by May Sage
He'd known that Ryn was a kindred soul. He hadn't realized that she was exactly like him.
She felt horny, and ashamed of it.
Shit. It was a slippery slope he knew all too well. Eventually, she'd give in, and she'd hate herself for it.
Unless she took control of it.
“Ryn,” he said, wishing he didn't need to go there. “I was traumatized when someone hurt a woman in front of me. Now, I'm a sadist. I enjoy causing pain. Do you know why?”
She shook her head.
“Because I get to rewrite history without making it the stuff of nightmares. I'm in control. More importantly, my partner is in control. I watched Mireille beg her assailants to stop, and they didn't listen. In my games, the moment I hear a ‘stop’, it's over.”
She opened and closed her mouth, before opening it again. “You mean to say, you get off on being in control, because you were helpless in the past.”
“I get off on consent. And by the sound of it, that's probably exactly what you're after, too.”
He was already regretting what he was about to do, what he had to say to her, but this wasn't about him. Ryn was going to spiral just like he had unless she got what she needed, what she'd wordlessly asked for.
It had worked for him. He was pretty certain that it was the way forward for her, too.
"I think you should come back to The Tower, Kathryn."
He hated himself the moment the words crossed his lips. Shit.
Desmond didn't fucking want to know, but he had to help her through this. Almost two decades ago, his father sat him down and asked him to write down everything he wanted to do. Then, he pulled a checklist and made him fill it in, too. Clearly writing down his limits. Putting him in control from day one.
"Why?" she asked. "I don't get how it's supposed to help. Wallace...."
At least, she hadn't completely rejected the idea out of hand.
"Wallace was an abusive asshole. Leaving King Construction was smart, because he was in charge, and everything, every project, might have reminded you of him. The Tower isn't his. It's my domain. You were there as a submissive forced to follow him around. I want you to return as something quite different."
She was still visibly confused. "As what?"
He smiled. One word danced at the edge of his mind, but he wasn't going to say it out loud.
“Whatever you want, Ryn. I suspect you'll enjoy being in charge of your own pleasures.”
She sucked in a breath. “I don't know if I can....” She looked away, and tried again. “Before all this, I was a normal girl. I dated occasionally. I had a strict ‘no sex before the third date’ rule, but as most guys didn't get past the first date, that was basically once in a blue moon. I'm not the kind of person who can just walk in a place like The Tower and ask someone if they fancy a round in the sack. Even if I did, what if it was another Wallace? I can't do this.”
Someone up there hated him. Truly hated him.
“I'll attend with you.”
It was going to fucking kill him, but he would. Of course he would.
“We'll play a fun game. You tell me who you fancy. I'll make the introductions, and ensure they understand that you're under the protection of the Kings. That should do the trick."
And it would also ensure he lived in purgatory for the foreseeable future.
She beamed up at him. "You'd do that?"
There wasn't much he wouldn't do for her, she need only ask.
"Yes. Do you have safe words, Ryn?"
She blinked. "Yeah, I mean you guys made me pick some when I was first admitted to The Tower. Maverick reviewed the application. I can't remember what I chose, though."
He forced himself to appear collected, but his fists tightened at his sides. She couldn't remember her safe words. She hadn't felt like she was able to use them, no doubt. Fuck. Just when he thought he could deal with what had happened to her, she threw another curve ball that sent him right back to square one, feeling murderous.
"Never mind. Choose two. Slow and stop."
She bit her lip. "The Shire and Nazguls?"
He laughed, glad to let his mind wander elsewhere for a moment. "I watched the movies with my father, by the way. I'll concede that you were right. They were quite enjoyable."
She was as surprised as she was delighted. "You really did it?"
Desmond shrugged. "I told you, I'm a man of my word." Then he returned to reality. "Do you have a printer? We need to get you a checklist."
Fifteen minutes later, there was a comprehensive twelve-page checklist on her coffee table. Desmond had modified the options, adding a "done with Wallace" column. Ryn worked through it in silence, a wrinkle between her brows, all the while sipping bourbon.
He'd only asked her to fill in that column for now. It didn't take too long, to his relief. Desmond watched her like a hawk while she filled it in, scrutinizing her expression for the slightest change. If she was losing it, he needed to know.
Finally, she pushed the stack of paper to him.
"There."
He'd thought that reading it would serve to infuriate him further. The rage at any thought associated with her abuser was still there, but there was something else growing more powerful as he read through the file.
She'd checked most impact and percussion activities. Wallace had hit her, a lot. He'd also fucked her.
That was it. No sensation play, no silk blindfolds, no rope or chains.
Wallace wasn't a dominant at all, just an abusive piece of shit. But the good news was that Ryn had no idea what BDSM really was. Which meant that she might grow to enjoy it.
Something shifted in Desmond.
He'd known he'd was attracted to her from the very beginning, and when time and distance hadn't served to lessen her hold on him, he figured that it could turn into something more, if he let it. But he'd ignored it. He needed the games. He needed the lifestyle. Ryn said he got off on control, but it was more than that; it healed something broken, putting ointment on a wound that had never quite closed. So he'd known that he had to stay away from her, because while the games were his salvation, they'd been her nightmare. That would have made them fundamentally incompatible. Oil and water. He knew better than to start something with her under those conditions.
