CHAPTER 04
Owen
ELENA: The Client is heading to the elevator. Please note: he’s anxious.
ARS?
The Society maintained an Anxiety Response Scale when dealing with clients. While anxiety was normal, some clients were incapable of going through with their fantasies. It happened more often than people imagined. As a result, we maintained a carefully curated scale to gauge how to handle them.
If Elena was mentioning Liam’s anxiety, it was something I needed to take into consideration before moving forward.
ELENA: I’d say between ARS-5 and ARS-6. Visibly anxious, needed a lot of reassurance, and had questions answered.
Well, that certainly changed my approach.
Thank you, Elena. Have a good night.
ELENA: You’re very welcome, Owen. We’ll see you tomorrow for the follow-up.
“We have a slight change of plans,” I said out loud as I returned my phone to its storage spot by the door. Wandering into the wide open living room, I continued, “The client is nervous.”
“They always are,” Ares replied from his spot, leaning back against one of the floor-to-ceiling windows.
The city lights framed him in a warm golden glow that softened him around the edges.
His dark hair hung loose around his shoulders with stray strands falling across his forehead.
A short beard traced his jaw while dark ink jutted down the thick muscle of his neck and disappeared under the collar of his shirt.
Deep blue eyes tracked my movements, unhurried and assessing.
“Elena puts him between a five and six,” I told him. That earned me a slow nod.
“Okay.”
“I’d like to meet him first and get a feel for him. I’ll bring him in here when we’re ready for you.”
“Whatever you think is best, old man,” Ares said with a grin. I ignored the jab, though it earned him a faint smile.
Ares had been calling me old man since the day we met six years ago, when he was brought into the Society as a dancer.
He was all instinct and no discipline, meaning it had been my job to whip him into proper performance shape.
He was young and rough around the edges, all charisma and no understanding of how to move or manipulate the attention he naturally drew.
We worked well together. Better than most. Ares operated on pure instinct while I relied on precision. There was a balance in the middle of that. It was an unspoken understanding that made our coordination effortless, even when everything else about the situation wasn’t.
That same ease had bled into something else over time. It was nothing complicated or defined. It was just convenient and familiar, nights where proximity blurred into something more without consequence. We didn’t need more than that, and neither of us wanted more out of each other.
“Just behave,” I replied, as if I needed to tell him. He’d take my lead at every turn without question.
Leaving Ares, I made my way to the foyer of the penthouse and stood alone while I waited for the elevator to make its way to the thirtieth floor.
The city lights fractured through the glass and danced along the dark walls as the only source of light.
The ambiance was more important than visibility.
It was why soft piano music filled the penthouse.
As I waited, I ran through what I knew about him in my head once more.
Liam Wyatt Baker. Thirty-one years old and was born in a small town in Central Illinois. He’d moved to the Pacific Northwest years ago at the request of his now ex-wife.
He was the personal assistant to finance mogul Allen Jennings. The man demanded too much and paid him far too little. I had strong feelings about Jennings’s treatment of him.
He was divorced from his high school sweetheart.
The woman wanted him to give more than he could reasonably give to anyone and then give some more.
She wanted him to work to provide all the expensive things she demanded while simultaneously being home for her whenever she needed him. He deserved better than her.
He didn’t date often because he didn’t have the time for it. He was on dating apps, but every woman he talked to was quick to point out his work schedule, while every man he talked to was more interested in something fast and dirty.
He liked instrumental music, reading in bed late at night, and watching trashy reality shows.
His favorite color was teal, and he never ate breakfast like he should have.
He clearly struggled with anxiety but did nothing to take care of it.
Running himself into the ground was the foundation of his lifestyle.
The man was easily used and manipulated by those around him. The more I dug into his life, the more readily I understood how he could have such a simplistic fantasy. To be wanted.
Liam deserved more than to feel wanted. He deserved to feel seen and respected. To have space held for him without expectation.
That wasn’t my role here. It wasn’t what I was supposed to give.
And yet, the more I learned about him, the more difficult it became to separate the design from the man himself. The details stopped feeling like information and began to feel personal, like something I was actively invested in rather than just gathering for this scenario.
That kind of investment was a complication. It was one I should have corrected by removing myself from the experience, but I didn’t. I couldn’t. Instead, I found myself wondering how I could make sure Liam never felt overlooked again.
The elevator dinged and pulled me from my thoughts. I straightened and stood tall as I made sure I was the very first thing he’d see when the doors opened. The foyer gave us privacy from Ares’s view. It meant I was the first impression Liam would get of tonight’s experience.
The anticipation running through my veins was a foreign and almost thrilling thing as the doors slid open with a quiet whoosh, revealing Liam Baker in the flesh.
Dark chestnut hair was tousled just enough to suggest that he’d run his fingers through it on the ride up, and a light beard framed a jaw that clenched with nerves.
Those soft green eyes met mine, a little wide with the anxiety surging through him.
I waited for him to exit the elevator and bit back a laugh as he darted forward to avoid being closed inside. He ran his palms over the thighs of his jeans and offered me an apologetic smile.
