Chapter 6
ARATH
In the past, I’ve never been the biggest fan of swallowing my partner’s load. I don’t care what anyone says; it’s not great. I’m not going to pretend I’m so obsessed with Elgin that his cum tastes good. It doesn’t. It tastes like cum.
However, what I’m obsessed with is the way he can’t get himself under control. As soon as I start sucking him, Elgin’s control is stripped from him, which is something I fucking love. I’m going to steal that control entirely.
It begins with his orgasms.
He’s still lying on the conference room table, chest heaving as he attempts to catch his breath. I watch him. Stare at his cock as it slowly softens and sags against his thigh. I adjust a little to look at his ass cheeks.
I hadn’t actually meant to finger him today. That was supposed to be a bedroom activity. But the way he stared at me… almost in challenge. Well, we can’t have that. He’ll learn that there is no challenge here. He does as I want him to.
Since he’s not in a hurry to move, I rest my hand over his dick and move it to lie along his stomach. Elgin grunts, flinches. He picks his head up to look at me.
“I’m not ready for more,” he says, eyes narrowed.
“I know.” I tweak his crown, and he hisses. Grinning, I meet his eyes again. “Just making sure you remember my touch on you.”
Elgin lets his head fall back again. The thunk is loud in the quiet conference room. Good thing these walls are mostly soundproof. He was definitely screaming there for a while. It was beautiful. Delicious. Hypnotic.
I lean forward and press my face to his crotch. Elgin grunts, his hands once more buried in my hair. I lick his balls, pull one into my mouth, and suck it gently. He whimpers. This man whimpers. God, I could get high off that sound.
“Ara,” he complains.
Sighing, I sit back up. Careful not to send him careening off the table, I let his legs down from my shoulders and get to my feet to pull him up. He shuffles awkwardly, his cheeks red. When he bends down to pull his pants up, I bat him away so I can do it myself.
Underwear first. I have to admit. These look really good on him. I bring them up around his sexy ass and adjust his sweet, soft cock inside. “That where you like your dick?” I ask.
I glance up in time to see his cheeks burn brightly. So hot.
“That’s fine,” he mutters. His hands are on the table behind him.
“But how do you usually arrange your junk?”
Elgin shakes his head. “I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it.”
“Then show me. I give you permission.”
His eyes narrow, and the red fades. “Permission, huh? To touch my own dick?”
I grin. “Yes. Show me and then hands off, Ellie.”
He glares. It’s cute as hell. I think he’s going to defy me just to do so. A second passes in which our gazes remain locked. But eventually he closes his eyes and touches his cock, moving himself around.
After a minute, he huffs. “I don’t really know. This is fine.”
“Not something you think about when pulling underwear on,” I agree and swipe his hand away so I can pull his pants up. I get to my feet when they’re around his narrow hips so I can fasten them. I pull his shirt down, and there. Perfect.
With my hands on his hips, I jerk him flush to my body, making sure he feels how hard I am for him. He inhales sharply, hand landing on my chest. “You’re a sexy little thing, Ellie,” I murmur. “Just wait until you really feel me in your hole.”
Elgin shudders. Swallows. Eyes remain wide. Skin flushes.
“Mmm,” I hum and lick my lips.
I bite his lower lip briefly, making him stifle a grunt before letting him go.
There’s a bathroom attached to the conference room because I like having bathrooms in convenient locations throughout the house.
Like right inside exterior doors. There’s nothing more frustrating than traipsing through the house with dirty shoes because you need to take a piss.
After washing my hands and face, I rejoin Elgin in the conference room. He’s standing where I left him. It’s on the tip of my tongue to praise him. Tell him how good he is not to have moved.
He’s on the verge of being a brat, though. Just for the purpose of defying me. Elgin Bolingbrook isn’t used to being told what to do. He hasn’t figured out how freeing it’ll be once he hands his control over to me. He’s going to like it. He’s going to thrive.
Instead of telling him he’s a good boy, I stop at the beverage station and fix myself a mug of cocoa while making Elgin a mug of tea; little bit of sugar, little bit of milk.
“Sit,” I tell him before I turn. I listen for him to do as I say. A moment passes. Stretches. Just as I’m getting ready to turn, I hear the chair adjust and the sound of the cushion as he sits. Good boy, I think.
