Chapter 25 Victor
VICTOR
“We’re hoping to expand the program to include more at-risk youth next year,” Councilman Davis drones on, his handshake earlier as limp as his policy positions. “With sponsors like yourself, Mr. Kaine, we can really make a difference.”
I nod, nursing my whiskey while scanning the ballroom.
The fundraiser’s drawn every power player in the city—perfect exposure for Kaine’s Fight Club.
Five months since we opened the south side location, and memberships are through the roof.
All I need tonight is a couple more sponsors for the youth program and maybe that vacant building on Jefferson—
Dawson.
At the bar, half-turned away, talking with two men I don’t recognize.
Suits expensive enough that I’d put them in finance or institutional money.
The kind of money that doesn’t have to introduce itself.
One of them gestures with a champagne flute.
The other laughs at whatever Dawson just said.
Dawson’s hand rests on his shoulder for a beat too long. Like they go back.
Of course he’s here. The youth program is the kind of optics every gym in the city is courting. Of course he’s been working the rooms I’ve been working.
I drag my attention back to Councilman Davis. File the sighting away. Deal with it Monday.
My heart stops.
Theo. Here. In a sleek charcoal suit that hugs his slim frame.
My glass freezes halfway to my lips as Julian Frost guides their entourage through the entrance—all high-end nightlife executives, all impossibly stylish. But I see only Theo, his hair slightly longer than when I last touched it two weeks ago.
“—don’t you agree, Mr. Kaine?”
The councilman’s voice penetrates the fog. “Sorry, what was that?” I manage, my collar suddenly too tight.
“I said the discipline from combat sports translates well to academic performance.”
“Absolutely,” I answer automatically, while my peripheral vision tracks Theo’s movement across the room.
As if sensing me, Theo turns. Our eyes lock across fifty feet of polished marble and designer suits.
Five months since the Hunt. Two weeks since I made excuses about why he couldn’t come to the event. Eight days since our last fuck—rushed and desperate in his apartment after I claimed I had an early meeting.
My pulse thunders in my chest, sweat breaking across my back.
Theo’s lips curve slightly—a smile so subtle no one else would notice. It carries no accusations, no demands. Just acknowledgment. Recognition.
My hand tightens around my glass. The room narrows to a tunnel.
If I nod back, someone might see. If I approach, questions will follow. Who’s your friend, Victor? How do you know the Eclipse owner? Introduce us.
My panic rises like bile.
I turn my back, presenting Theo with nothing but the expanse of my shoulders beneath my tailored jacket.
“Excuse me,” I tell the councilman, my voice tight. “I need to speak with the event coordinator about our donation.”
I spend the next hour working the room, always aware of where Theo is and positioning myself on the opposite side. My palm sweats around my second whiskey as I navigate through clusters of city officials and potential sponsors, hyper-focused on not looking in his direction.
“The youth program statistics are impressive,” I tell the Parks Commissioner, my back deliberately turned to where Julian’s group mingles by the bar.
Every few minutes, my neck tingles with the certainty that Theo’s watching me. I refuse to check.
When my bladder finally demands attention, I calculate the safest route to the restrooms—through the east doors, far from where I last spotted him with a champagne flute, laughing at something Julian said.
The hallway offers a brief sanctuary. Cool air washes over my flushed face as I push through the bathroom door, splash water on my face, and stare at my reflection. Get it together. You’ve spent three decades not being this person.
I dry my hands and exit, planning my next moves—another fifteen minutes of networking, then a graceful exit...
“Fancy meeting you here.”
Theo’s voice slams into me. He’s leaning against the wall, one shoulder propped casually, tie loosened just enough to suggest the night’s getting interesting.
“What are you doing?” I hiss, glancing frantically down the empty corridor.
“Currently?” His eyes travel slowly down my body. “Admiring the way that suit fits across your shoulders.”
“Stop it.”
He steps closer. “Two weeks is a long time, Victor. I’ve been thinking about your hands.”
The scent of him—cologne and something uniquely Theo—hits me. My mouth goes dry.
“Anyone could walk by,” I warn, even as I step toward him.
“That’s what makes it exciting.” His fingertips brush my wrist. “You look good enough to eat tonight, Daddy.”
