The soft click of the door closing echoed like a gunshot in Daniel’s ears.
His fingers lingered on the handle for a moment longer than they should have, his skin warm, sweaty, pulse thudding violently in his throat. He hadn’t meant to see it—hadn’t planned to step into Tyrone’s world like that.
But now… he was in it.
The room was dim, except for the city lights outside and the amber glow from the desk lamp. And in that golden half-shadow, Tyrone moved like a god sculpted in shadow and sinew—his broad back flexing with each thrust, his hand tight in that silk tie wrapped around the woman’s throat.
Daniel’s entire body trembled.
Heat, shame, hunger, panic, longing—it all bloomed in his chest like a wildfire. His breath came shallow as he backed up against the wall just inside the door, frozen there, as though stepping any closer would shatter something.
He wanted to look away.
But he didn’t.
He couldn’t.
Inside Tyrone’s Storm
Tyrone hadn’t slowed.
Isolde gripped the desk, moaning under her breath, thighs trembling, eyes squeezed shut in rapture. Her cheek pressed to the wood, makeup slightly smeared, lips slick with spit and surrender.
But Tyrone… Tyrone turned his head just enough to catch Daniel’s shape against the wall.
His voice dropped like velvet-covered steel.
“You’re still watching.”
Daniel swallowed hard.
Tyrone’s hand tightened around the silk tie, pulling Isolde’s head up, making her arch as he continued to drive into her with raw, controlled power.
“She loves an audience,” Tyrone said.
Isolde whimpered. “Mmm—I do.”
Tyrone’s eyes found Daniel again. “You like what you see?”
Daniel opened his mouth.
No words came.
Just a nod.
Just breath.
Daniel’s Fracture
He had spent his whole life trying to fit in. Clean lines. Professionalism. Control.
But here, now, those things were stripped from him. The way Tyrone owned the moment, the way this woman gave herself over, the way Daniel’s cock throbbed in his slacks from just watching—it split something wide open inside him.
He moved, finally.
One step closer.
Tyrone didn’t stop him.
Another step. Then another.
He was at the edge of the desk now. Heat radiating off of them. The scent of sex, perfume, and Tyrone’s natural musk was overwhelming. Daniel’s hands trembled at his sides. His voice barely made it out.
“I… I don’t know what I am right now.”
Tyrone looked up, something dark curling at the corner of his mouth. “You’re honest. That’s a start.”
Daniel looked down. His body betrayed him. His erection was undeniable—pressing, needy.
“I’ve never…” he whispered.
“You’ve never,” Tyrone echoed, still moving inside Isolde, slowly now, drawing it out. “But you want to.”
“Yes,” Daniel breathed, ashamed and on fire.
Isolde, eyes glazed in bliss, let out a laugh. “He’s pretty. You should keep him.”
“Maybe I will,” Tyrone said, letting the silk fall from his hand. He pulled out of Isolde and stepped back, his body glistening, jaw tight.
He faced Daniel fully now.
Commanding.
Exposed.
Dominant.
“Take off your shirt.”
Daniel’s hands shook.
But he obeyed.
Buttons undone.
Chest bared.
His skin flushed and tight.
“Now kneel.”
Daniel dropped. Softly. Like a man surrendering to gravity.
“Good,” Tyrone said, stepping close, towering over him. “You’re learning.”
The Aftermath
Isolde lay on the desk, breathing slow and decadent. Tyrone didn’t touch Daniel—not yet. Just watched him kneeling, looking up, lips parted, eyes shining with confusion and desire.
“This is just the beginning,” Tyrone said, voice low. “You don’t even know what you need yet.”
Daniel nodded.
“I’ll teach you.”
Daniel’s breath caught.
He didn’t know what came next.
But he knew he’d follow Tyrone through fire to find out.
Tyrone’s Page