while, that was all. It had to be.

  Tonight should have fixed that.

  The couple in front of him were doing their very best to get him interested in their playtime. The dark-skinned woman spread out on the black silk sheets of one of The Tower's guest rooms played with her tits with one of her hands and had her other one extended toward him, touching his crotch. Her boyfriend was kissing Desmond's neck, one of his hands fingering the woman, the other touching the front of Desmond’s pants, palming his dick.

  Desmond should have been into it. He should be hard right now. He should want to bury his head between the woman's legs or wrap his lips around the man's cock. They were just his type, not too young or too thin; she was in her forties, perhaps, and him, at least thirty. She still had some pubic hair, too, well-trimmed, but at least she wasn't bare like a doll—a plus. Fuck. Why wasn't he into it?

  Something was missing. Someone.

  His eyes closed and a woman flashed in his mind. A woman with ample breasts and wild hair. Lips made to suck, a long elegant neck, an ass he wanted to worship. His somnolent member twitched in his pants at the thought of Ryn, naked and spread out for him like the woman whose name he didn't remember. Waiting with her legs wide open, for his cock and someone else's. They'd work over her lithe body with their tongues, hands, crop, flogger, until she begged to be filled.

  Fuck.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

  His attraction to Ryn was supposed to have been a passing fancy. He was supposed to have grown out of it by now. Callum had given him time to get his shit together; instead, it had only gotten worse.

  The woman smirked knowingly, finding his dick pulsing against his zipper, and attempted to open his trousers.

  Desmond took one step back from the bed, running his hand through his hair.

  "Sorry, guys. It looks like it's not going to work out today."

  That wasn't how tonight was supposed to go. What the fucking hell was wrong with him, dammit!

  "What?" the woman asked, confused.

  "I'm...not in the mood."

  "You felt like you were in the mood."

  Yes. Just not while thinking about her, or her boyfriend, for that matter.

  Well, that certainly was a problem.

  "Tell you what, I'll send Callum up, shall I?"

  Her eyes widened, and she exchanged a glance with her partner. Fucking him wasn't unheard of. He'd played with some regular members with swinging tendencies. Callum was a lot pickier. He showed off bondage techniques with volunteers on a regular basis, and he also made use of the facilities to fuck his way through the influential business partners he wanted to screw in and out of the boardroom, but a couple of nobodies like them would never have been on the radar of the kinkiest of the Kings.

  Desmond's thing was control, power exchange. Callum didn't give a shit about control. He wanted pain. He got harder when he pushed limits. And every one he'd ever fucked swore he was the best screw they’d ever had.

  Desmond tried not to take it to heart.

  Apparently, the couple had heard the talk about his brother, because they didn't protest at the thought of exchanging playmates.

  "Oh. All right. Yeah, sure."

  He made his exit and went downstairs, his dick still pushing against his zipper. Now that he'd imagined Ryn naked and at his mercy, he just couldn't get the thought out of his head.

  It fucking sucked because she was literally the one woman he knew he couldn't have. She was vulnerable as hell, and she'd been abused mentally and physically for years. Ryn needed love, not dirty, mindless sex. The fact that her abuser had been her boss made his position even more untenable. She most certainly didn't need one of the three majority shareholders sniffing her skirts.

  He was repeating the many reasons why he couldn't, wouldn't touch the woman when he got to his brother's concealed office.

  Callum lifted his head from his pile of work and frowned, surprised.

  "Did we double book?"

  It was rare that they were in the building at the same time.

  "No, I was here for fun." He cleared his throat. "It didn't exactly go as planned, however. I have one pissed off horny couple upstairs who expected to fuck a King. I wondered if you'd mind obliging? I'll do your admin for you."

  "Attractive?"

  Desmond rolled his eyes. "I chose them."

  "And yet, you're trying to pawn them off on me. What's wrong with them?"

  Desmond shrugged. "Nothing. Just didn't feel
like it."

  Callum considered his answer. If it had been Maverick, a volley of questions might have followed, but his brother got to his feet instead. "Well, you don't have to ask me twice. Man, it's been a long month. I'm looking over the profit and loss accounts of the foreign Towers. Maverick wants a report, but his head is so far up his fiancé's ass, he doesn't have the time to do it himself."

  Desmond smiled indulgently. Alexia Taunton was good for their brother. She'd settled him, tamed some of his wanderlust, chased his demons, and made NYC feel like his home again. He'd be glad to call her sister. It certainly didn't hurt that the woman was hot as sin, and had exhibitionist tendencies.

  "What room?"

  "7B."

  Callum nodded. “Before I go, there’s something we need to discuss.”

  His brother walked to him, holding a folder. “I’ll be the first to admit, when you pawned Katharina off on me, I thought she was going to be a pain and a liability. She wasn’t. She’s the best assistant I’ve ever had. But she’s hurting, and she’s not getting better while working with me, so I gave her an out.”

  Desmond stopped in his tracks. Callum handed him the folder. He opened it and read the first line.

  Severance package.

  He looked up over the folder, his eyes shooting daggers at his brother.

  “No.”

  Callum shrugged. “Not your call. I need another signature to give that kind of money to an employee, but it can be Maverick’s. I doubt he’ll turn me down. Just sign the damn papers. She deserves it.”

  Desmond was fucking boiling. “Why would you do this? You said you’d give me time.”

  “And I have. It’s been five weeks. But I’m watching this very, very nice girl drown herself in work to avoid sinking, and I want to help her. Whatever it takes.”