The rain tapped softly against the tall glass windows of Tyrone’s penthouse office the following evening. The city below buzzed with light, but the interior was hushed, low-lit—like a den designed for seduction and strategy in equal measure. Tyrone stood…

Tyrone’s downtown office sat high above the city—sleek, masculine, steel-gray and obsidian décor. The windows ran from floor to ceiling, offering a glittering skyline view that looked like it bowed to him. The city should bow. Tyrone sat behind his desk, shirt unbuttoned…

Two nights later Daniel had left early for a business seminar—wide-eyed, obedient, freshly marked by Tyrone. He was glowing from the attention, the guidance, the sensation of being chosen. In his mind, Tyrone had become the center of gravity. Celeste…

The scent of espresso and sweat still clung to the sheets when Tyrone rose, slow and deliberate, the early sun painting gold across his inked skin. Daniel and Rook were still asleep—twisted in his sheets, marked, satisfied, submissive. Tyrone stood…

The atmosphere in Tyrone’s penthouse had shifted. Thick with heat. Heavy with tension. The lights were low. Not off, just dim enough to bathe the space in deep bronze shadows that slid across the floor like molten desire. Tyrone stood…