Way

The penthouse loomed above the city like a temple built for a king—and I was its god.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, spilling me into the vast, dimly lit expanse of my home. The floor-to-ceiling windows stretched across the entire far wall, showcasing the glittering cityscape below—a sprawling kingdom of glass and steel that bent to my will. Inside, everything was bathed in subtle, golden light—imported marble beneath my feet, a crystal decanter half-filled with aged whiskey waiting on the obsidian bar, the faint scent of expensive leather and cologne still lingering in the air.

A place of power. Of control.

But tonight, it felt… empty. Lacking.

I shrugged off my jacket as I stepped into the vast space, my movements slow, deliberate, as if in a trance. My fingers worked open the buttons of my cuffs, pushing my sleeves up as I moved through the penthouse, straight toward my bedroom—toward the only place I could let go.

The moment I stepped inside, I was already unfastening my belt, tugging it loose with a sharp, metallic clink. My breath was shallow, uneven, my entire body strung tight with tension—with something I couldn't name, something bigger than hunger, bigger than desire.

It was need.

I sat at the edge of the bed, my legs spreading slightly as I pushed my pants down. The second the fabric slipped lower, the thick outline of my length pressed up against my underwear, twitching, straining against the already damp fabric.

I exhaled through my teeth. Fuck.

My thumb traced over the swollen, sensitive head through the cloth, and a shudder wracked through me. The wet patch smeared slightly, hot, sticky proof of my unraveling.

A wet, obscene click sounded as the fabric peeled away, strings of precum smearing against the cloth, against my bare skin.

And then—fuck.

My length sprang free, slapping against my abdomen, thick and slick with proof of my hunger, standing harder than I could ever remember. A drop of sticky arousal beaded at the flushed, swollen head, sliding down the shaft in slow, damning evidence of my complete lack of control.

I stared down at myself, panting, my chest rising and falling, my fingers trembling slightly where they rested against my thigh.

I had leaked.

Had. Leaked.

Me—who had sat across from the most intoxicating actresses, the most dangerous seductresses, the most ravenous supermodels, and barely even blinked.

Me—who had spent entire nights with women on their knees, their painted lips wrapped around me, their perfect bodies spread open for my taking—and never had I felt this.

Not once.

Not until him.

I sucked in a sharp breath, my fingers twitching, desperate, gripping my own length, wrapping around the slick heat of it. My palm tightened, stroking slow, deliberate, dragging my fist over every inch with a pressure that made my muscles tense, my jaw clench.

My body reacted instantly—hips jerking into my own touch, chasing friction, chasing something that wasn't there.

Leo.

His name echoed in my head, each syllable dragging me deeper.

Leo, curled up in my lap. His small frame tucked against me, trusting, warm. His delicate fingers clutching my shirt, his body pressing closer in sleep. His lips—fuck, those lips. Soft, pink, parting as he whispered thank you, sir.

I groaned low in my throat, my grip tightening, my strokes turning deliberate, slow, cruel.

The way he had moved—so unknowing, so natural. The way his hips had that subtle, almost feminine curve, the way his dress pants clung to him, perfectly sculpted to his delicate thighs, his tiny waist.

His body was made to be handled. Held. Owned.

I hummed again—soft, rhythmic, mindless. The same tune that had followed me from the car. A melody I had never sung before, yet one that now belonged to him.

My other hand fisted into the sheets, trembling.

I wanted more.

I needed him closer.

I needed him here.

I stroked harder, rougher, my muscles locking up, my jaw clenching. The pressure inside me coiled tighter, unbearable, a thick, molten ache in my gut.

I wasn't just obsessed.

I was fucking wrecked.

A growl curled in my throat, my body tensing, the world around me turning white-hot, electric. My fingers trembledwhere they gripped myself, hips jerking, pleasure coiling tight, too tight, too much.

And still—

I was hard.

Even as pleasure ripped through me, even as I came with a shuddering, broken gasp, pleasure crackling through my veins in violent waves—it wasn't enough.

I was still hard.

My body refused to stop, refused to be satisfied, refused to accept that he wasn't here.

I lay there, panting, trembling, my pulse pounding, thrumming, roaring in my ears. The sweat cooling on my skin did nothing to soothe the fever still burning inside me.

I turned my head slightly, gaze flicking to the massive window, to the city below—a kingdom that belonged to me.

And yet—

I didn't have him.

And that was unacceptable.

I let out a slow, shuddering breath, my grip tightening around myself again, still aching, still pulsing, still desperate.

It wasn't enough.

It would never be enough.

Not until he was here.

Not until I had him where he belonged.

I wasn't a man who denied myself what I wanted.

And Leo?

He would be no exception.

Madness flashed in my eyes, a fever that burned hotter than ever before. But this was not the madness that built empires, not the ruthless calculation that crushed industries and swallowed corporations whole.

This was something else.

Something primal. Something singular.

My mind was already churning, not with business deals, not with strategies to outmaneuver rivals or claim power—but with one obsessive, all-consuming thought.

To have him.

To take him. Keep him.

To ensure that he belonged to me in every way that mattered.

I was still hard, still throbbing, my body refusing to let go of the ache, the need, the hunger. The room was thick with it—my scent, my heat, the evidence of my desperation smeared across my skin. And yet, it wasn't enough.

It would never be enough.

Just then, the sharp ring of my phone cut through the suffocating silence, slicing into my thoughts like a blade.

I blinked, dragging my gaze to where my pants lay discarded on the floor. The phone was beside them, screen glowing in the dim light.

Grandfather.

The name was displayed in crisp, clear letters.

I stilled.

And then—a slow smile curled at the corners of my lips.

This was the way.

This was the answer.

This was how I would have him.