4. The Reply
CHAPTER FOUR
THE REPLY
Orion
“Where is pretty girl?” Earl asks, squawking from his aviary.
I sigh and set my keys and wallet on the side table before walking over to Earl’s elaborate setup. When I bought this penthouse from Chase a couple of years ago, I made sure I could put Earl somewhere safe. I’d hired a professional to build him a state-of-the-art aviary complete with a small pond, an actual, live tree, heating and cooling, as well as plenty of room to fly around. It even has automatic shades for nighttime. He also gets the fanciest pellets and seeds as well as spring water.
He is the most spoiled African grey out there—and probably the smartest, too.
Before we lived in downtown Crestwood, I’d rented a large loft in downtown Los Angeles. I was drinking a lot at the time, and I’d talked about Layla once when I’d gotten home from seeing her, calling her pretty girl. Earl remembered—and now he asks me whenever I come home.
Somehow, my fucking bird managed to imprint on my stepsister, sight unseen.
Damn the intelligence of parrots. It’s fucking creepy sometimes.
“She’s not here,” I tell him, walking over to the door of his aviary. Unlatching and opening it, he squawks again.
“Thanks, Master,” he says, flying off somewhere.
On top of building him an aviary fit for a king, I also hired the best trainer to ensure he doesn’t leave the penthouse and only goes to the bathroom in his designated place in the aviary. I have to admit, it’s very convenient.
I turn the lights on and walk to the kitchen, which is located at the back of the penthouse. I hadn’t changed anything after Chase moved out, and though it was a nice enough place, it didn’t quite feel like home. Still, being so close to all my businesses is convenient: two regular bars and now Inferno, the kink club, all in or near downtown Crestwood.
Opening the refrigerator, I grab a strawberry sparkling water and sip it while leaning against the counter. The clock on the oven tells me it’s just past ten p.m. Still early, yet too late to go out for anything good , per se.
I crack my knuckles—a nervous habit I picked up after I gave up alcohol—before pulling my phone out from my pocket. I click over to the app where I last posted a video. I’m inundated with notifications—thousands of comments already, shares, likes, and reposts. My messages are always at “99+” because I don’t have the time or energy to read all of them, but I still open it from time to time.
I understand the appeal of Starboy1997. The “no speaking” thing is mysterious, as is my all-black outfit. I’m a safe Dom in their eyes because I’ve given my followers signs to look out for with fake Doms. They have a parasocial relationship with me. They know Starboy. They trust him. And in a world of men constantly taking advantage of women, that’s important. I never want to betray that trust because what I do—and the things I teach—matters.
Clicking over to the messages, I scroll through all of the inappropriate requests and photos, the kink-shaming religious nuts, and the requests for interviews. I quickly scroll down to make sure I didn’t miss anything important, and then my heart nearly jumps out of my chest when I see a message request from someone with the username of LittleDancer .
Layla .
I know it’s her because, of fucking course, I check out her profile. Maybe not every day, but close.
There’s no fucking way?—
My thumb clicks through to the message request quickly, and before I know it, I’m slamming my La Croix down. My heart pounds as her words appear on my screen. I verify it’s actually her profile, and everything inside me tenses.
Running a hand over my face, I slowly read my stepsister’s message to Starboy.
LittleDancer
I’m interested in a specific kink. But I’ve never done it in real life… I’ve only read about it. I’m interested in learning more, but I’m a total noob, and I don’t know where to go from here. Thanks! I love your videos.
I’m grinning, and my face is burning by the time I finish reading the short message. She loves my videos? Well, fuck. How long has she been following me? If I’d known…
Before I can think, I’m typing out a response.
Hello, little dancer.
I hold my breath, waiting for a response, but after several minutes, it doesn’t come.
Holy fuck. Layla messaged me?—
Except she doesn’t know it’s me , does she?
Leaning my head back against the cabinet, I quickly shoot a text to my brother Kai.
You up?
Malakai
Is this a booty call?
I haven’t eaten yet, and I was going to grab some tacos from the truck down the street.
All my brothers know that if I ask to hang out—especially at random times—it’s likely because I’m bored. I never really feel the urge to drink myself into oblivion anymore, but I think they’re always worried I’ll fall down that rabbit hole again if left to my own devices.
Curse of being the youngest sibling who used to have a drinking problem, I suppose.
I almost always reach out to Kai first because he lives half a mile away in a condo just outside of St. Helena Academy, where he works as the headmaster. He moved to downtown Crestwood a few years ago when he took the job.
