Page 22 of Daggermouth

Greyson’s pulse quickened. “Send her up.”

From the drawer in the table he pulled out another mask. He kept them all over the apartment so one was always in reach.

He slipped the mask over his face, the familiar weight settling against his skin like armor. Even here, even in this moment of anticipated release, he could not exist without the barrier between himself and the world. The obsidian surface caught the dim light of the city from the floor-to-ceiling window. He didn’t bother to close the curtains.

The soft chime of the elevator announced her arrival. Greyson stood motionless in the center of his bedroom, hands clasped behind his back, watching the door while staying completely still. He heard Chapman’s footsteps in the hallway, the low murmur of voices, then the quiet retreat of his butler’s presence.

Maya entered without knocking.

She moved with the grace of someone who understood her role perfectly—neither servile nor defiant, but something carefully calibrated between the two. Her dark hair was pulled back severely, exposing the elegant line of her throat. She wore a simple black dress that hugged her curves without ostentation, but still expensive enough to not look out of place inside this tower.

Maya lived between worlds like Greyson did, and she understood to a degree how it felt to be pulled between the rings. She was from the Cardinal, but worked for Callum at his club. She was not considered elite because she didn’t live within the Heart’s boundaries, but her ability to keep secrets made her sought after by men of the Heart.

Greyson was one of her secrets.

She paused just inside the threshold, her eyes finding his masked face. No words passed between them. There was no need for conversation, no pretense of intimacy beyond the physical. This was transaction elevated to art form.

Without breaking eye contact, she reached behind her neck, pulled her hair from the elastic holding it back, and unzipped the dress inone smooth motion. The fabric whispered to the floor, pooling at her feet like spilled ink. Beneath, she wore nothing—her body pale and unmarked, untouched by the violence that scarred most from the outer rings.

Greyson’s breathing deepened behind the mask. She was beautiful—soft where the world had made him hard, unmarked where it had carved him into something barely human.

She stepped out of the dress and approached him slowly, not with caution but rising desire. Her hands moved to his chest, fingers tracing the raised lines of old wounds.

“It’s late, even for you,” she said, voice barely above a whisper.

He caught her wrists, grip firm. “Don’t talk.”

Maya nodded, obeying. She sank to her knees before him, hands sliding down his torso with practiced reverence.

This was what he needed—complete surrender from someone who chose to give it, who understood that control was the only currency that mattered in his world.

He threaded his fingers through her hair, grip tightening until she gasped. The sound sent electricity down his spine, that perfect balance of power and submission that made his pulse race in ways the executions never could.

“Look at me,” he commanded.

She tilted her head back, meeting the dark holes of his mask with unwavering focus. In her eyes, he saw acceptance, anticipation. She knew what he was, what heneeded, and offered herself as a willing sacrifice to his hunger for dominion.

Her lips parted as she gazed up at him, knowing what he craved. She understood that this wasn’t about pleasure for him, not really. It was about having something,someone, that belonged entirely to him in these stolen moments.

Her mouth found him, warm and wet, and Greyson’s head fell back at the contact. A low growl escaped from behind the mask as she began to work him, sliding him deeper and deeper into her throat.

“Yes,” he breathed, fingers tightening in her hair as she took him to the base. “Just like that.”

Maya’s eyes never left his, even as tears gathered at the corners from the force of his grip and the lack of oxygen. Greyson watched her, drinking in the sight of her kneeling before him.

Here was something pure in its honesty—no politics, no masks beyond his own, no secrets. Just flesh and hunger and the sweet agony of control finally,finallyin his hands.

He pulled her back by her hair, just enough to see her swollen lips, the string of saliva connecting them still, then pushed her back down. He felt her throat constrict, felt her gag around him. Her hands gripped his thighs for leverage as he pumped into her. The wet sounds of her mouth filled the sterile silence of his bedroom, obscene and perfect.

Maya moaned around him, the vibration sending shock waves through his body. He pulled out of her abruptly, his free hand wrapping around her throat, not quite cutting off air but making his ownership unmistakable. He could feel her pulse hammering against his palm, could sense the way she trembled between fear and arousal.

This was what he needed.

“Remember your safe word?” Greyson asked down at her.

“Mercy,” she gasped.

“Good girl,” he purred, then lifted her from the floor.