by May Sage
"You look spectacular," he told her, and she beamed.
"Really? It doesn't look silly on me?"
She probably was questioning herself because she hadn't gone for the demure, subservient appearance of a bottom. Ryn looked like a mistress, not a sub. Come to think of it, she often acted like one, too. Dozens of times, she'd looked away, or down at her feet when he'd talked to her, but just as often, she met his gaze and told him exactly what she thought of him. Not just challenging him; she called him out on his shit like it was her place to judge him for it.
Shit. He'd only joked about it, but Ryn was dominant. A switch, perhaps. He couldn't wait to see her bloom at The Tower. To watch her turn into who she was meant to be.
Desmond got up from her couch. It took a herculean effort to prevent himself from pulling her to him and kissing those lips, claiming her. Instead, he walked past her, heading for the back of the chair where he'd left his white suit jacket.
"All right. Let's go, then," she said, putting her beige trench coat over her clothes.
Fifteen minutes later, they were in the TriBeCa high-rise.
Desmond didn't often join the crowd in the communal rooms, so his appearance would have been noticed regardless, but when he walked into the penthouse with Ryn, all eyes were on them.
Ryn chuckled nervously. "Do I have something on my face?"
"No, just a King on your arm," he replied.
He'd invited her to take his arm before walking in, to show his support. Perhaps not the wisest course of action, but at least it got his point across: messing with her meant having to deal with him.
Of course, their presence on this floor made it clear that they were welcoming advances. The penthouse was an open playroom. They had a DJ playing trance, low sensual beats, and in the middle of the room, some club members were dancing. Swaying together, touching each other in the open. One man's hands cupped a naked woman's waist as he rubbed his dick along her ass. Her own hands were curving deep inside the pussy of a woman who was kissing her. Couples, threesomes, foursomes, and gangs went at it on the furniture along the walls and alcoves. Others were just observing, getting off from voyeurism. The penthouse was one of the most libertine rooms in The Tower. A good place to find a casual partner. The only floor more decadent than this one was the roof. They didn't always open it, but everyone knew that stepping on the roof meant being willing to play with everyone all at once.
Not Desmond's scene, but The Tower had to cater to all tastes. Besides, Callum liked it up there.
The atmosphere got to him. The scent of sex, the moans over the music, watching people fuck right there never failed to harden his dick.
"Wow."
"Is it your first time up here?" he asked, gesturing to a server in a black uniform. Thierry, if he wasn't mistaken. Desmond didn't attempt to remember the name of every employee; he only cared about those who wore a tower pin on their chest. This guy was one of Callum's. "One beer, and whatever the lady wants."
“A cocktail, please. Something with, like, loads of alcohol.”
Thierry—or whatever his name was—winked at Ryn. "You got it."
She turned to him. "Yes. Wallace only took me to the bar and the meeting room on the fifth floor."
No doubt. He'd only attended The Tower to be seen by those who mattered. Desmond smiled to Ryn.
“Everything here is consensual, and we have bodyguards to ensure that no means no,” he said, pointing to discrete figures in gray standing against the walls, observing the scene indifferently. "So people will ask before touching you. And they'll stop when you ask them to. It's impossible to know everyone's safe word, so no, or stop, mean just that."
She bobbed her head. "Okay. So, what now?"
"Now," Desmond replied, "let's dance, until you feel like playing."
Desmond danced on a regular basis at galas, benefits, and in clubs when he entertained younger business partners, yet the moment she moved against him, her curves touching him, he froze. His dick twitched, pushing harder against his zipper, begging to get free. Slowly, he forced himself to move with the music. Ryn obviously enjoyed dancing. None of her movements were purposefully seductive, but she did move against him. Torture. She turned, her ridiculously plump ass rubbing over him, and his mind went blank. Fuck, he wasn't ready for this.
He held his hand up, gesturing to the server for another round of drinks. He was going to need to be a lot more buzzed to survive the night.
"I'll have scotch this time, please, Thierry," he said when the same waiter approached.
The man smiled, so he must have remembered the name correctly.
"Same for me, Thierry," Ryn added. "Great choice on the cocktail. What was it?"
She had to shout over the music.
"A French Martini, ma'am. The bartender was making one for the lady over there, so he had everything at hand."
Desmond's attention snapped in the direction Thierry waved toward. He knew one woman who drank the rose-pink cocktails like they were fruit juice. His eyes had grown accustomed to the dim lighting; it took a minute, as there were at least a couple hundred people in the penthouse, but he found her. Black hair, high heels with red soles, purple lipstick.
Tori Parker was there with her husband, Bryant. He smiled when he caught her eyes, and she winked at him.
Bryant was an exhibitionist; always had been. Tori certainly liked to put on a show, but it had taken her a while to get used to being watched. She'd taken to the penthouse like a fish to water, though. Like Ryn and him, the Parkers were dancing—only Tori wore nothing but decadent lingerie.
"Someone you know?" Ryn asked.
He laughed. "Not that well, actually, but I like the Parkers. Bryant was a British corporate lawyer. He and his wife took over his brother's advertising firm. We've worked with them a time or two."
Ryn lifted a brow. "That wasn't a professional hello."