Malakai
20 min?
Sure. I’ll grab us the usual.
I stand and walk over to the dining room, where Earl perches on the mantel, cocking his head at his reflection in the large mirror above the fireplace. On top of being a smart-ass, he’s also incredibly vain. He spends hours studying his reflection, and I make a mental note to look into getting him a bird friend that he won’t brutally kill. I looked after Captain Sushi, Zoe and Liam’s serval cat, while they were on their honeymoon. During those two weeks, Captain spent most of his time hiding in my closet because Earl had scared him so much. Given Captain’s size, you’d think it would’ve been the other way around, but I’ve seen Earl scare off humans before, so I wasn’t surprised.
Fucking birds.
“I’m going out for an hour. Are you going to be good, or do you need to return to your cage?”
“Earl is a good boy, Master,” he crows.
I huff a laugh. “Okay. See you soon.”
Walking to the elevator, I push the button to head to the lobby. The taco truck is only a few blocks away, so I walk instead of taking my bike. I wave to the security guard as I exit the building. Pulling my leather jacket tighter, I check my phone for a response from Layla about fifty times before I walk up to the white food truck.
I shake hands with the cook and order for Kai and me, paying with cash and leaving a hefty tip. Grabbing a table under a string of bistro lights, I refresh my message requests at least a dozen more times before Kai claps me on the back.
“Hey,” he says, taking the seat opposite of me.
He’s in a dark gray T-shirt, a black jacket, and jeans, and despite knowing he’s not as religious as everyone thinks—not anymore at least—it still startles me to see him dressed so casually.
The chef calls our number, so I jump up to grab our tacos and sodas. When I sit back down, I push his basket closer, but I can feel his eyes boring into me.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, squeezing lime over the carnitas, cilantro, and chopped onions.
“Nothing,” I lie, doing the same to my tacos and taking a massive bite so I don’t have to answer.
Kai smirks as he takes a swig of his soda. “Mmm. Okay. I think you forget that your face is very expressive.”
“I’m just hungry,” I grumble, shoving more food into my mouth.
My brother shrugs and eats his tacos, and while we eat, I think he’ll drop it. Except his discerning nature always wins in the end, and after wiping his mouth and hands, he leans back and looks me straight in the eye.
“Is sobriety bothering you?”
His question catches me so off guard that I can’t help but laugh. “No. Aside from the random cravings for whiskey, I haven’t missed alcohol at all.”
Despite being sober now, I didn’t stop drinking because I was an addict. Not in the true sense of the word, at least. I tend to have an addictive personality, but once I put my mind to something, I could overcome pretty much anything. My therapist, Dr. Ludlow, had told me it was because I was the youngest, and the youngest children were always scrappy and resourceful. He’d also told me that because of my narcissistic father, who rarely displayed physical affection and was habitually cruel, it meant that I often thought of myself as a burden to others.
That checks out.
But no, I hadn’t given up drinking because I couldn’t stop.
I’d given up drinking because I wanted to get my life together.
For so long, I had trouble identifying what I wanted. I put my needs last, always worrying, always trying to please everyone. I didn’t know what healthy boundaries looked like, and I struggled with vulnerability and intimacy.
I’d walked straight from a bar into a munch, and kink had very quickly replaced alcohol.
The feeling of topping someone, of commanding them… it was exactly what I was looking for. I’ve always been drawn to nurturing people, and having that mutual respect moved me in ways I couldn’t otherwise find.
I spent a lot of time learning how to do kink the right way. I took college courses on consent and sexuality. I made sure to attend talks and conferences when I could. It was a hobby for Chase and Liam, my two brothers in the lifestyle. But for me?
It was my lifeboat.
Becoming a Dominant saved me in more ways than one.
“Dad’s in the hospital again,” I tell him slowly, peeling the label off the soda bottle.
Kai sighs and leans forward. “Is that what’s bothering you?”
I narrow my eyes as I look down at the table. “Not really. Maybe a little. It should. I mean, it’s fucked up that our father has cancer, yet I can’t figure out how to care.”
“I’ll tell you what I told Miles. I hope our father finds peace within himself for his actions.”
I scoff. “How can you be so righteous about him? After everything he’s done?”
Kai chuckles darkly. “Righteous? I’m not righteous. I never said I don’t wish him pain for what he did to us or to Mom. Some days, I secretly hope he suffers. That doesn’t make me very holy, does it?” He pauses, balling his hands, which are resting on the table. “But I don’t want to talk about him anymore. Not right now.” His gray eyes bore into mine. “Tell me what’s bothering you.”