Turning, I bring him his tea and set my cocoa down. Before taking my seat, I open the conference room door to find my team milling about in the hall. I incline my head, wordlessly inviting them back inside.
A handful of them pause at the beverage station to refill their drinks or make new ones. I take my seat beside Elgin, noting the way he’s avoiding everyone’s eyes, and his cheeks are flushed. Beautifully flushed. Sexy, sexy man.
There’s quiet conversation as everyone gets settled again. Once everyone is seated, I pull the keyboard toward me again and hit the button to wake the screen up. I smirk as I shuffle through all the programs Elgin pulled up with his head.
Eventually, we’re looking at photographs of his ransacked house, beginning with the kitchen that I had pulled up before sucking him off.
It’s methodical; dishes pulled out from the cabinets and crashed on the floor; shattered ceramic; drawers upturned, their contents all over the place; food pulled from the cabinets and fridge; stove pulled away from the wall.
Elgin shakes his head. “I’m not sure what can be stolen in a kitchen,” he says. “I guess just take an inventory of what was broken.”
I agree and click to the next image. The following dozen are the kitchen and pantry from several angles. Noting the mess.
From the kitchen, we move into the half bath where someone took a sledgehammer or something similar and shattered the toilet.
“Pointless destruction,” Saul comments.
“Yeah. Why bother?” Elgin asks as we move through the hall.
Pictures are strewn about. One of them on the floor, glass shattered.
Another has the photograph inside pulled out and torn in half.
“Are they trying to prove a point? It looks like a four-year-old is throwing a tantrum because their parents won’t let them stay up late. ”
Several snickers move around the table.
“Do you have any pets?” Claude asks.
Elgin shakes his head. “Traveling like I do with no one at home in my absence isn’t fair to any pet.”
“You could get fish,” Wendall suggests. “They make automatic feeders for fish.”
“Fun,” Elgin comments.
We take our time going through the images. It stops becoming about what might be missing and taking note of the damage instead. Saul is right. It’s pointless destruction. None of it is sending a message, though it’s clear that the attempt is there.
But their training is lacking. Breaking a toilet bowl. Breaking plates. Knocking over a china cabinet. Throwing a jar of tomato sauce at the wall so it shatters and makes a mess. That’s tantrum behavior. That’s not a threatening message.
It reinforces what we’ve already been saying. These guys are wannabes. Not actual criminals. Breaking and entering, and mass destruction? Those are petty charges. It’s trying too hard to get a message across, but the message is lost in translation.
Monkey is a great example. He thinks covering his body in graffiti is intimidating. He thinks he’s striking fear into those who look at him, but in reality, they’re cringing away.
The real reason I have the lineup of old mob bosses in my torture room isn’t only for those we bring in.
It reminds me what an actual mastermind looks like.
It’s a put-together, respected, dapper man walking down the street in broad daylight that no one would look twice at.
Not a man who thinks he needs to create an aesthetic so people are afraid of him just by looking at him.
I don’t have an issue with tattoos. If done well, they’re beautiful art. I have a few of my own. But the most dangerous man in the room with Monkey two nights ago wasn’t the one covered in ink. It was the one dragged out of bed in his pajamas.
Some people are too stupidly arrogant to know what’s good for them.
Elgin takes several long minutes looking at the pictures of open drawers and upended cabinets, looking for anything that might be missing.
In the end, he sits back in his chair and frowns.
The house is ransacked, yes. But nothing is missing.
Not jewelry. Not money. Not identification.
The safe in the closet has no sign of an attempted break-in.
“Being shot at is a far more intimidating tactic than this,” Elgin says. “They missed their mark. I’m just irritated that they broke shit and made a mess that I’m going to have to clean up. It’s an inconvenience. Not a threat.”
“That’s how you identify rookie criminals,” Saul says. “We’ve made note of the damage. I’ll have it sent off to your insurance company.”
“Thanks,” he says.
“Finish your tea,” I tell him.
I can tell he’s still thinking about his frustration with the situation rather than paying attention to me because he obeys immediately.
He brings his mug to his mouth and takes a sip without comment while staring at the screen with the last photo up.
It’s his front door, where a flowerpot was thrown at it.
There’s dirt, flowers, and bits of clay pot all over the front stoop.
Message received. We’re dealing with toddlers. Toddlers with guns, but toddlers all the same.