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 played along. She smiled sweetly at breakfast, shared coffee in a silk robe, tousled Daniel’s hair like a good older friend. Her eyes, however, tracked everything. Her mind played moves several steps ahead.
As soon as Daniel left, the energy in the penthouse shifted.
The air grew heavier. Charged.
Celeste didn’t speak. She just leaned against the kitchen counter, holding her mug with both hands, green eyes narrowed slightly as she watched Tyrone walk around shirtless, casual, unconcerned.
“Did you enjoy playing with your new toy?” she asked after a long silence.
Tyrone didn’t look at her. “He’s useful. Eager. Pretty.”
She walked to him slowly, setting her mug down with a soft clink.
“And completely unaware,” she said. “Of what you and I are really doing.”
Now he looked at her. Just a flick of his dark eyes.
“You trying to say something, Celeste?”
She stepped closer. Her fingers glided down his chest, over the sharp line of his abs, until they reached the waistband of his sweats.
“I’m saying,” she murmured, voice low, “that I’m tired of playing with the intern. I want to play against him.”
Tyrone’s jaw flexed.
Celeste leaned in, lips brushing the corner of his mouth.
“You always liked it when things got a little cruel.”
Midnight
Daniel had texted that he was crashing at the hotel after drinks with the seminar group.
Celeste had already opened the wine.
She wore nothing but a crimson satin robe. No makeup. Barefoot. The robe slipped off one shoulder as she leaned against the balcony railing, city lights flickering below.
Tyrone stepped behind her, arms sliding around her waist, his lips grazing the back of her neck.
“You still taste like you want to be owned,” he murmured.
“I do,” she breathed. “Just not like them.”
She turned in his arms, looked up at him—sharp, hungry, dangerous.
“I want to be used. Not loved. Taken. Not taught.”
He lifted her easily, carried her inside.
The Domination Reignited
They didn’t go to the bedroom.
Tyrone pinned her against the cold glass wall, the same one he’d claimed her against days before. This time, there was no teasing. No patience.
He growled as he pulled the robe from her body, baring her to the night. She gasped as the glass chilled her skin, but he didn’t stop.
He liked her gasp.
He liked how her nails dug into his shoulders when he slid inside her—rough, raw, deep. He liked how she whispered, “Harder,” like it was a dare.
So he did.
He pounded into her until her breath caught, until she stopped speaking altogether, until her hands clawed at the glass for purchase. Until the glass fogged with the heat of their bodies. Until she went limp in his arms, fully wrecked.
And when he finally let her down, her legs couldn’t hold her weight.
He carried her again—this time to the living room rug. Dropped her gently.
And sat in his chair.
Nude. Watching her.
“You forgot your place,” he said.
Celeste, still panting, turned her face to him slowly.
He spread his legs. Rested his arms on the sides of the chair.
“Crawl,” he said.
She did.
With grace. With submission. With a sly smile that said she was surrendering not because she was defeated—but because she wanted to lose.
And when her lips closed around him, when her hands caressed and stroked and coaxed every inch of him—he didn’t close his eyes. He didn’t moan. He watched her.
Until he pulled her off by the hair.
Until she was gasping and kneeling between his legs.
“You want to play against Daniel?” he said, tightening his grip in her hair. “Then you have to earn your place above him.”
Her mouth curled into a smirk. “I’m not afraid of getting dirty.”
Tyrone leaned forward, his voice dropping like thunder.
“You’re not ready for what I’ll make you do.”
The Next Morning — Two Realities
Daniel returned to the penthouse with croissants, a bright smile, and a head full of ideas from the seminar. He found Celeste in the kitchen, wearing the same crimson robe, sipping tea like nothing had changed.
She greeted him with a soft kiss on the cheek, teasing him about his hangover. They laughed together. Daniel glanced once or twice at Tyrone, trying to gauge if something had shifted—but found nothing but the same unreadable expression.
But when Daniel showered, when he walked out in nothing but a towel—Celeste met Tyrone’s eyes over the rim of her mug.
And Tyrone smirked.
A secret language passed between them.
A shared truth.
Because Daniel didn’t know that Celeste had been crawling the night before. That she’d been tied. That she’d screamed louder than ever—and begged to be degraded in the dark.
He didn’t know that this morning, she was still wet from it.
And Tyrone? Tyrone hadn’t even finished with her.
Tyrone’s Page