Chapter 7
ELLIOT
My composed walk dissolves into a desperate sprint. My heart pounds against my ribs as I tear through the dimly lit corridors of the maze, each breath burning in my lungs. I don’t care who sees me now—the cool, collected art dealer is gone, replaced by a man running for his life.
But I’m not running from Julian. I realize that, regardless of each emphatic denial, I’m actually running from myself.
My cock strains painfully against my pants with each stride, a persistent reminder of what just happened, of what I did. Of how much I fucking enjoyed it. The taste of him lingers on my tongue, and the memory sends another jolt of arousal through me that nearly makes me stumble.
“Fuck,” I hiss, ducking into a narrow corridor and pressing my back against the wall. I close my eyes, trying to steady my breathing, but all I see is Julian’s face, that predatory smile, those knowing eyes that seem to cut right through every defense I’ve spent decades building.
He’s gorgeous. There’s no point denying that anymore. Julian Frost is everything I pretend not to want—powerful, commanding, uncompromising. His cock was so exquisite, so thick, stretching my lips, and the thought of it elsewhere makes me throb with need.
I slide down the wall until I’m crouching, head in my hands.
The truth crashes over me like a wave: I want to be fucked.
I want Julian to find me, to force me to my knees again, to bend me over and take what I’ve never given anyone.
I want him to tear down every wall I’ve built since I was a teen and my mother caught me looking too long at a boy I had a crush on, since I learned to hate this part of myself.
I want someone to pull me out of this hole I’ve been digging my entire life.
The realization doesn’t bring relief. It brings terror. What would it mean to stop running? To let myself be caught—not just by Julian, but by the truth?
My body and mind are at war, one begging to be found, the other desperate to maintain the life I’ve constructed. I push myself to my feet, still hard, still wanting, still afraid.
A harsh electronic beep cuts through my panic. My watch display flashes with the notification I’ve been dreading: “HUNT COMPLETE. ALL PREY CAPTURED.”
My dick twitches traitorously against my thigh.
The message is clear—there are no more women to find, no more convenient shields to hide behind.
No female body I can place between myself and Julian to pretend this is something else.
Something normal. Something my mother wouldn’t have called disgusting.
I slide back down the wall until I’m sitting on the cold floor, my mask in my hands.
I’ve dated women, taken them to dinner, even to bed.
I’ve performed the role so well that I almost convinced myself.
But in quiet moments, alone in my shower or lying awake at night, it was always men I saw.
Always hard bodies and rough hands that I craved.
“You’re not one of those perverts, are you, Elliot?”
Mom’s voice echoes in my head, sharp as the day I was thirteen and she caught me staring at Michael Peterson changing after swim practice. The disgust in her eyes. The way she made me go to church every day for a month, like she could pray the sin out of me.
I press the heels of my hands against my eyes until I see stars. All these years of suffocating who I am, of building a gallery and a reputation and friendships on a foundation of lies. Of watching men like Theo live openly while I shrink into shadows, terrified someone might see the truth.
And now Julian has torn it all down.
My cock is still hard. That’s the most damning evidence of all—even now, hunted and exposed, I want him. I’ve always wanted this. Wanted men. Wanted to be taken and claimed and freed from this prison I’ve built around myself.
I hear footsteps in the distance, measured and unhurried. Julian, taking his time. Savoring the hunt.
A part of me—the real me, the one I’ve buried for so long—wants to stop running.
I push myself to my feet and start running again. The maze of Purgatory stretches before me like a physical manifestation of my own tangled psyche—dark, twisting with no clear way out. But I can’t stop. I can’t let Julian catch me. Not yet.
My mother’s voice still echoes in my head as my feet pound against the floor. What would she think if she saw me now? What would my clients say? The respectable art dealer on his knees for another man?
I turn a corner sharply, breathing hard, and freeze. The corridor opens into a small chamber, and I’m not alone.
Cora Pike kneels in the center of the room, surrounded by three men—Dominic, Ryder, and Liam. Her lips are wrapped around Dominic’s cock while her hands work on the other two men. They haven’t noticed me yet, too absorbed in their prize.
I should leave. I should turn around and find another path. But I can’t move.