“Sorry. Are you the Conductor?” he asked as he approached. He held out his hand in a polite and formal gesture. It was exactly what I’d expect of him.
“I am,” I said, taking his hand. Instead of shaking, I turned it over and brought it to my mouth, my lips brushing against his knuckles. I enjoyed the way his eyes widened slightly with surprise. “But you can call me Owen.”
“Owen,” he repeated softly. Yeah, I liked how my name sounded when it came from him. As I lowered his hand, I didn’t let go. Maintaining contact was key to comfort. “This place is… unreal.”
Considering his background, his awe didn’t surprise me.
“Tell me how you’re feeling, Liam,” I ordered. At that, he pulled away. I carefully cataloged the way he swallowed hard and how his fingers wrung together. “It’s okay to be nervous. Come.”
I gently guided him over to the entryway table.
A tall gilded mirror hung over it. I found mirror work was useful with nervous clients.
It helped them bridge the gap between what they were feeling and what they couldn’t say out loud.
It often served as a grounding agent—something to center them back in the moment.
As I stood behind him, I placed my hands on his shoulders. The little way he rocked into me gave me permission to step closer until his back was flush against my chest. My gaze held his in the mirror.
“Everything that happens tonight is how you want it and how you are comfortable,” I reassured him softly. “If you want to ease into it, we can.”
“I think I’d rather rip the band-aid off,” he whispered before I could continue. “I think my anxiety will do all the talking if we keep postponing, and then I don’t think I’ll be able to go through with it, and I want to. I’m probably a mess—no, no, I am a mess—”
His words cut into a sexy little whine as my lips brushed the side of his neck.
On instinct, his head tilted slightly to give me better access.
His breath hitched, his chest rising quickly.
Something primal stirred inside me—not the choreographed detachment I prided myself on—and my cock thickened against my zipper.
“Green means keep going, and yellow means slow down,” I said as my mouth moved down the strained line of his neck. While all of this was on the paperwork he’d filled out, I was a stickler for in-the-moment reminders. “And red means?”
“Stop,” Liam answered obediently.
“Good boy,” I murmured. “No questions, no judgments. If you need Ares or me to stop, we’ll stop.”
“Ares?”
“My partner in taking care of you tonight.” I paused and gave him a chance to process that information.
Some clients changed their minds altogether, and some needed their experiences altered because they were too big or too much.
And while I’d orchestrate the entire night so he wouldn’t have to focus on it, I didn’t mess with matters of consent.
A full stop at any point was a full stop. End of story. “Do you still want—”
“Yes,” he said quickly, interrupting me, and I chuckled against his neck. Eager thing.
Instead of moving, I hooked an arm around his waist and dragged his lean body flush against mine.
The little gasp he let out made me grin.
I was going to figure out all the noises he could make before our time was up.
And while I knew it’d been a long time since anyone bothered to do so, I had purely selfish reasons for doing so. It was because I wanted to.
I continued to kiss his neck and suck light marks along the muscle, feeling the way his pulse raced in response.
A shiver rolled through him as his ass pressed back against my cock.
The friction had a deep growl rumbling through my chest. My hand trailed over his flat stomach and the front of his pants.
I cupped the bulge in his jeans, feeling his hard length throbbing in my palm.
Pressing my hand into him, I stroked him base to tip in slow passes.
Each one dragged a ragged breath from him while his hips rocked forward into my hand.
“Look at you,” I marveled against his skin. “Already so hard and begging to be touched. Does that feel good?”
“Mhmm,” he let out breathlessly, his head turning my direction. I braced as he melted into me, accepting the brunt of his weight.
“Good.” Before I could say more, his mouth landed on mine, soft and tentative.
I deepened the kiss without hesitation. My tongue drove through his lips as I swallowed his moan.
He tasted like desperation and want and all the things I didn’t allow myself.
My fingers dug into his hips to pin him to me as I devoured him, and I pressed my palm harder over his cock, feeling his knees buckle slightly with the sensation.
I dragged my teeth lightly over his lower lip. So fucking sweet. I wanted more—I would have more—but for now I pulled away. My hand slid around over his hip and to his lower back. He let out the tiniest sound of protest at the separation, a sound that shot straight to my balls.
I was in over my head. The intrigue of this one was intense.
“Come,” I said and gently guided him toward the living room. As Ares came into sight, leaning against the window where I’d left him, I gave him the barest of nods—a simple all-clear. I could see the switch flip in his head, and he slipped flawlessly into the role designed for him.
He pushed away from the glass with that easy smile of his and sauntered our way.
“Well, well,” Ares murmured as he stepped closer. His fingers touched Liam’s chin, making him look up to meet his gaze. “Aren’t you a pretty thing?”
“Oh,” Liam let out, his voice damn near inaudible.
Ares’s hand slid down the column of Liam’s neck and gripped lightly as he leaned in, claiming his mouth in a deep and deliberate kiss. My fingers tightened on Liam’s back to steady him as he swayed. I watched, heat coiling through my lower core as my cock ached to participate.