"Ah, well, I may have joined their bedroom a time or two."
Make that a dozen times, but who was counting?
"I see." Ryn bit her lip.
Desmond smiled. She felt a little lost and very shy right now. Talking with Tori could help with both issues.
“Do you want to say hello? They’re good people.”
Ryn looked like the prospect of jumping out of a plane without a parachute might seem like less of a challenge to her.
“Or not. We don’t have to.”
"No, we should. If you want to speak to your friends, who am I to stop you? I just feel a little weird, here, and with this top, and this skirt…I’ve had it for five years, you know, and I never wore it. My sister bought it for my birthday."
Desmond laughed at her rambling. Her shyness was adorable. Didn't she see she was so fucking beautiful most men and women would do just about anything to get her attention?
“We’ll say hi. And if you feel uncomfortable, you just have to pull my sleeve; I’ll make an excuse. Deal?”
She nodded. “Okay, yeah. I can do that.
Desmond smiled and put a hand on her back, leading the way. God, he was relieved to end that infernal dance.
When they arrived in front of the couple, he ought to have dropped his hand, but he found that he didn't care to. Touching the small of her back felt...nice. The gesture seemed a little too possessive for his taste, but he just didn't want to let go.
"Vicky, Bryant."
"Hey, handsome," said Tori, going up on her tiptoes to reach his face.
She dropped a kiss on his cheek. Her satin-clad breasts touched his torso. Once upon a time, it would have been enough to make him want to bite her lips. Tori was just his type. A mixture of confidence and submission. Beauty and grace. But he felt nothing at all.
"Who's this beauty?" the woman asked, smiling at Ryn.
"Kathryn, meet Victoria Parker. She goes by Vicky during scenes, Tori the rest of the time."
Ryn extended her hand to shake Tori's and smiled.
"And her husband, Bryant."
"Hello, lu
v," the man said, making Ryn gasp.
The British accent always made an impression on the ladies.
"Ryn is new to the scene."
"Oh my God, I remember those days. Overwhelmed yet?" Tori asked her.
Ryn chuckled. "Maybe a little. So, you guys are married?"
Tori was quick to show off her set of rings. "For a couple of years now. Let me guess, you're wondering how the kinky thing works."
Ryn shook her head. "Oh, no, I didn't mean to imply—"
"Don't tease the poor girl, Vicky. She has genuine concerns." Bryant smiled down at Ryn. "It works very well. Victoria and I are romantically monogamous. There's no one who gets in the middle of our relationship in an emotional sense of the term. That said, we do enjoy an audience, as well as the occasional third participant, as Desmond told you, no doubt."
“And you don’t get jealous?” she asked, looking directly at Tori, who snorted.
“Hell, no. Bryant has never given me any reason to feel insecure in this relationship. The first few times we shared our bed with someone, it was a guy. When we brought a woman in, I chose her. And I know for a fact that my husband has never so much as thought about fucking someone behind my back. If he feels like it, he does it with me.”
Ryn smiled. “A whole new world.”
“A new fantastic point of view,” Bryant added.
Somehow, it made the girls giggle.
“I missed something,” Desmond stated.
No doubt a pop culture reference.
“Aladdin lyrics,” Bryant told him. “You might be a little too old to remember that.”
Desmond flipped his friend the bird. The guy was only about five years younger than him.
“I have younger cousins,” he said, shrugging. “I’ve seen most of the Disney movies. I just happen to dislike that particular one.”
Given the others’ expressions, he might have confessed to murdering fluffy kittens.
“What’s wrong with you, man?” Bryant demanded to know.
Ryn added, “He hadn’t watched Lord of the Rings until recently.”
That was another serious offense, worthy of gasps and indignation.
“In my defense, I’ve seen it now and I did enjoy it. Hey, we can’t hear each other without shouting. Would you like to head down to the bar?” he asked before remembering.
They weren’t here on a simple social outing; they were here so that Ryn found someone to fuck.
She was the first to agree, enthusiastic. “Sounds great.”
“Sure. I’d better put some actual clothes on, I guess,” said Tori, heading to one of the tables set against a wall, where she’d left a silk slip dress along with her clutch. No one thought to worry about petty theft at The Tower. Bryant followed like a proximity device was preventing him from staying too far from his wife.
Desmond took the opportunity to turn to Ryn.
“My apologies. I forgot what we were here for. Do you want to stay?”
They’d yelled to hear each other when they’d been talking to the Parkers, but now Desmond stood closer to Ryn and talked closed to her ear, inhaling her enticing scent.
She shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. I like your friends. They’re easy to talk to. And honestly, I don’t think I feel comfortable enough to approach a stranger. Not today. Probably not tomorrow, either.”
He sighed. “I thought The Tower would help.”
“It is helping,” she replied, smiling to let him know she meant it. “This place? Talking to Bryant and Tori? That makes me feel normal. Maybe not ‘normal’ normal, you know. Just…not alone. Thank you, Desmond.”
She didn’t say his name often. Shame. He loved hearing it from her lips.
“You’re very welcome, Kathryn.”
29
Perspective
As they walked from the penthouse to the bar, Ryn wondered how long Desmond had been in love with Tori Parker.