“I’m worried I’m turning into him,” I admit.
Kai’s brow furrows. “I don’t see it. For one, you’re a lot nicer than him, even when you’re being a jackass.”
“Very funny.”
“Why do you think you’re turning into him?” Kai asks, expression curious.
Aside from the fact that I’m the last single brother left, besides Kai?
Besides the fact that, unlike Kai and St. Helena, I have no idea what my future looks like?
At least Kai has God.
I have no one.
I blow out a heavy breath of air. Here goes nothing…
“Because I’m in love with her,” I tell him, heart hammering in my chest. “With Layla. Our stepsister.” His face remains expressionless, and only the twitch of his lips has me sitting up straighter. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
Kai bursts out laughing, covering his mouth as he leans back in his seat. “Wait, is this supposed to be a surprise, Ri?”
“What the fuck do you mean?” I frown.
“I thought—” He shakes his head. “No offense, little bro, but it’s been obvious for a very long time. I think the only person who doesn’t know is her.”
“Wonderful,” I mutter. “But you agree. I am obsessed. Just like Dad was obsessed with Mom.”
“No, that was different,” he says slowly, but I can see the puzzle pieces clicking away.
“Really? Was it? Older man with power and money lusting after a younger woman who just so happens to be a ballet dancer? I mean, fuck. Copy and paste,” I add, shaking my head.
“So that’s what’s eating you up? You’re worried you’ll push her away like Dad pushed Mom away?”
I shrug. I can’t tell him about Starboy or the message from Layla, a.k.a. LittleDancer. I started doing those videos to educate people without the reputation of our family following us in a very public way. I wanted something for me that no one else knew about. Being the youngest means my life is always under a microscope from my four older brothers. My masked persona is a way to be myself, away from their influence.
I do tell Kai about attending all the ballet performances and interfering with her dates. Kai just listens—his eyes on me the entire time I talk. His intensity is alarming sometimes, but at least I know he’s genuinely listening and concerned. I’d always been the closest to Chase and Liam, but I’ve gotten closer to Kai over the past couple of years since sobering up and opening the bars. He pushes me to be honest and open. He challenges me. He sees me as an equal.
Not that my other brothers don’t. It’s just that, in their minds, I’ll always be their little brother.
“You want my advice?” he asks, placing both hands behind his head.
“Do I?” I ask, smirking as I finish the last of my soda.
“Maybe you should stop stalking her like Dahmer and instead try getting to know her.”
“I do know her?—”
“No, you don’t. You knew her. A lot of things can change in seven years. I know you guys had that falling-out, so maybe now’s the time to repair your relationship with her.”
I scowl down at the table. “She doesn’t want anything to do with me.”
He shrugs. “Don’t give her a choice.”
“Can’t believe I’m taking relationship advice from the brother who doesn’t date.”
Kai gives me a lopsided smile as he stands. “Who told you I don’t date?”
A few minutes later, I’m walking back to my penthouse alone. I get ready for bed, check my messages fifty more times, and after tucking Earl into his darkened enclosure, I fall right to sleep.
The following morning, as light seeps through the corners of my blackout curtains, I reach for my phone and instantly check my messages again.
There’s a reply from LittleDancer.
I sit up quickly and click through to Layla’s response.
LittleDancer
Wow. I didn’t expect you to respond.
I want to laugh, scream, pump my fist.
Guess you’re just special.
She responds immediately.
LittleDancer
Does that kind of flattery work on everyone?
Why? Did it work on you?
LittleDancer
Maaaybe. Also, hi.
To answer your question, I’d need to know what you mean when you say you’ve read about a specific kink. I need to know what I’m working with.
LittleDancer
It’s a specific kink I’ve read about in romance books. I’ve also researched it extensively, and I think I’d enjoy it in real life, but I don’t know for sure. I’m single, and I don’t exactly date much. I figured you might be able to advise me on how I should (and could) move forward.
I smile at the fact that she doesn’t date much. Fucking good.
What the hell kind of books does she read? She was always an avid reader growing up. Fantasy and science fiction, if I remember correctly. Half her wall space in Scott’s house was books—massive-looking bookshelves we bought for her fifteenth birthday.
I’m suddenly so curious about what this specific kink is and why she felt the need to message a stranger about it. If she follows my page and loves my videos… does that mean she’s interested in BDSM? Does she have experience with it?
