by May Sage
"Camilla's waving from the house," Desmond told her. "I think dinner's ready."
He got to his feet, beating the sand from his white swimming shorts. She took a moment to appreciate the view. She'd often wondered how he was always tanned; now she knew. Owning a tropical island had more than one perk. Damn, he was seriously hot shirtless, with all those muscles on display. He wore Ray-Bans and flip-flops. This man seemed miles away from the Desmond King she'd met three years ago. A little more human. A little less unattainable. And all hers.
For now.
"Come on up, beautiful. Trust me, we don't want to make Camilla wait. She hates when the food gets cold."
She chuckled while getting up. "You're frightened of your housekeeper?"
"Terrified," he stated with a shrug. "If she's unhappy, she stops cooking. Then her husband does it, and life isn't worth living."
Ryn wished she could record this very moment and hang it up in a corner of her mind, to pull out whenever she felt a little sad in the future. The sea breeze, the smells, and him.
Ten minutes later, she understood why Camilla's threat to stop cooking was so serious.
"Oh my God, you're a goddess."
The housekeeper and groundskeeper ate at their table. Another thing she liked about Desmond: whenever she’d seen him interact with any employee, he’d been nothing short of courteous.
"I like her. She can come back," Camilla told Desmond.
"Glad you approve. We'll come back when the weather is kind."
The woman's eyes went from her to Desmond, and back again. "Is this a thing? A real thing?"
She blushed and redirected her eyes to her plate.
"Yes, Camilla. You'll be seeing Ryn regularly."
Every part of her lit up, hearing him say that. She lifted her gaze back up, somewhat proudly. As for Camilla, she gushed and cooed in her native Spanish, too fast for Ryn to follow.
"Years we’ve waited for him to bring someone home to us. Years. Sometimes there's a party, and sometimes there's even a date, but always he told us ‘just fun’.” Men these days! You need a good woman, we told him. And now here we are."
"Hush, Cam, for heaven's sake. You're embarrassing Ryn. Besides, we literally just started dating. Don't scare her away."
"None of that. You said it was serious. Regularly, you said. I know you King boys. I knew your father when I worked up in Long Island, and I've seen little Erik with his lovely Lexi. You see your lady, and you hang on to her. It's casual or it's real with you."
Desmond sighed. "And that's exactly how one scares a woman away."
Ryn shook her head. "Not going anywhere."
"See? They'll be engaged before Christmas," Camilla stated.
Her husband shook his head.
"No. This is Desmond. Thanksgiving, latest."
"Fifty bucks on Christmas."
"You're on."
Desmond rolled his eyes. "I apologize on behalf of my staff."
Neither of them won that bet.
One night, just about a week after the island, Desmond had to tell Ryn, "Your sister came by today."
She had insisted that Natalie looked exactly like her. Desmond snorted dismissively at that notion. The girl looked older, for one—drug abuse always left traces. She was also thinner, in an unhealthy way, and her breasts had been enhanced to an extent that made them looked like blown-up balloons strapped under her shirt.
Ryn sucked in a breath.
“She was very upset. Wallace offered money for screwing with you a little while back, but he's backtracked now. Nat said she knew you were with me, and she threatened to release her video if I didn't pay her off.”
Ryn sat down, pale and frightened.
"I told her to go ahead. Explained Callum wouldn’t fire you. I wouldn’t break up with you. Your bodyguards wouldn’t stop trailing you. And our PR firm would work tirelessly until we've exposed her for the backstabbing, useless piece of shit that she is. It wouldn’t have been hard to prove it was her and not you, Kathryn. Not with our resources." He tilted his head. "Not that we'll need to. She broke down, cried, said I didn't understand how hard it was to need a drug, and blah, blah. I've booked her into a celebrity clinic for rehab. It'll take a while, but who knows? Either way, I played bad cop, then good cop. Good cop won."
Now that particular problem was off her shoulders, he also had to disclose something else. "As for Wallace, I had...acquaintances take care of the issue. He won't be a problem again."
Dmitri had called to tell him a few details about their “chat”. Desmond had laughed a little harder than one ought, perhaps.
Ryn had a million questions, and he answered them as best he could.
"My cousin Dmitri has his ways. He's done a few contracts for the FBI, for one. A lot of people owe him favors. He called one in, and got access to Wallace for a little while. Let's just say, the man isn't about to do anything that might warrant a second visit. He's alive and in one piece, but let me tell you, he's regretting his life choices right now."
He saw a shadow leave her eyes. Until it disappeared, he'd never known it was there, but it was as if someone flipped a switch.
"He's really done with me?"
"Really, Ryn. You don't have to think of him ever again."
Her arms circled his neck, and she kissed him all over his face, half laughing, half crying, holding on to him like she might drown if she let go. Again. Damn, didn't she know how that shit affected him?
Desmond bought her ring the next day. Before that Christmas, and before that Thanksgiving, too. He knew better than to make use of it immediately, however.
Ryn was learning to keep her head high, learning to be proud of her art, learning to walk in the sun without looking over her shoulder. He was the crutch she used at each step. He was there to tell her she was safe, demand she look up, scream on rooftops that she was so fucking talented. She needed him. That didn't mean that she loved him. He knew the difference.
