It was nearly 8 p.m. when the soft chime of the executive elevator echoed through the otherwise silent office. The rain outside clung to the skyline like a silk sheet, the windows streaked with condensation as lightning flashed over the city.
Tyrone sat alone in his office, sleeves rolled up, the top buttons of his black dress shirt undone. A low jazz record played behind him, and the glow from his drink—neat bourbon—cast shadows over his sharp cheekbones.
He was thinking about Daniel.
The boy had obeyed beautifully in the days following their return. But something else brewed beneath the surface—a new tension, an energy like charged air before a storm. Jealousy. Loyalty. Curiosity.
Then came the knock.
Three sharp raps.
Tyrone didn’t have to ask who it was.
“Come in,” he called, voice smooth as dark liquor.
The door opened, and Juliette Vernier stepped in like sin in heels.
She wore a trench coat—navy silk, belted tight around her waist, her hair in a glossy chignon that exposed the elegant slope of her neck. Her red lips curved into a knowing smirk.
“Bonsoir, mon roi,” she purred. “Did you miss me?”
Tyrone leaned back in his chair, slow. Deliberate.
“I always miss trouble.”
She smiled and crossed the room with that slow, gliding walk that made people forget how dangerous she was. With one flick of her wrist, the belt of her trench coat slipped free.
It fell open.
Underneath, she wore a black lace corset that pushed her breasts high and hugged her waist like a whisper. Stockings. No bra. No shame.
“You’ve been busy,” she said, circling his desk. “Daniel looks thoroughly… trained.”
Tyrone arched a brow. “You watching him again?”
“Always.” She leaned down, lips brushing his ear. “And I’ve been thinking. About us. About him. About power.”
She walked over to the windows, trailing a fingertip across the glass as lightning flickered behind her.
“You and I both know domination is a game of intellect as much as flesh. You don’t just bend people. You make them want to kneel.”
“So what’s your point, Juliette?”
She turned slowly, eyes glowing like embers.
“I want back in. But not just with you. With him.”
Tyrone stood, towering over her now. “You want a piece of Daniel?”
“No,” she said, voice velvet. “I want us to own him. Together.”
Silence.
Then a smirk broke across Tyrone’s lips. “You think he could handle both of us?”
Juliette stepped closer, trailing her fingers down his chest, then unfastening the next button slowly.
“We’ll break him down to rebuild him. Make him crave it. Beg for it.”
“You want a triangle,” Tyrone murmured. “You’re not afraid of being second.”
“Darling,” Juliette whispered, rising on her toes. “I’ve never been second to anyone. I’ll be beside you. Not below.”
Tyrone grabbed her waist suddenly, spinning her and pressing her against the glass. Rain cooled the surface, but his hands lit her nerves on fire.
“You want to make a deal?” he said against her throat. “Let’s see if you’re still worth the contract.”
He pulled her arms behind her back, pinning her in place with one hand while the other hiked up her coat. The stockings were gartered, her skin already flushed.
“You’re soaked,” he growled.
“I was soaked in the elevator,” she whispered back.
He unzipped just enough, pressing the thick length of himself against the lace of her panties, grinding slowly, deliberately, letting her feel every ridge, every inch.
“You’re not in charge,” he reminded her.
“But I make one hell of a partner,” she breathed.
And then he thrust inside her, hard, sudden—making her cry out and press into the glass as the city watched.
Interlude: Daniel’s Return
Daniel stepped off the elevator half an hour later, dressed in a soft sweater and slacks, returning to pick up a forgotten portfolio. But as he approached Tyrone’s office, he paused.
The door wasn’t fully closed.
And through the slit, he saw her.
Juliette.
Bent over the windows, gasping.
And Tyrone—shirt open, muscles gleaming—thrusting into her from behind like a god reclaiming his altar.
Daniel’s breath caught.
Jealousy. Heat. Curiosity.
All of it boiled over.
He didn’t leave.
He watched.
He ached.
Until the door opened—without warning.
Juliette, now glowing with afterglow and danger, stepped into the hall. She smiled when she saw him.
“Ah. The boy.”
Daniel flushed. “I… I didn’t mean to—”
“You meant to,” she said, brushing his cheek. “And that’s good. You should see what you’re being offered.”
Behind her, Tyrone stood in the doorway. Shirtless. Massive. Unapologetic.
“Come in, Daniel.”
Daniel obeyed.
Inside, Juliette returned to the couch, her legs curled under her. Tyrone sat in his chair, spreading his thighs wide, arms draped over the armrests like a throne.
“Juliette made a proposal,” he said.
Daniel’s eyes flicked between them.
“She wants in,” Tyrone continued. “Not just with me. With us. She wants to help train you. Own you.”
Juliette’s voice was soft now. Hypnotic.
“You want to learn obedience, boy? You want to serve more than one master?”
Daniel’s mouth went dry. “Yes.”
Tyrone rose, circling behind him.
“Then strip. Slowly.”
Daniel peeled his sweater off, then his shirt, revealing his toned chest, his lightly flushed skin. His pants followed. And then—nothing.
He stood naked between them. Breathing heavy.
Juliette licked her lips.
“On your knees,” Tyrone commanded.
Daniel dropped.
Tyrone came behind him, one hand in his hair, the other gripping his shoulder.
“From now on,” Tyrone said, “you answer to both of us. Her voice is mine. Her command is yours.”
Daniel nodded.
“Yes, sir.”
Juliette stood, sliding in front of him, her corset still barely holding her curves.
“And when we say beg, you beg. When we say stop… you thank us.”
“I will,” Daniel gasped, head swimming.
Tyrone leaned in, whispering in his ear.
“Let’s see if you survive the night.”
Tyrone’s Page