The night hadn't ended. It just... curdled.
Grayson hadn't slept. Hadn't stopped moving. Just paced the apartment like something feral and cornered, muscles twitching, nerves shot. Hours blurred. Cigarette smoke. Coffee gone cold. That goddamn voice still echoing through his skull like a curse. "You're supposed to be dead."
Lila's rage still clung to him in the silence, in his skin. That look in her eyes, sharp enough to slice bone. Like she didn't just see him, she judged him. Buried him. And maybe she wasn't wrong.
Now he was walking into Elysium like he belonged there.
Too early for music. Too early for bodies. The club looked half-dressed under daylight's bleed — wires exposed, mirrors clear, shadows still folded in the corners. Like catching a predator between skins. Not dead. Just waiting.
The bouncer didn't even glance at him. Someone had put his name on a list. Of course they had.
The hallway stretched ahead like a throat — dim lights, slick walls, that low electric hum beneath the silence. Like the place still had a pulse, even when sleeping.
Grayson spotted Connor first, slouched against the front bar, drinking from a chipped ceramic mug that looked like it had survived three breakups and a house fire. His shirt was wrinkled, sleeves pushed up, hair a mess. The bastard somehow still looked smug.
"Well, I'll be damned," Connor said without looking up. "Didn't think you'd crawl back so soon. Thought you'd at least fake your own death first."
Grayson stopped a few feet away. "Nice to see you too."
Connor finally looked at him. His grin flickered — too quick to catch unless you knew him. "You look like shit," he said. "In a rugged, brooding kind of way. You pulling that off on purpose?"
"It's just my face," Grayson muttered.
Connor turned, poured him a coffee without asking. Slid it across the bar with casual precision, like this was just Thursday.
"Still dramatic as hell," Connor added, eyes flicking to the wrapped hand. "What happened, you lose a fistfight with your reflection?"
Grayson took the coffee. "You always this much of an asshole before noon?"
"Only for the people I'm stupidly fond of." Connor sipped his drink. "And look at that — you showed up, so I guess that means I still care."
Connor leaned back against the bar, eyes flicking over Grayson like he was lining up a punchline.
"So…" he said casually. "How's Holly?"
Grayson stilled mid-sip. His fingers tightened around the coffee mug. Connor noticed.
"She doing okay?" he asked, a little more carefully now. "Haven't seen her around."
Grayson's voice came quiet. Firm. "She's not part of this."
Connor raised a brow. "Didn't sound like a yes."
Grayson set the mug down. "She doesn't need to be anywhere near this place."
That gave Connor pause. "Bit late, isn't it?" he said after a beat. "She already stepped into the lion's den."
Grayson's jaw worked. "And I'm making sure she steps back out."
Connor let out a low breath. "She shouldn't have sucked off the boss, then."
Grayson shot him a glare.
Connor's smirk eased into something else. Not gone — just softer. "You're looking out for her."
Grayson didn't answer. Just sipped his coffee like it burned.
Connor nodded once. Then clinked his mug gently against Grayson's. "You're still an idiot," he said. "But you're a loyal idiot. I'll give you that."
"You ever shut up?"
Connor smirked. "Only when I'm worried about you."
Grayson glanced at him — sharp, unreadable. Then, finally. "Don't."
It wasn't cold. Just final. Like whatever was cracking inside him, he didn't want Connor anywhere near the splinters. Connor didn't push. He just nodded once, solemn. Like he understood the rules of that particular war zone.
The silence that followed wasn't awkward. It was earned. That rare kind, thick with history, trust, and all the things neither of them would name out loud.
Then—
The air shifted.
Like static before a storm. Like gravity remembered how to pull.
Kane was here.
He walked in from the back, calm as ever. His eyes flicked to Grayson. Then, without a word, he kept walking. Past Connor. Past Grayson. Toward his office. It wasn't an invitation but an expectation. Grayson didn't hesitate. He followed.
Inside the office, the door clicked shut behind him. Kane stood by the window, one hand resting against the glass, the other loosening his cufflinks like Grayson wasn't even there. Grayson hovered by the door for a beat too long, tension drawing his shoulders tight.
"I saw someone," he said finally. "Last night."
Kane didn't turn.
"She said she was the sister of…" He swallowed. "Of the guy. From the alley."
That got Kane's attention. He turned just slightly, gaze settling on Grayson with unreadable calm.
"She said I was supposed to be dead," Grayson continued.
Kane's face didn't change.
"I didn't tell her the truth," Grayson added. "I didn't tell her what I did."
The silence stretched.
"She looked at me like I was a ghost," Grayson said, voice low now. "Like I shouldn't be standing. And maybe I shouldn't be."
Something flickered behind Kane's eyes. Not pity. Not surprise. Just heat. Controlled. Simmering.
"You want answers?" Kane asked softly.
Grayson's breath caught. He didn't answer.
