Chapter 1: Feast of Desire
The city was a scatter of diamonds thirty floors below, but up here, the only lights that mattered were the dozens of candles flickering in the penthouse suite. Their glow pooled on the rumpled silk of the king-sized bed, catching the sweat-damp skin of two women and the hungry dark of Patrick’s eyes as he watched.
A feast was laid out before them—plates of ripe figs, glistening oysters, a wheel of brie that oozed onto the slate board, and a tower of chocolate-dipped strawberries that Payton was systematically dismantling. She wasn’t eating so much as devouring, each bite deliberate, her eyes fluttering shut as the rich dark chocolate and sweet berry burst on her tongue.
Next to her, Steph laughed, a rich, bubbly sound, and reached for a profiterole, cream puffing out the sides as she brought it to her lips. “God, I forgot how good these are,” she mumbled, licking Chantilly from her thumb. Her other hand slid to her own stomach, clad in a lace-trimmed silk camisole, stroking the soft curve there with visible pleasure.
Patrick felt a primal tug low in his belly. He shifted on the plush velvet ottoman, his drink forgotten. The air was thick, sweet—perfume, chocolate, salt, sex.
“Don’t forget the oysters,” he said, his voice a low rasp.
Payton glanced up, a sheen of butter on her lower lip. Her blonde hair was tousled, her crisp professional demeanor melted away hours ago. Now, she was all appetite. He’d watched it happen, that controlled unraveling. She picked up a shell, tilted her head back, and let the slick, briny morsel slide down her throat. A low moan escaped her. It wasn’t performance. It was pure, unfiltered sensation.
“Come here,” Patrick said, not to Payton, but to Steph.
She shuffled across the bed on her knees, the silk sliding against her thighs, coming to the edge where he sat. He set his glass down and placed his hands on her hips, his thumbs rubbing circles over the softness there. Then he slid his hands up, under the thin silk of her top, over the warm, generous swell of her belly. She sighed deeply, leaning into his touch.
“Full?” he asked, though he could feel the taut, satisfied curve beneath his palm.
“So full,” she breathed, her head dipping back. “It’s a good ache.”
He kissed her stomach, a soft press of his lips against her skin. He could smell the sugar on her, feel the life and the unapologetic enjoyment. His fingers traced lower, hooking into the lace of her panties. She let out a shaky breath.
From the bed, Payton watched, her chewing slowed. A complex emotion flitted across her face—want, a tinge of competitive heat, a deep, humming satisfaction. She’d spent a decade counting calories, optimizing her body for boardrooms, a sleek machine. Discovering this other desire, this hunger to be soft, to be indulged, to take up space… it terrified and electrified her. Patrick saw that war in her every time.
“Enjoying the view?” Patrick murmured, his words muffled against Steph’s skin.
“Immensely.” Payton’s voice was husky. She picked up a strawberry, dragged it through a dollop of whipped cream. “She looks beautiful. You make her feel beautiful.”
“She is beautiful,” Patrick corrected, lifting his head. He kept one hand splayed on Steph’s belly, a possessive, worshipping anchor. “And so are you.”
Payton took a slow bite of the strawberry, her eyes locked on his. Juice stained her lips. “I feel… different. Not just physically. It’s like I’ve been holding my breath for years and I just finally let go.”
Steph reached back, her hand finding Patrick’s hair, threading through it. “Told you it was liberating.”
“It’s more than that,” Payton said, shifting. The new, gentle roll of her stomach was visible as she moved, a reality she was still getting used to admiring. “It’s power. I’m doing this because I want to. Because it feels fucking incredible.”
Patrick released Steph with a final, soft caress and stood. He crossed to the bed, the city lights painting his shoulders in silver. He didn’t speak, just took Payton’s wrist and brought her cream-coated fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean. Her breath hitched.
“It is power,” he agreed, his voice intimate. “Your ambition, your discipline… you turned that inward. Now you’re using it to build something for pure pleasure. That’s the most subversive thing I’ve ever seen.”
He kissed her then, tasting berry and cream and the underlying sharpness of the champagne she’d been drinking. Her hands came up, pulling him down onto the bed with her, into the landscape of crumbs and silk. Steph giggled and curled against his back, her warm, ample body a lush cushion.
For a while, there was only the sound of breathing, of rustling fabric, of skin meeting skin. The feast around them forgotten, they became their own banquet. Patrick was a skilled conductor, attuned to their separate rhythms—Payton’s driven intensity, Steph’s joyful abandon. He knew when to push, when to soothe, when to let them get lost in each other while he watched, his own desire a steady, dark flame.
Later, tangled and sated, Steph traced the lines of Payton’s ribs, now softer, less defined. “I want to paint you like this,” she murmured sleepily. “All gold and shadow and curves. No sharp edges.”
Payton hummed, her eyes closed. “I’d hang it in my office. Scare the interns.”
Patrick laughed quietly, stroking Payton’s hair. The candles were burning low. In the quiet, a different kind of tension seeped in, the kind that came after vulnerability.
Payton opened her eyes, looking at the ceiling. “My sister is in town next week. She wants lunch.”
The statement hung there. Steph’s hand stilled.
“Okay,” Patrick said, neutral.
“She hasn’t seen me since… since I started.” Payton swallowed. “She’s going to have opinions. Loud ones.”
“So?” Steph propped herself up on an elbow. “It’s your body, Pay.”
“I know. I know that here.” She tapped her temple. “It’s just noise. But it’s noise from someone who’s known me my whole life as the skinny, strung-out overachiever.” She turned her head to look at Patrick, a flicker of the old anxiety in her gaze. “What if I… forget who I am in this?”
He considered her, his thumb brushing her cheek. “You’re not forgetting. You’re remembering something older. Something she never knew about you.” He kissed her forehead. “Let her talk. Then order the cheesecake for dessert and watch her head explode.”
A real smile broke through Payton’s worry. Steph giggled, the sound dissolving the last of the tension.
But as they settled again, the spooning bodies seeking warmth in the cool, air-conditioned room, Patrick kept his eyes open. He watched the final candle gutter and die, casting them into the soft charcoal gloom of the city’s ambient light. Payton’s question echoed. This thing between them was a bubble, exquisite and protected. The world outside, with its opinions and its old mirrors, was still out there.
He held them both a little tighter. The challenge wasn’t here, in this bed. It was out there. And soon, they’d have to face it.