And now, this. This list, only including things he had zero interest in.
They may not be as ill-suited as he'd believed.
May. This was no certainty, and he sure as fuck wasn't going to do anything about it until he knew for sure.
Focus.
“Every single thing on this list is off-limits for now,” he told her. “But eventually, we'll peel every memory of the asshole we won't name again from your memory.” We. Like they were in this together. The word had rolled off his tongue and he wasn’t taking it back. “That means addressing the no list. Someday. In months. In years. When you're seventy-five, if you want. This is on your timeline.”
“How would we address the no list?” she asked, frowning.
That word again. We. Coming from her, this time.
He shrugged. "One step at the time, however it works for you. Maybe you can pick up a cane. Play with it. Tap your arm with it. Hell, hit me."
She chuckled. "Yeah, right. You don't strike me as the kind of guy who'd let a woman hold the whip, so to speak."
He really, really wasn't. But he shrugged.
"If that's what it takes to make you understand you're in control, I'll switch,” Desmond said in jest. “What’s a little role play between friends?”
She laughed again. He didn't.
It was only when the words had come out that he'd understood just how much she meant to him.
Desmond had never switched in his entire existence. He was the Dom, the top, the man in charge. He might just have suggested it as a joke, but she only had to say the word and he’d get on his knees.
Shit.
27
Meddling
She'd entered an alternate universe. Ryn didn
't have any other explanation for the last twenty-four hours. From the moment she'd opened her door and found Desmond on the other side, her world had ceased to make any sense at all.
On Friday morning, Ryn got to work and walked right up to Callum.
“I don't want to transfer to China, or California. I like working for you. New York City is my home. I might not be 100 percent of sound mind right now, but if I'm going to work through my issues, I'll have to do it here. I have friends here.”
New friends. Lillie and Desmond hadn't been part of her life for long, but she refused to question herself. They cared about her, and without their support, pulling herself out of her funk would be a thousand times harder.
“I also have family.” Mostly Bex. Her other sister and her parents didn't quite count; she had no problem with the thought of living far from them. “And as I have a caring, beautiful big sister, I call major bullshit. You pretend you don't care about what's happening between me and Desmond? I don't buy it. You care, and that's why you wanted me out of the city. You were trying to push me away because you think I'm a low-class gold digger, trying to get my claws into him. I'm not. He and I are friends, and that's it. If you want to fire me, go ahead, but I'm not going to let you manipulate me into packing my bags.”
There, she’d said it, without flinching or looking away from him. Callum listened to her with his arms folded on his chest, his expression unchanging, until she was done.
Then he laughed.
“All right. You caught me. I tried to get you out of the city because of your relationship with my brother.”
Callum grabbed a red candy from the little stash he kept on his desk, and removed its wrapper before popping it in his mouth. He took another one and handed it to her. She shook her head, confused because he'd said that without an ounce of hostility.
“No thanks.”
He unwrapped the second candy and ate it, too.
“That said,” he added, “you're wrong about everything else you've said. I don't think you're a gold digger. I don't give a shit about what background you come from, Katharina. And I certainly don't want to fire you. In fact, I had to talk myself into going through with my plan, because you're good at your job and I don't want to shop for another assistant.”
Ryn was pretty lost by now. “Then why—”
“It's not that hard to work out. Des likes you; you like Des. You're shy, and the idiot wasn't going to make a move without a nudge. Now, if an asshole chased you out of town, I wonder what my protective big brother might do....” He trailed off.
Her mouth fell open. “You're not serious.”
Callum shrugged. “You're sure you don't want a candy? They're pretty awesome. Come from a small producer I'm considering buying. They make the best chocolate.”
“Who fucking cares about chocolate? We're talking about you playing with my life because you thought that your brother had an imaginary infatuation! That's not okay. Do you know how sad I was when I thought that you were getting rid of me because I suck at my job?”
Callum seemed astounded. “You, suck at your job?” he repeated. “That doesn't make any sense. Everything else aside, I would have fired you on day one if that was the case.”
“I'm struggling with depression, it doesn't have to make sense!” she yelled.
Callum tilted his head. “And yet, here you are. You came in quite certain that it had been about Desmond.”
She was about to tell him that she'd added two and two when Desmond came to her place the previous evening, but then she realized something. Callum would take that as a victory. He'd say his plan was working out just fine. Never mind the fact that Desmond had offered to take her to The Tower and hook her up with anyone she fancied, like a good wingman. Callum would read whatever he wanted to into it.
“You're a dick.”
“Have been called worse. And let us take a moment to appreciate the fact that I did warn you.”
“Desmond took pity on me, because he's a human being with a heart, and not a manipulative jerk of a cyborg.”
“Still been called worse,” Callum said, smiling smugly.
Ryn glared. She considered resigning on the spot, but something told her that would be a pointless gesture that wouldn't help her in the least. Callum already had a severance package prepared, and he'd probably started looking for her replacement, so the only person who'd suffer from her tantrum would be herself. Which probably explained why he was smiling.