My eyes lock onto their cocks—thick, hard, magnificent. Dominic disappears between Cora’s lips as she takes him deeper. Ryder’s is slightly curved, the head glistening with pre-cum as she strokes him. Liam’s is longer than the others, veined and powerful in her other hand.
My mouth waters involuntarily. My own cock, which had begun to soften during my flight, hardens instantly.
This isn’t the first time I’ve seen the other hunters naked.
Over the years at Purgatory, during various Hunts, we’ve all been exposed to each other at one point or another.
The membership rotates—about thirty regulars who cycle through the fifteen hunter positions each year—but we’ve all caught glimpses in changing rooms, in the aftermath of successful hunts.
They all have beautiful bodies. It’s like a requirement for Purgatory membership—perfect physiques to match perfect bank accounts.
I press myself against the wall, hoping the shadows conceal me.
“Found you,” Julian’s sing-song voice lilts from behind me. “My beautiful prey.”
My entire body goes rigid. The sound of his voice—playful, confident, hungry—sends electric currents racing down my spine. I don’t turn around.
Without thinking, I bolt from my hiding spot, abandoning the view of Cora and her captors. My footsteps echo against the walls as I tear down the next corridor, taking random turns, desperate to put distance between Julian and me.
Left. Right. Another right.
I skid to a halt as the corridor ends abruptly. A massive black door stands before me, its surface gleaming in the low light. A small touchpad glows beside it, displaying a simple question.
“Ready to see yourself?”
“Fuck,” I whisper, glancing back the way I came. Julian’s unhurried footsteps grow louder. There’s nowhere else to go.
I press my palm against the touchpad. The door slides open with a soft hiss, and I step inside. What I see makes my breath catch.
The Chamber of Reflections surrounds me—a hexagonal room where every surface is mirrored, including the ceiling and floor.
Soft, amber lighting creates an intimate glow.
In the center sits a large circular platform covered in black silk sheets, surrounded by floating shelves holding oils, restraints, and toys designed specifically for male pleasure.
From strategic points in the walls, small nozzles emit a light mist infused with something that makes my skin tingle and heightens every sensation. I can see myself from every angle—flushed, aroused, terrified.
Along one wall, a display of implements I’ve only ever fantasized about using hangs in meticulous order—prostate massagers, cock rings, and devices I don’t even have names for.
My reflection stares back at me, thousands of times over—the man I’ve pretended not to be for decades, cornered at last in a paradise of his own deepest desires.
The door slides open behind me, and my heart stops. I don’t need to turn around to know who it is—I can feel his presence like a physical weight against my skin.
“Such a good boy,” Julian purrs, his voice echoing in the mirrored chamber. “Running exactly where you were meant to go. It’s almost like you knew.”
My breath catches in my throat. Did I? The layout of Purgatory isn’t a mystery to the hunters—we all know where every corridor leads, which walls change, every room’s purpose. Did some part of me guide my panicked flight directly to this room? This shrine to every desire I’ve denied?
“I didn’t—” I start, but the lie dies on my lips as I turn to face him.
Julian stands just inside the doorway, smiling like a wolf who’s cornered its prey after a particularly enjoyable chase. His fingers move to his belt, unhurried, confident.
“You did,” he says, pushing his pants down his legs and stepping out of them.
I can’t breathe. I can’t think. Every mirror reflects him from different angles—Julian naked, tattooed, and magnificent.
An intricate design crawls up his right thigh, curling around his hip and disappearing around his back.
Nestled among those tattoos is a subtle crown, etched in delicate lines, an emblem of authority that both fascinates and unnerves me.
His cock stands proud, thick and veined, exactly as it felt between my lips earlier.
My knees buckle. I brace myself against the nearest mirrored wall to stay upright, but what I want is to worship him. To surrender everything I am to this man who has seen through me—a man who embodies the power of a king and the allure of a lover.
He is beautiful. He is terrifying. He is my undoing and my salvation all at once.
My king.
The thought flashes through my mind unbidden, but it feels right in a way nothing has before.
It’s not just the crown inked on his skin that captures my heart; it’s the way he carries himself, a confidence that draws me in like gravity.
A sob catches in my throat—not from fear or shame, but from the overwhelming relief of finally acknowledging what I’ve always known but been too scared to accept.