Desmond realized she was it when he woke up one day, just like his father said he would. She was there in his arms, his cat curled up on her side, her wild hair all over her pillow and his, and a sudden wave of panic hit him at the thought that tomorrow, or the day after, or the day after that, she might be gone. He wanted to cling to her and keep her there for the rest of time. But he was patient.
In November, Ryn started to decorate his apartment. Slowly. It was just a blue cushion thrown on his white sofa at first, and when he didn't protest, there were new curtains, dark gray and silver. Then came the armchairs—vibrant blue and incredibly comfortable. A large rug followed. Next thing he knew, his apartment had become a home. Theirs. That month, she asked if he wanted to visit Bex with her.
"My pleasure."
Bex was a lot of fun, positive and lively despite the shitty cards life had dealt her. She was a fighter.
Desmond would have loved to take on the payments for her care. He didn't ask, knowing how unwelcome that proposition would be.
He took her to see Damian that weekend, and most of the weekends that followed.
Callum was still overworking her, and she spent countless hours locked away in the purple room she'd claimed downstairs. The bed had been removed to leave space for her art supplies and her easel.
In July, she'd painted three pieces she was genuinely happy with. Happy enough to let Nessie talk to a few galleries about her. She got a call back the next day.
Ryn was on cloud nine, dancing around and singing out of tune.
Desmond had kept the ring in the inner pocket of his jacket every day for months, and now it was burning a hole in the fabric, making itself known.
She didn’t need him, not anymore. Now if she stayed, it was because she truly wanted to.
"You know, I always find it confusing when artists change their names. I was following an author, who went from Thomas to Jefferson, or something. She got married, and decided to update her pen name. Took me months to find the latest book."
Ryn replied, "Mo
st authors just keep their given names to avoid confusing their readers because of that. Or they choose pens, I guess. But that's rather random."
"Is it?" he asked, tilting his head.
She lifted her eyes to him, and he laughed as he saw her eyes bulge in her pretty face when he got to his knee and pulled the ring out.
"Kathryn Woodrow. You bumped into my life and walked right into my heart like you owned the place. Might as well make it official."
She hid her mouth behind her hands and screamed, before chuckling out loud. "That's the lamest proposal in the history of proposals."
"And that's not an answer."
"I didn't hear a question."
Damn sassy woman. "Will you marry me, Ryn?"
She said yes, thankfully, because he was fairly certain he couldn’t live without her.
* * *
The End
* * *
In the great tradition of the Kings of the Tower series, don’t read the next bit if you have issues against multiple partner play. ;)
Bonus Chapter
Kathryn sat up and held her eyes up, keeping her expression unreadable.
"Crawl to me."
Tori Parker obeyed, slowly advancing on the bed, before starting to kiss up her naked body, breasts, shoulder, neck, and lips. She loved it. So did Tori. Both of their husbands certainly loved watching them play together. It was never long until they joined them. Desmond was the first to break this time, stepping in and running his hand over Ryn's back before pulling Tori's ponytail until she dropped to all fours, and wrapped her mouth around his hard cock. Bryant came from behind Ryn, rubbing his pierced cock along her pussy, and pinching at her clit. They were a blur of sensation, pleasure, moans, and screams for hours and hours.
Ryn's favorite part was always watching Desmond suck Bryant's cock. There was something so very erotic about her husband's mouth around a shaft.
She'd been married to Desmond for two years now, and in all that time, they'd played with the Parkers perhaps ten times.
This was their last game for a while. Two reasons: firstly, because Tori and Bryant wanted to try to get pregnant soon. Secondly, because Charles Grant had just been elected president, and Desmond was his vice president. A mind-fuck.
Ryn, Desmond, and their little boy were heading out to DC, a new city that they'd call home for the next four to eight years.
Ryn had taken the occasion to officially resign from her job as Callum's assistant. It had been a long time coming. Her art had been her bread and butter for the last year; her time at the office was just getting in the way of it, as Desmond had pointed out many a time. Callum pouted about losing the best assistant he had ever had, but of course the man was happy for her.
Bex, who'd been in complete remission for six months, was going to work for him part-time until he found someone else. He'd promised to be patient and to ensure that she remained stress-free. It was just a temporary thing to get a recent item on her resume, and to ensure someone served him his required caffeine intake every few hours.
They kissed the Parkers goodbye and spent the rest of the night in each other’s arms.
Years of power games before they returned home.
They could do it. They could do anything, as long as they were together.
* * *
The End.
* * *
Next in the series:
Hes has one rule: no matter how gorgeous they are, she doesn’t get involved with any friend, or business partner of the Kings.
They’re nothing but trouble, and she won’t jeopardize her career for a man.
The rule serves her well, until Edmund Ashworth, the royal pain in the neck of a British lord who seem to think he owns NYC.
* * *
Edmund wants a piece of Kings property, a place at The Tower, and a night with Hester Hall. He can have the two first for a price, but Hes is determined to ignore their volatile attraction.
It should just have been harmless fun, an entertaining challenge, nothing more. But when he peeks under the surface, Edmund gets a glimpse of what he stands to lose, should he mess it up.