Kane stepped away from the window. He moved to the desk, opened the top drawer, and pulled something out.
Grayson's stomach turned to ice.
A tie. His tie. Neatly folded. Black.
Kane let it dangle between his fingers, then looked up — eyes locked, voice low and deliberate.
"Close the door."
Grayson's pulse spiked.
He obeyed. The click of the latch echoed — sharp, final, sealing more than just the room.
Kane didn't thank him. Didn't smile. He just moved around the desk, step by step, slow and unhurried, like a predator that already knew its prey wouldn't run.
The tie swung between his fingers like a pendulum. Like a countdown.
"You came here looking for answers," Kane murmured. "But what you really want… is punishment."
Grayson's jaw tensed. "I didn't—"
"You did." Kane stepped closer. "You want to feel something real. Something sharp. Heavy. You want the ache. The clarity. The absolution."
He was close now — too close.
Grayson could smell him: dark, clean, expensive. Something masculine threaded with restraint.
Kane lifted the tie and let it brush across Grayson's neck — slow, almost reverent. Like a blade drawn without intent to cut. Yet.
Grayson shivered.
"And I'm the only one you'll let do it," Kane said.
Grayson swallowed hard. He hated how true that felt. How his skin responded before his thoughts caught up. How his body betrayed him.
Kane looped the tie behind his neck and pulled — not tight, not yet — just enough to tilt his chin up. Just enough to say: you're mine.
"You remember how this feels?" he whispered, voice right at the edge of his ear. "Silk against your skin. My voice, here."
Grayson's breath stuttered. Shaky. Tense. Wanting.
Kane smiled, not kindly. Knowing. Dangerous. "Hands on the desk."
Grayson hesitated. Not from fear. From want. From the part of him that ached to obey and hated how easy it was.
"I said now."
The words weren't raised — but they didn't have to be. Kane's voice carried a gravity that pulled Grayson into place before he even knew he was moving. He turned. Palms flat to the desk. The wood bit cold into his skin — grounding, anchoring. Not that it helped. His heart was already hammering, breath already too shallow. Then he heard it.
The belt.
The hiss of leather sliding free, slow and deliberate, like Kane wanted him to feel every inch of anticipation unravelling with it.
And then—
Snap.
The sound cracked through the silence like lightning.
Grayson flinched. Not from fear. From the rush. From the way his body tightened at the sound, every nerve waking up like it knew what was coming.
Kane stepped behind him.
Closer.
One hand slid beneath the loose silk of the tie — wrapping it slowly, methodically, around his fist until it was taut, coiled at the back of Grayson's neck like a leash just waiting to be pulled.
The other hand? Traced the length of his spine. Down. And down. Fingertips brushing the waistband of his jeans. Possessive. Patient. Like he was mapping out where to leave his mark.
"That guilt you carry…" Kane's voice was right at his ear now, low, warm, obscene. "It's heavy."
His fingers twisted the tie. Tightened just enough.
"You can't hold it alone," Kane whispered. "So give it to me."
Grayson squeezed his eyes shut. His knees almost buckled. His body was already betraying him — hard, leaking, trembling from a touch that hadn't even broken skin.
"You want control?" Kane growled, his breath hot against Grayson's neck. "You'll get exactly what you deserve."
The belt struck.
Crack.
A sharp, clean sting across his jeans, the jolt immediate, electric. Grayson gasped, the force driving his hips against the desk, thighs tensing as the shock bloomed into heat.
Kane waited.
Let it sink in.
Watched him breathe it.
Then—
Another strike. Harder this time. Lower.
Grayson flinched again, the sound leaving his throat halfway between a moan and a curse.
Kane smiled, cruel and satisfied. And reached for the tie. With each strike, he reeled it tighter, inch by inch — drawing Grayson's head back in increments, locking him in place. The silk pulled against the back of his neck like reins. A tether. A noose. A promise.
"You're taking this," Kane said, voice low and steady. "Because you need it."
Another strike. Another pull.
Grayson's breath hitched, ragged now, mouth open, drool slicking the edge of his lip as his body thrummed with overstimulated heat.
"You're not a ghost," Kane whispered. "You're not the blood on anyone's hands but mine now."
The words sank into him like bruises.
Grayson trembled, not from pain, not even from arousal, but from the truth of it. The way Kane made it feel right. He didn't know where his shame ended and his desire began anymore. And Kane? Kane knew it.
Kane stepped closer. The press of him at Grayson's back now, not touching, not yet, but there, heat radiating through the space like static.
The tie was tight now, just enough to hold him exactly where Kane wanted him.
"You're mine when I say," Kane breathed, his lips brushing just behind Grayson's ear. "And I'm not finished."
Then—
Crack.
Another strike, this one angled. Meant to sting. To burn.
Grayson groaned, body arching with it.
Another. Lower. Harder.
