Daniel was still asleep, curled half under the Egyptian cotton sheets, his breathing soft and peaceful. Tyrone stood at the window shirtless, sipping a thick espresso, his muscles still sore from the night before—and from the way Daniel had finally surrendered.
He had always suspected Daniel was more than just bi-curious. There had been a fire behind his eyes during that Stockholm trip—something he wasn’t ready to name yet. But now? Now he was kneeling. And Tyrone wasn’t about to let that potential go to waste.
The phone buzzed again.
Unknown Number:
“There’s a private lounge in Midtown. No signs. Just a red door. I’ll be waiting. Call me Rook.”
Tyrone replied:
“Better be worth the time.”
Rook:
“You’ll be back for seconds.”
Tyrone smirked. We’ll see.
Later that day, Tyrone watched Daniel stir awake, groggy and gorgeous, hair mussed, skin marked in the best ways—faint scratches across his shoulder blades, bruises blooming on his hips, fingerprints like art across his thighs.
Tyrone sat on the bed’s edge, hand heavy on Daniel’s chest.
“You did well,” he murmured.
Daniel blinked up at him. “I’ve never felt like that before.”
“That’s because you’ve never given in before.”
Daniel reached up, fingers trailing Tyrone’s abs. “I didn’t know I could. Not until you.”
Tyrone gripped his wrist and pinned it down. “It’s not about could. It’s about how far.”
Daniel’s pupils dilated.
“Get on your knees,” Tyrone said.
Daniel slid out of bed, naked, proud and obedient. His posture unsure—but his eyes burning.
Tyrone stood behind him. “You want to be mine. You said so.”
“Yes, sir.”
“But you still think too much. Still try to predict what I want.”
Daniel swallowed. “I want to learn.”
“You will. If you let me rewire you.”
Tyrone stepped in front, cupping Daniel’s chin. “No more thinking. Only listening. Feeling. Pleasing. If you want to belong in this house, in my world, you’ll be broken down and rebuilt. My way.”
“Yes,” Daniel whispered, trembling.
Tyrone leaned in, lips brushing his ear. “Then prove it. All day. No words. No clothing. Just service.”
Daniel nodded.
Tyrone left him kneeling, back straight, cock half-hard with anticipation.
That evening, after hours of watching Daniel move silently through his home—serving drinks, massaging tired muscles, presenting himself for praise without expectation—Tyrone finally dressed in tailored black slacks and a dark silk shirt. No tie. Just power.
“I have a meeting,” he said, pausing at the door. “Stay. Don’t move. When I return, I’ll decide how to reward you.”
Daniel lowered his eyes. “Yes, sir.”
Tyrone exited the penthouse, climbed into the back of his waiting car, and gave the driver one word: “Midtown.”
The red door was exactly where the message said it would be—no sign, no window. Just crimson paint and a tiny intercom buzzer.
He pressed it.
A deep voice answered: “Enter. Down the stairs.”
Tyrone descended into darkness. The air was thick—incense, perfume, and something else… sex. Velvet-lined walls. Shadowed alcoves. Low music. Moans in the distance.
He walked like a king through it all.
Then, in a candlelit booth near the back, he saw him.
Rook.
Late 20s, smooth tan skin, black painted nails, lean runner’s build in a blood-red silk shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal a tempting amount of chest. A silver ring gleamed on his finger. His smile was equal parts arrogance and invitation.
“Tyrone Dominian,” he said, standing and offering a slow, deliberate handshake. “Even more magnetic in person.”
“You know a lot about me,” Tyrone said, voice smooth.
Rook’s smile deepened. “Only what you’ve allowed the world to see.”
“And what do you want?”
Rook stepped close. Too close. “To peel back your layers.”
Tyrone chuckled darkly. “You don’t peel me. I peel you.”
A flicker of submission sparked in Rook’s eyes.
“I’ve studied your patterns,” Rook whispered. “Your taste in partners. Your methods. You dominate because you see what people hide. You give them permission to be undone.”
Tyrone’s hand closed around Rook’s throat—not choking, just claiming. “And what are you hiding, boy?”
Rook’s lips parted. “Need.”
The music swelled around them, but Tyrone only heard the sound of Rook’s pulse beneath his fingers.
“Then kneel. Here. Now.”
Without hesitation, Rook obeyed.
Right there, in the shadows of the lounge, he dropped gracefully to his knees on the marble floor. His red shirt draped around his arms like spilled wine.
Tyrone towered over him, one hand in Rook’s hair, the other unfastening his slacks.
“You want a taste of power?” Tyrone growled. “You’ll take it the way I give it.”
He fed Rook his length slowly—commanding every inch, every gag, every tear that fell from the younger man’s eyes. Rook moaned, hands behind his back, throat open, reverent.
“You study me?” Tyrone hissed, gripping tight. “Then learn this. You don’t control the pace. I do.”
When he was done—slick, panting, and dominant as ever—Tyrone zipped up and yanked Rook to his feet.
“You get one more chance,” he said in a growl. “If you’re still standing by then.”
Rook gasped. “I’ll crawl if I have to.”
When Tyrone returned, Daniel was exactly where he left him—kneeling, body naked and patient, eyes low but hopeful.
Tyrone approached silently.
“You didn’t move?”
“No, sir.”
“Good,” Tyrone said, unbuttoning his shirt. “Because you’re going to watch something tonight. I want you to see what surrender looks like.”
He stepped aside—and in walked Rook, eyes glowing, knees still sore from earlier.
Daniel’s mouth parted.
“Meet Rook,” Tyrone said. “He’s eager. But raw. Watch him. Learn.”
Rook dropped instantly to his knees again.
Tyrone circled them both. “You’re mine,” he said. “Both of you. For now. Until I decide who stays… and who begs.”
He ran a hand through each of their hair, his presence enormous between them.
The night stretched ahead like a decadent promise.
And Tyrone Dominian had plans for both of them.
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Tyrone’s Page