Deleted Scene
After Desmond gives Hester a weekend off
Hester wasn’t one to put her nose where it didn't belong, hence why after half a decade, she was still employed by Desmond King, the most controlling, demanding, and robotic man she knew.
Desmond didn't tolerate failure. He didn't accept excuses. But above all, what he hated was disloyalty. If he ever had a reason to think that she wasn't on his team, she'd be gone, just like that.
Hes had never worried about that because she was 100 percent his. He'd pulled her out of a shitty job, with shitty pay and a shitty boss. Desmond had watched Eugene Fitzpatrick put his hand on her ass, and said, right in front of him, "I'm not interested in working with assholes. Sorry." Then he'd looked at her. "There're openings on our admin team if you want to apply. We won't look at his reference."
And she'd applied. A year later, he plucked her out of secretarial to work directly under him when he'd needed an extra set of hands, and she'd done her very best to help him. It was the only way she knew how to express her thanks for what he'd done when he'd told her about the job.
"I never wanted an assistant—secretaries can sort out the admin, and I like to control the rest myself. But you've made my life easier this week," Desmond had told her. "Let's try and see how we fit."
And they did fit. The following month she got a permanent contract with a heady salary, as well as a shiny little pin.
"You don't have to wear it," he'd said. "This is what I give to members of my team."
She'd seen Sebastian, Maverick's personal assistant, with the pin of a chess piece—a knight—and Callum's had a king. Desmond had given her a tower. She didn't quite know what it meant, but she pinned it on her scarf or her jacket every day.
It was years before Hester had met anyone else with a tower pin. A stunning brunette with spades of charisma. Hester didn't have many friends, but she'd immediately clicked with Lillie. They hung out whenever they both had some free time, which, admittedly, wasn't often.
They never talked of work. Hester knew of The Tower. She'd never attended, but Desmond had told her all about the club. A time or two, she'd done some admin related to the place. She knew Lillie managed it, but that was about it. Lillie didn't ask about Desmond's work at Kings and Knights, Hester didn't ask about The Tower. They just talked guys, schedules, massages, books, movies, and music. There seemed to have been a line neither of them had crossed until this day. Desmond's affairs were off-limits.
That said, Hester was out of her depth. She didn't know Desmond like Lillie did. They were friendly, of course, but she would have felt weird pushing him, demanding to know what was wrong with him. Lillie had more guts, and besides, she was a good pusher.
After an hour running on her treadmill and a long bath, Hester had made her mind up. She grabbed her phone and called her friend.
"Hey, Hes. Still up?"
It was late, close to midnight, but she hadn't thought twice before calling the woman. Lillie was a night owl.
"Yeah, I couldn't sleep. Look, I don't know if it’s appropriate, but I wanted to talk. It's Desmond."
Lillie was silent on the other end of the phone. Hester could only hear the clicking of her heels in the background.
"I'm listening."
"He's been...weird. Right? I mean, I could be wrong, but he's distracted, worried, sad, maybe. And I know it's none of my business, but I want to fix it."
"We're his team. It totally is our business."
Hester bit her lip. "Well, he might get pissed if he heard that we're talking about him behind his back."
Lillie snorted. "He's a guy. It's not like he can sort it out himself. Yeah, I kinda noticed he's been a little off lately, but you see him more than I do. Spill."
Where to start. "Okay, so we're in the confidential realm here, so I'll have to be vague. Something happened th
at seems to be weighing on his mind. I think he feels bad about it. We just need to remind him he's awesome, somehow. You know, cheer him up."
"How recent are we talking, weeks, months?"
"Weeks," Hester replied.
"Okay, let me run through sensitive data...." About fifteen seconds later, Lillie asked, "Does it have something to do with Clarke's arrest?"
Shit, the woman was good.
"Yes. Very much so. I can't talk details...."
"No problem. Let me read through it."
Hester's eyes widened. "You have the info?"
Lillie chuckled. "There's a very short list of people Desmond King trusts. I'm on it. Don't sweat it if you don't have the all clear yet. It took me ten years. Okay, I found the lawyer's file, let me..."
Her voice trailed off, and then she cursed, "Holy shit. Holy fucking shit."
"What?" Hester asked.
"Kathryn fucking Woodrow is involved."
Hester blinked. "And?"
"Kathryn Woodrow is literally his unicorn. The one person who has ever gotten under Desmond's skin. I don't know the details, but he's asked me to track her movements so he could avoid seeing her."
"Wait, are we talking about Desmond? When?"
"Three years ago. I asked if I should still send notifications just last year, and he said yes. He didn't want to see her at The Tower. It seemed odd, but I figured they'd clashed, somehow. From what I’m reading in this report, though, she got out of this mess with her nose clean. The Kings aren't angels. They could have destroyed the poor gal just for being Clarke's puppet. Instead, they gave her an out, and a job; she works for Cal."
Finally, everything was starting to make sense. If it had been anyone else, Hester would have caught on earlier, but they were talking about Desmond King, who was barely human in her mind.
"You're thinking what I'm thinking?" she asked Lillie.