The word shatters my restraint. My hand finds his waist, then I’m shoving him through a nearby door—supply closet, coat check, I don’t even care—pressing him against shelves stocked with cleaning products.
The door clicks shut behind us, sealing us in darkness broken only by a thin strip of light beneath the door. My heart thunders against my ribs, but not from fear—from hunger.
“Someone could walk in any second,” I growl against his neck, my hands already loosening his belt.
“Then you’d better be quick,” Theo whispers, his fingers threading through my hair.
I should stop. I should walk out right now and rejoin the fundraiser. My reputation, my business—everything I’ve built suddenly precarious. But as his thumb traces my bottom lip, all I can think about is getting my mouth on him.
“Fuck it,” I mutter, dropping to my knees on the hard floor.
My hands work his zipper, freeing his cock. Even in the near-darkness, I can make out the shape of him. I run my tongue over my lips, anticipation building in my chest.
“I’ve been thinking about this all day,” I admit, wrapping my hand around his base.
“Show me how much you missed it,” Theo challenges, his voice a ragged whisper.
I take him into my mouth without hesitation, savoring the taste of him on my tongue. The danger of our situation only heightens every sensation—the feel of his skin, the subtle tremors in his thighs as I take him deeper.
His cock is thick enough to stretch my lips, smooth against my tongue. I’ve never wanted anything in my mouth more. Each time I take him, the desire only intensifies.
“That’s it,” Theo groans, his head falling back against the shelves. Something rattles, but neither of us cares. “Your mouth was made for my cock.”
I grip his hips harder, pulling him deeper. Outside this closet, I’m Victor Kaine, respected businessman. In here, I’m just a man on his knees, desperate to please.
His fingers tighten in my hair, guiding my movements while I take him deeper. Something I never imagined enjoying has become an obsession. The weight of Theo’s cock on my tongue, the way it fills my mouth—I crave it now.
“Fuck, you’re getting so good at this,” Theo whispers, his voice strained in the darkness. “Better every time, Daddy.”
I hollow my cheeks, creating the suction that I’ve learned drives him wild. My technique has improved dramatically since those first hesitant attempts. Now I know exactly how much pressure to apply with my tongue along the sensitive underside, how to work my throat muscles to take him deeper.
“Five months ago, you’d never sucked a cock,” he gasps as I pull back to circle my tongue around his tip. “Now look at you.”
Pride surges through me. I’ve mastered this like everything else in my life—with determination and focus. The slick sounds of my mouth working him echo in our hidden space, adding to the danger and thrill.
My own cock strains painfully against my tailored pants. Without breaking rhythm, I slide my hand down to palm myself through the expensive fabric. The pressure sends sparks up my spine.
“That’s it,” Theo encourages, watching me touch myself while servicing him. “I want Daddy to suck all the cum out of me.” His hips jerk forward involuntarily. “Then I’ll return the favor. Get on my knees and let you fuck my throat until you explode.”
The image makes me groan around his length, sending vibrations that make his thighs tremble. I squeeze myself harder through my pants, desperate for friction while I take him impossibly deeper, my nose pressing against the trimmed hair at his base.
“Jesus, look at you,” he breathes, cupping my jaw reverently. “Taking me all the way down your throat while you touch yourself. You fucking love this, don’t you?”
I answer by swallowing around him, my throat contracting. His head falls back against the shelves with a soft thud as he fights to keep quiet.
Theo’s breathing grows ragged, his fingers tightening in my hair as his hips stutter. “Fuck, I’m close,” he whispers, voice strained underneath the muffled sounds of the gala filtering through the door.
I double down, sucking faster, harder, wanting to taste his release. His thighs tense under my palms.
“Take it all,” he commands through gritted teeth as his cock pulses against my tongue.
Hot spurts fill my mouth, coating my throat as I swallow eagerly. Something that once would have disgusted me now feels like a reward—proof of my power to unravel him. I milk every drop, sucking until he hisses from oversensitivity.
When I finally pull back, his cock slips from my lips, still semi-hard. I look up at him, his face barely visible in the darkness but his chest heaving with satisfaction.
“Your turn, Daddy,” Theo purrs, reaching for me.