The belt bit across the backs of his thighs, and Grayson whimpered, broken and raw.
But Kane still didn't stop. Didn't soften. The next one landed with precision, a sharp line of fire that sent Grayson gasping, hips jerking forward in reflex, cock rubbing against nothing but the cruel press of denim and desk. He was going to lose it.
Kane leaned in, voice nothing but smoke. "You're so fucking hard, aren't you?"
Grayson nodded.
Kane tugged the tie. "Say it."
"I—fuck—I'm hard," Grayson gasped.
"You're hard for me," Kane corrected.
Grayson's whole body flushed. "I'm hard for you."
"Good boy."
Kane's hand found the base of the tie again, and this time, he didn't just hold it.
He pulled.
Grayson's head tilted back farther, neck bared, breath stuttering as the pressure increased. Still not choking, just close. Just enough to make him feel it in every breath.
"You're quiet now," Kane murmured, voice slick with satisfaction. "Finally learning how to listen."
Grayson couldn't respond. His body was shaking. His skin flushed and raw. But inside? Something had cracked open. His shame. His guilt. His control. And all that was left was this. Kane. The belt. The tie. The burn. The leash.
"You came here wanting punishment," Kane said, like a verdict. "But what you need…" — he tightened the tie just a fraction more — "…is surrender."
Kane stepped back. Grayson felt the loss of heat like a wound. Kane's gaze raked over him, cold fire, steady.
"On your knees."
Grayson dropped.
Kane unzipped. Fisted Grayson's hair. "You ready to beg, sweetheart?"
Grayson's voice broke on the answer. "Yes."
"Open."
Grayson did. No hesitation. No shame. Just surrender.
Kane didn't move at first. Just stood there, one hand still curled in Grayson's hair, the other lazily stroking himself as he looked down at him like a king deciding how generous he felt.
Grayson knelt perfectly still. Mouth parted. Breathing slow. Waiting. Wanting. The tie still hung around his neck like a leash no one had yanked yet, but could and would.
Kane let the moment hang. Deliberate. Heavy. He thumbed the corner of Grayson's mouth, dragging it slow, tracing the edge like he was considering the mechanics of it.
"How badly do you want this?" he asked.
Grayson's voice was gone. His throat moved, but no sound came.
Kane smiled, slow, wicked. "That bad?"
He tapped his cock lightly against Grayson's bottom lip. Just once. Just enough.
Grayson's lips twitched to follow it. Kane didn't give it to him. Not yet. Instead, he dragged the head along his mouth, from one side to the other, smearing pre-cum across his lips like he was marking territory. Branding.
"You're drooling," Kane said softly. "Didn't even start yet."
Grayson flushed.
Kane tilted his chin higher with two fingers. "You're going to take every inch. You understand?"
Grayson nodded.
Kane stepped forward. "Use your tongue."
Grayson obeyed. He flattened it beneath the head and licked a slow, filthy stripe up the length of Kane's cock, slow enough to draw a low, pleased noise from deep in Kane's chest.
"That's it," Kane murmured. "Open that pretty mouth."
Grayson parted his lips wider, aching for it now, desperate to be filled, used, owned. Kane finally pushed in, just the tip, the head breaching the heat of his mouth. He stopped there.
Grayson's eyes fluttered. Kane didn't move. Just held him there, one hand gripping his hair, the other gently resting on his throat like he could feel his own cock just behind the skin. Grayson whined softly, trying not to move, trying not to suck. Just needing.
Kane's voice dropped. "Don't move until I tell you."
Grayson stilled. Mouth stretched open, breathing shallow through his nose. Kane rolled his hips forward, slow, steady, inevitable, watching as Grayson's lips spread wider, jaw stretching to accommodate the slow intrusion. Halfway in. Then deeper. Then, full.
Kane groaned low, his fingers flexing in Grayson's hair. "Fuck. That mouth."
Grayson gagged once. Kane didn't pull out, just waited, letting him adjust, letting him feel every inch of it, every throb, every inch of power Kane had just taken from him.
"You like that?" Kane whispered. "You like being full of me?"
Grayson moaned around him. The sound vibrated and Kane felt it.
"Good boy."
He began to move. Not fast. Not rough. But devastating. Each thrust measured deep, claiming, slow enough to burn. He held Grayson by the tie now, wrapping it around his hand like reins as he rocked into his mouth.
"You're mine like this," Kane growled. "Open. Silent. Obedient."
Grayson whimpered, the sound wet, broken. His hands clenched into fists on his thighs, but he didn't move them. Didn't reach for Kane. Didn't dare. The only thing he gave was his mouth and Kane took it like a man unwrapping a gift he'd already paid for.
"That's it," Kane murmured. "Take it. Take all of it."