She'd never seen him quite so relaxed or attentive. That he admired her was obvious. Bryant didn't seem to mind, probably because his wife only had eyes for him. He knew there was no competition, no reason to be insecure, like Tori had explained. Ryn almost felt sorry for Desmond.
They ordered more drinks at the bar and sat down in a booth. The three others chatted easily about business and travel, two subjects Ryn didn't feel comfortable weighing on in—not with this crowd.
Tori noticed.
"We're boring Kathryn, guys."
Desmond turned to her, trying to read her eyes. He was, no doubt, watching for any sign that she didn't want to be there, that she wanted to return to the orgy or go home. She smiled reassuringly.
“You’re not boring me. Hearing how the rest of the world lives is fascinating.”
“We aren’t all that different. Have you travelled much, Ryn?” he asked, attempting to pull her into their conversation.
She shook her head. “A little, for business. And I went to Europe once, in high school.” Back when her family had the money to send her to cool stuff. “But it was a long time ago, and as a kid, I didn't really pay attention to architecture or anything interesting. Plus, I couldn't have wine. Although I remember French cheese and Italian gelato.”
“A woman after my own tastes,” Bryant said, with a grin that displayed his dimples. The man truly was charming. “There isn't much else to say about France or Italy, really. England, on the other hand….”
Tori rolled her eyes. “Don't let him engage you in a conversation about the superiority of the United Kingdom. He's such a bore when he gets all patriotic.”
He shrugged unapologetically. “What can I say? Not my fault I was raised in the most beautiful city on Earth. You should visit London, Ryn. If you ever feel like going, let me know and I'll make sure some friends show you around.”
She smiled. It was the sort of nonsense people said to be polite, but she could tell if she ever asked him to make good on his word, he would. Bryant was so very friendly.
“Now, you’ve gotta tell me,” Tori said, looking at Desmond. “Word on the street is you own an island in the Caribbean. Are we talking figuratively, like maybe you have a lot of land there, or do you actually own a freaking island?”
Desmond laughed, sitting back in the leather bench of the booth. “What do you think?”
“That I can't believe how much money you throw away to live up to your name, King.”
He shrugged. “It's tax-efficient. I occasionally rent it as a honeymoon destination, so it's considered a business write-off.”
Tori braced her forehead in her palm and shook her head in a gesture of exasperation while Ryn laughed. Of course he owned a fucking island.
“Wait, why didn't you offer it up to us? I want another honeymoon!” Bryant exclaimed.
“No. Just no. We're not wasting the yearly income of a small country to rent his kingdom.”
“You're welcome to go anytime,” said Desmond. “Free of charge. There's a housekeeper and some staff, but I don't like when the main house stays empty for too long.”
“Can I squeeze into your suitcase?” Ryn asked. “I’ve never been to the Caribbean.”
Desmond shrugged. “I’ll take you after tomorrow's gala if you want. It's close enough for a quick trip if we take the jet.”
She just laughed. “You are seriously out of touch with reality, Desmond.”
“My reality differs from yours; that doesn't make it any less concrete, Ryn,” he challenged.
She rolled her eyes. “Says the man who mentioned a jet, a gala, and a private island in the same sentence.”
“Says the woman who's attending the gala, and who has yet to refuse the use of the jet or the private island, for that matter.”
She thought about contesting that, but as it might have resulted in her missing out on a trip to the damn island, she just pouted.
Desmond was unbearably smug about it. “That’s what I thought.”
Tori laughed. “You guys are so cute together. Seriously, Bryant and I we
re talking about it just a month ago: what sort of a woman, or man, could capture the interest of Desmond King? Bryant said he'd end up with a top model. I banked on an artist.”
Ryn blushed. They were assuming that she and Desmond were together.
To her surprise, Desmond said nothing other than, “Ryn paints. Abstracts, from what I've seen.”
“Oh! I love art. Do you have some stuff online?”
She shook her head. “No, not yet. I only started again recently.”
“Her technique is excellent,” Desmond stated.
She shook her head. “You've just seen a half-finished draft the other day.”
“That, and the piece Callum had on his desk. I stole it, by the way,” he informed her, casually.
Ryn gasped. “You can't do that!”
“I have. I'd be glad to pay you for it, and to take pictures if you want to show it off, but you're not getting it back. It would look perfect on my wall.”
She rolled her eyes. “What, you'd mess with your white, white, and more-white theme?”
“As soon as I can get it framed.”
He was joking, right?
“Look, I'll paint you something nice if you want. That was just me playing with colors.”
“And I'm keeping it,” he said firmly, all the while handing his phone to Tori. “I took a picture.”
The woman stared at the screen for a good minute, and her husband peeked over her shoulder to see it, too. Ryn twirled a curl around her finger self-consciously for a while, then she reached out for the phone, snatching it out of the beautiful brunette's hands.
"All right, that's enough." She handed it back to Desmond, glaring at him. "And you will ask before sharing my stuff in the future."
He challenged her unflinching gaze with one of his own.
"Go easy on the man," Bryant told her. "If Tori was so talented, I'd certainly show her stuff off, too."