The door handle rattles.
We freeze. Terror floods my system like ice water. My heart beats so wildly, I’m certain whoever’s outside can hear it. Theo’s cock hangs inches from my face as I remain paralyzed on my knees, my career and reputation balanced on a knife’s edge.
The handle jiggles again. Someone pushes against the door, finding it locked.
“Occupied,” I want to shout, but my voice is trapped in my throat.
“Not in there,” a woman’s voice says from the hallway. “This way.”
Footsteps fade. The hallway goes silent.
I exhale a shuddering breath, my shoulders slumping as adrenaline drains from my body.
Theo tucks himself away, straightening his clothes in the darkness.
When I try to stand, my legs shake beneath me.
The throbbing arousal that consumed me seconds ago has vanished completely, killed by the close call.
“That was too fucking close,” I mutter, adjusting myself in pants that suddenly feel too spacious.
I watch Theo’s expression shift in the dim light. The playfulness drains from his face, replaced by something that makes my stomach twist.
“It’s not like anyone would recognize me with your cock down my throat,” I attempt to joke, but it falls flat.
Theo tucks in his shirt. “Would it really be the end of the world if someone saw us together?”
I busy myself adjusting my tie to avoid his eyes.
“You know it’s different for me,” I mutter.
“Is it?”
Something in his tone makes me look up. There’s hurt there, hurt he’s not quite hiding behind his usual confidence.
And suddenly I get it. For Theo, being caught with a man would mean nothing. His sexuality isn’t a secret; it’s just another facet of who he is. Being found in a compromising position might be embarrassing, but not life-altering.
For me, it’s everything.
“My entire business is built on this image,” I say, gesturing vaguely at myself. “The tough guy. The alpha. The straight fight club owner who can knock someone out with one punch.”
The words sound hollow even as I say them. I’ve spent years crafting this persona—the hypermasculine ex-fighter who commands respect through strength and intimidation. Being discovered on my knees for another man doesn’t fit the narrative I’ve sold to everyone—my fighters, my sponsors, myself.
“Kaine’s Fight Club isn’t just a gym,” I continue, hearing the desperation creep into my voice. “It’s a brand. It’s who I am.”
But as soon as the words leave my mouth, I’m not sure that’s true anymore. Who I am has been shifting beneath my feet for months now, like sand washing away with the tide.
Theo’s eyes darken. He steps closer, his voice low but vibrating with intensity.
“I won’t be kept hidden forever, Victor.”
I open my mouth but find no response.
“I understand your business. I understand your image.” He straightens his tie with precise movements. “But I won’t spend my life hiding in closets and sneaking around like we’re doing something shameful.”
“Theo—”
“No.” He cuts me off with a raised hand. “You have a choice to make. Eventually, you’ll either need to move on and find someone you can tuck away forever, or you’ll decide that what we have is worth standing up for.”
My stomach twists. The unfairness of it burns in my chest—that I should have to choose between everything I’ve built and the one person who makes me feel alive.
But looking at Theo’s face, the hurt no longer concealed behind his eyes, I realize I’ve been asking him to make that same choice every day. And each time, he chooses me.
“This isn’t just sex anymore,” he continues, softer now. “And you know it.”
He’s right. What started as a physical obsession has become something else entirely—something that terrifies me far more than being caught on my knees in a supply closet.
“I need time,” I manage, hating how weak it sounds.
Theo’s expression hardens. “Time isn’t what you need, Victor. Courage is.”
He adjusts his cuffs and reaches for the door.
“Where are you going?” I ask, panic rising.
“Back to the gala. I’m going to enjoy the rest of my evening without hiding who I am.”
The door opens, and he steps out without looking back, leaving me alone among the cleaning supplies and shadows.
I watch him walk away down the corridor, his shoulders squared, head high. Every instinct screams at me to follow him, to grab his arm and pull him back.
Near the gala entrance, two men stand talking. Theo passes them without looking. The shorter one’s head turns half a beat too long.
I know that turn. I know that head.
Dawson says something to the man beside him and keeps walking. Doesn’t look back at the corridor. Doesn’t have to.
But I remain frozen, torn between the man I’ve always been and the man I might become.