Grayson gagged again, eyes watering, throat working but still, he stayed there. Still, he let it happen. Kane pulled back, just enough for breath. Grayson gasped, panting hard, drool slicking his chin, his lips red and glossy.
He looked up at Kane through soaked lashes. Wrecked. Perfect.
Kane's chest rose with something sharp and possessive. He ran a thumb along Grayson's jaw, a moment of quiet, twisted affection, then pressed back in, harder this time. Grayson moaned. Louder. Kane didn't slow. He held his head still and fucked his mouth, not fast, not brutal, but with the kind of intent that said you're mine.
"You came here thinking you needed answers," Kane said, breath heavy now. "But what you really needed—"
He pulled out. Grayson gasped.
Kane slapped his cock across his tongue. "—was this."
Grayson's eyes were wide. Pupils blown. Lips swollen.
Kane dragged the tie tighter. "You want me to come down your throat, sweetheart?" He asked, voice low and wicked. "Want to feel it? Taste it?"
Grayson whimpered. "Yes, please."
Kane grinned, sharp and dark. But he didn't give it to him. Instead, he pulled away. Grayson let out a broken, wrecked sound, half protest, half ache. Kane hauled him to his feet. Then bent him over the desk again, hand pressed hard between his shoulders.
He leaned down, his mouth hot at Grayson's ear. "But you haven't earned that yet."
Grayson stayed exactly where Kane left him. Bent over the desk. Cheek pressed to the wood. Mouth wet. Lips swollen. Pulse slamming like a drum behind his eyes. Hard. Aching. Ruined.
Kane hadn't touched him since hauling him up from his knees. Hadn't said a word. But Grayson could feel him behind him, close enough to feel the heat of his body, far enough to remind him who wasn't being touched anymore.
Then—
Kane moved. Footsteps, slow, deliberate across the office floor. The creak of leather as he sat down in the chair behind the desk. Grayson lifted his head just enough to look back over his shoulder.
And froze.
Kane sat there like he had all the time in the world. Legs spread. The tie still looped loose around Grayson's throat like a collar. His eyes were steady, dark and gleaming with something viciously pleased. One hand fisted around his cock. Slow strokes. Unhurried. Just enough friction to tease, to show.
Grayson's breath stuttered.
Kane smirked. "Don't move," he said. "You look good like that. Bent over my desk. Breathing hard. Desperate."
Grayson's nails dug into the desk. He was aching. Still hard. Every breath felt like friction against raw nerves.
Kane's eyes dragged over him, hair messy, cheeks flushed, body trembling with the need to come. But Kane didn't reach for him. Didn't offer a hand, a word, anything.
He just kept stroking himself, slow and firm. "You have no idea what your mouth does to me."
Grayson swallowed.
"Begging like that. Gagging on me. Drooling." He groaned, the sound low in his throat. "Fuck."
His strokes got a little faster as he chuckled darkly. "You want to come so bad it hurts, don't you?"
Grayson shut his eyes. "Yes," he whispered.
"Yes what?"
Grayson's voice cracked. "Yes, sir."
Kane moaned at that, sharp and unexpected. He leaned back in the chair, hand working faster now.
"Imagine if I let you," he murmured. "Let you jerk that pretty cock until you were panting into your hand, begging me to finish. Imagine if I made you come all over the desk, made you clean it up with your tongue after."
Grayson let out a sound. Kane grinned, lazy and cruel.
"But I'm not going to," he said. "You're going to stay right there, hard and leaking and perfect, while I finish all over myself thinking about how tight your throat was."
Grayson whined, low and helpless.
Kane's head tipped back, jaw tight. He stroked faster, breath getting heavier, the slick sounds of his hand obscene in the quiet of the office. Grayson watched through half-lidded eyes, breathless, skin burning.
Kane's voice was rough now. "Look at you. Fucking trembling for it."
He grunted, hips jerking.
And then—
He came. Hot. Sharp. Messy. Spilling across his hand, across his abdomen, breath dragging through clenched teeth as he worked himself through it.
Grayson stared, flushed and shaking, his own cock twitching uselessly against his stomach. Kane let out a low exhale. Then reached for a tissue with surgical calm, cleaning himself like he'd just wrapped a business deal, not left a man on his knees and undone in the middle of his office.
When he finished, he leaned back in his chair, loose, smug, in total control. And smiled.
"Now that you've remembered where you belong…" he said smoothly.
Grayson blinked, chest heaving.
Kane gestured toward him with a tilt of his head, like he was just now remembering he was still folded over the desk.
"You're still unemployed," he added casually. "And considering I'm your landlord, and you're clearly in no state to pay rent—"
Grayson scowled, still flushed.
Kane's mouth curved. "Job's still open," he said, smooth as sin. "Same terms. Same collar."
He let that land.
Watched Grayson absorb it.
Then, after a beat, he added, "Just think about it before your next rent notice hits. Or before I decide your mouth is more valuable than your pay check."