What are you hiding under that good-girl persona, Layla?
She wants advice from Starboy, and I can give it to her, but it feels like a glaring breach of trust. I know her, yet she doesn’t know the man behind the mask. My entire page is about consent, and here I am, getting her to spill her deepest, darkest secrets to who she thinks is a stranger.
If she found out, she’d never forgive me.
Not unless I gave her a reason to like Orion, too.
My mind spins with possibilities.
Doing this would mean taking advantage of her and betraying the trust she’s given this stranger.
Then again …
She might never forgive me for what happened, and I’d never get the chance to be inside her head like this again. On one shoulder, my curiosity begs me to do this, and on the other, my morality begs me to walk away.
To be able to wield her desires like a weapon… is fucked up, but the temptation is too great.
I’d like to think I’m a good person, but when it comes to Layla, I’d gladly unravel her innocence, thread by thread.
Suddenly, I can’t imagine saying no. It’s wrong and fucked up and wholly deceptive, but…
If I can only have her like this, it’s better than nothing.
Can you tell me a little about yourself?
The thought of speaking to her—and one day possibly showing her what a healthy BDSM relationship could look like…
I could make her crave my dominance, the sting of my touch, and the echo of my commands, all while knowing exactly what to do to make her come undone under the weight of my control.
The things I could do with her.
And the things I could do to her.
My mind runs fucking wild.
LittleDancer
I’m female, 26, and a professional dancer. I have a cat and live down the street from my dad… although, even typing this out makes me feel lame. I have almost no social life aside from meeting up with friends for drinks once or twice a month. All the guys I date are just blah. I’ve given up, and I’m going to be a cat lady forever.
I smirk. I shouldn’t love this so much, but I do.
Cats are cool, though. I don’t blame you. There are lots of creeps out there.
LittleDancer
Hopefully, I’m not talking to one of them…
It depends on who you ask. :)
LittleDancer
Ha ha.
So these books… what kind of kink are we talking about?
LittleDancer
It’s hard to type out. I don’t know if the things I think I’d like are… normal. Or if they’re depraved. God, I can’t believe I’m confessing this to a stranger on the internet.
Things such as?
She doesn’t respond right away, so I send another message.
I want this to be a safe space for you. If you want to open up a conversation with me, we need to trust each other, and I need to know what your limits are and where your desires lie so I can help you.
LittleDancer
I think I’m just nervous to speak my desires out loud.
Fuck. It’s like I have a back seat to her mind right now, and though I know it’s wrong, I respond by changing our chat to vanish mode.
I changed our chat to vanish mode. That way, at least you’ll know if I take a screenshot. Okay? I want you to feel safe. That’s what I’m here for. Feel free to send and unsend if you need to.
LittleDancer
Thanks. I wasn’t worried, by the way. It’s why I messaged you specifically. I can tell you aren’t here to take advantage of women.
My heart skips a beat, and guilt washes over me.
If only she knew my favorite thing was pushing people to the edge—breaking them so completely with pain and pleasure that they become a trembling mess on the floor, begging for more.
She’s not worried, but maybe she should be.
There are more than enough predators out there. It’s my job to help.
The sting of the lie works down my throat. I don’t enjoy lying, and especially not to her. But my curiosity gets the better of me.
LittleDancer
Here goes nothing …
Everything inside me pounds with anticipation as I wait for her response. While waiting, I pull a shirt on and leave my bedroom. Every few seconds, I look down at my unlocked phone to see if Layla has responded. I’m smiling as I open the curtains to Earl’s aviary.
“Good morning, Master,” he says, cooing as I open the latch to his enclosure. When I’m home, I like to let him have his freedom.
“We’ve talked about this. You don’t have to call me Master.”
“Okay, Master,” he adds, flying away.
I make a mental note to never bring a submissive back here again because he’s already picked up certain phrases and terms, such as calling me Master. There’s also, there you go, that’s it, and good girl, which are all commonly used throughout the day.
And then of course, he loves to pull out the degrading ones.
Such a good little fuckdoll is one of his favorite phrases, as is my pretty little cumslut, which makes having company interesting sometimes.
A lot of people think birds can’t understand context, but I have a feeling Earl is much smarter than he lets on.
I walk to the kitchen to make some coffee.