“Come on, Katharina. Let's not fight. We got along beautifully until now. Say you forgive me.”
The boyish pouty grin and pleading eyes were just too much. She laughed. “You're the devil in disguise.”
“What disguise?” Cal retorted. “Come here, I want you to look at some paperwork, proof it before I send it through to the lawyers. Also, I have to cancel my last appointment of the day, I have a personal engagement. Move it where you can.”
The rest of the day was a blur as Cal threw mountains of work her way, as always. At six, on her way back home, she received a simple text from Desmond.
On my way to yours.
She blushed, remembering that she'd agreed to go to The Tower with him tonight. What the hell had she been thinking?
Isn't it a little early?
The Tower was open all day to accommodate for unusual schedules, but Desmond had said they'd go at night.
It is. Just dropping something by, if you're not busy.
She replied she wasn't and rushed up to her apartment, stopping by the concierge to let him know Desmond would drop by. He'd taken her by surprise the previous day, but this time she tidied up, vacuumed, and straightened pillows. It would never be Desmond-worthy, but at least he wouldn't think she was a slob. She'd just finished when her doorbell rang.
Her curiosity had been working overtime. What was he dropping by? Were they going to hang out until it was time to head to The Tower? And above all, a question she couldn't chase from her mind, however she tried: was Callum right? Did Desmond actually like her? Her mind rushed to form a logical reply. Of course not. He was just a busybody and saw things that weren't there. Desmond had made it clear he only cared because he'd seen her hurt and vulnerable. Then he'd told her she needed a fuck, and hadn't volunteered to provide the service. What guy did that? An uninterested one.
But part of her couldn't help whispering a little "maybe."
"Hey," he said, smiling warmly, when she opened the door.
A smile that actually reached his eyes. She wondered how many people got to see it.
"Hey back. What's all this?" she asked, pointing to the white packages in his hands, while stepping aside to let him in.
He walked to the sofa and dropped the four boxes of different sizes.
"This," he replied, “is me being controlling and making assumptions."
She laughed. At least he admitted his faults. "Should I be pissed?"
He winced. "Probably."
He opened the closest box, and pulled out a red and black garment. “Item number one: a corset. I'm told the size can be adjusted. It'll do for tonight, in case you don’t know what to wear.” He folded it neatly before placing it back in the box. Two other boxes were filled with other forms of clothing appropriate for The Tower, things that belonged to the classy end of kinky. Desmond hesitated before opening the last box. “This,” he said, his hand on the lid, “is in case you change your mind and wish to accompany me to the McNamara gala tomorrow. No obligation. I figured you'd want the choice.”
He left it closed.
“I know it's not part of your list, but it's my understanding that Wallace bought you clothing, things you were forced to wear. I figured it might help if the guy accompanying you bought you clothing, and you'd have complete freedom over whether you wish to return them, keep them for another occasion, or just wear them.”
He wanted to give her every choice she'd been denied.
Consent. His kink.
She smiled, stepping forward to open the last b
ox, to find velvet that felt like heaven. She pulled the dress out. A turtleneck sheath with a ruched waist and a thigh slit, floor-length. Forest green, her favorite color.
Ryn put it back in the box.
“It's a good thing whoever you sent on a shopping spree has great taste, Mr. King. I’ll wear it, as long as I can squeeze my ass into it.”
“So you’ll come tomorrow?”
She shrugged. “Shockingly, my social agenda isn’t that busy, and I’m not passing up the chance to rub elbows with Nessie. I mean, I only backed down because Lillie twisted your arm into inviting me.”
“I realize you haven’t known me that long, but do you truly believe I’m one to do anything I don’t want to?”
She didn’t.
Oh god, what if Cal was right? What if he liked her?
Five hours later, she knew better.
28
Four is Company
Desmond had a pleasant evening, watching shows on Netflix and eating takeout with Ryn, ignoring the fact that he was missing a dinner with the mayor and a couple dozen politicians and businessmen. God, he was turning into Callum, choosing his desires and impulses over his duties. And it felt fantastic.
He could have just watched another handful of episodes of the action series Ryn was into until it was time to crash, but around ten, she asked, "Hey, aren't we supposed to go to The Tower?"
He'd almost let himself forget. She was horny. Horny, confused, and frustrated with herself. Shit. Desmond was known for his self-control, but damn if he didn't want to peel her pantyhose off her shapely legs, hold them in the air and give her exactly what she craved himself. But that was dangerous, counterproductive, and selfish.
“Sure. When you're ready, there's no rush.”
“I'll go get dressed.”
Ten minutes later, she'd shed the business casual, replacing it with a leather skirt and a silk corset. Her flaming, crazy hair exploded out of a high ponytail. She'd applied more makeup than she usually did, painting her lips dark red. She was beautiful and hot whatever she wore, but he wasn't used to seeing her embrace sensuality like that. The smoky eyes were also new. This was her, not Wallace's doll. And she was sexy as fuck, despite, or perhaps because of, the blue paint under her nails. He considered telling her about it, but decided not to.