Just as I press start on the machine—which is fully automatic—Layla’s response comes in the form of a long paragraph. My mouth waters with the possibility of knowing what makes her tick, what gets her off, and what she has yet to explore, and I decide to savor it once I head outside. I grab my coffee, my phone, and head out to the pool.
When Chase left, this was a large patio where he used to host his infamous parties. Since I’m not really a party guy—anymore, at least—I decided to put a pool in, and most mornings, I swim laps for thirty minutes. It’s sunny today, and the warm heat beats down on my arms as I take a seat on one of the lounge chairs. The pool is long and narrow, and the infinity edge overlooks Crestwood and Los Angeles beyond it. It’s my little slice of solace.
Once I’m seated, I pull my phone out of my pocket and read Layla’s response in full.
LittleDancer
I started reading dark romance novels a few years ago. Until then, I would’ve told anyone that I was vanilla. And I’m sure if you asked anyone in my real life, they would bet money that I’m vanilla. Innocent. Pure. My best friends are in the lifestyle, and I’ve been observing them for a few years, but it wasn’t until I read a certain book with a scene that I realized… I wanted to do what the characters were doing. I did some research and found out that I probably have a degradation kink as well as a corruption kink. As in, I want someone to corrupt *me*. I understand that these desires are normal, but I guess I just want someone to show me so I can know for sure if this is what I want.
I’m hard before I can even finish reading her response, and I read it about twelve times without moving at all before the information settles over me.
Fuuuuuuuuck.
A sliver of regret washes over me. Why did I respond to her message? Why did I think knowing any of this about the woman I craved would be easy? I’m proud of her for being honest, but also turned the fuck on. And that small kernel of guilt flashes through me again because she’d never tell Orion—her stepbrother—any of this.
She’s only telling Starboy because she trusts his anonymity.
I can’t think about that, though. Now that I know… I can’t walk away from this. The opportunity is too great, and I can practically taste all the ways I’ll savor her.
Thank you for telling me. Have you researched these kinks?
LittleDancer
Probably more than is normal.
I take a deep breath and rub my mouth with my hand. I haven’t even touched my coffee, but my heart is racing.
And this scene… which book is it from?
LittleDancer
Oh God. Do I actually have to give you the title?
You never have to do anything you don’t want to do. But I’m more than happy to read it and give you my advice, if you want. If it looks legit, I can point you toward resources, and we can talk about it some more. If it’s problematic… well… we can cross that bridge when we get to it.
LittleDancer
a.k.a. you’ll suggest I see a therapist? ;)
I’m grinning. Talking to her is fun. I’d forgotten how quick and witty she could be because she’s sullen and closed off whenever she’s around me.
I’ll have to change that.
Very funny. Still waiting on the title.
LittleDancer
It’s called His Doll by ME Osborn. It’s fan fiction, so you won’t have to buy it or anything.
Thank you for telling me. How about this? I’ll read the book today, and we can discuss it tonight. Sound good?
LittleDancer
Sure. Please don’t judge me.
I’m the last person to judge someone for where their desires lie.
LittleDancer
Okay. Looking forward to hearing your thoughts. *cringes*
I huff a laugh and like her message, and after downloading the fanfic to my phone, I quickly stand and walk to my en suite bathroom, where I unsheath my cock. There’s no way I’ll be able to get any work done knowing that Layla might enjoy being degraded and corrupted… and that she just might be the perfect submissive for me.
Stroking myself, I think of commanding her to kneel in front of me… of degrading her by coming on her face or calling her names. Of taking someone so innocent and tearing her down. Breaking her. Splintering her resolve and making sure she ends up a sobbing, soiled mess on my hardwood, begging for more.
The fact that she might want that, too? Fuck. To imagine Layla with mascara running down her face as she chokes on my cock…
To imagine her with a chapped ass, to take her from behind like an animal, to slowly but effectively break down every barrier she’s constructed over the years…
To slide my cock between her perfect tits. Fuck , I’d give anything to touch her. Anywhere . I’d take whatever she gave me, inhaling her sickly sweet scent that always reminded me of summertime. To touch the soft skin, to look into those deep hazel eyes, to watch her mouth drop open and that tiny furrow between her brows to deepen as I unloaded inside her?—
I come in record time, groaning as I close my eyes, as pleasure sparks from my balls to my throbbing cock, as thick jets of cum coat the glossy marble floor. The last of it leaves my body. After cleaning up the mess, I change into my swimsuit and walk back to the pool, take a sip of my now-cold coffee, and swim for more than double my usual time to try to get rid of all my pent-up sexual energy.