Chapter 12
JULIAN
Releasing the last buckle on the spreader bar, I free Elliot’s legs. He sways slightly as he stands, and I steady him with a hand on his hip, lingering longer than necessary. His skin is warm beneath my palm, slick with sweat—evidence of what we’ve just done together.
Theo sits off to the side, watching us with those dark eyes of his. The room feels charged, the air heavy with the scent of sex and the unspoken question hanging between us.
“What now?” Elliot finally asks, his voice hoarse. His eyes dart between Theo and me, uncertainty written across his features.
I study him for a moment—his flushed skin, his disheveled hair, the way he can’t quite meet my gaze. “What do you want to happen next?” I counter, genuinely curious about what this newly awakened version of Elliot desires.
He hesitates, mouth opening then closing again. This reluctance to voice his needs is frustratingly endearing.
I find myself reaching for him again, unable to stop myself from touching this beautiful man. My fingers trace the line of his jaw before sliding around to cup the back of his neck. I pull him close, breathing in the scent of him as I press my lips to the sensitive spot just below his ear.
“You taste even better than I imagined,” I murmur against his skin, surprised by my own candor.
My hands continue their exploration, one sliding down his back while the other tangles in his hair. He melts against me with a small sound that ignites something possessive in my chest.
It’s odd—I’ve had men before, certainly found them attractive, but never felt this overwhelming need to keep touching, to maintain contact.
There’s something about Elliot that draws me in beyond the physical pleasure.
Perhaps it’s the vulnerability beneath his carefully constructed facade, or the way he surrenders so beautifully despite his fears.
Whatever it is, I can’t seem to get enough of him.
I hold Elliot’s gaze, waiting. The silence stretches between us, filled with the echoes of what we’ve just done. Despite his hesitation, I can see desire warring with fear in his eyes—the perpetual battle he’s been fighting his entire life.
“Tell me what you want, Elliot,” I press, my voice low. “No more hiding.”
He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. For a moment, I think he might retreat into denial, but then something shifts in his expression—a surrender that’s even more beautiful than when I was inside him.
“I want more,” he admits, the words barely audible. His eyes drop to the floor, then lift to meet mine with newfound determination. “I want... I want to be prey.”
My pulse quickens at his confession. “Say it again. Clearly this time.”
Elliot stands straighter, as if finding strength in finally voicing his desires. “I want to be hunted. By you. Through the corridors.” His breathing grows heavier. “I want to run, knowing you’re coming for me. I want to feel what it’s like to be one of the ones who gets hunted every year.”
The honesty in his voice stirs something primal in me. This isn’t just about sex anymore—this is about helping Elliot break free from the prison he’s built around himself.
“That can be arranged,” I say, unable to keep the satisfaction from my voice.
Theo clears his throat, reminding us of his presence. He pushes himself off the mirrored wall.
“I’ll see you both later,” he says, his dark eyes gleaming with promise. “But I expect to have a bit of fun with you during the orgy section of the hunt.”
I nod in agreement, already imagining the possibilities. “Looking forward to it.”
Theo gives Elliot one last appreciative glance before slipping out of the chamber, leaving us alone.
I notice Elliot’s mask clutched in his trembling hands, his fingers tracing the edges nervously. Such a beautiful metaphor for the man himself—hiding behind carefully constructed barriers his entire life. I step forward and pluck it from his grasp, holding it up between us.
“You won’t need this anymore,” I tell him, watching his eyes widen. “If you’re prey, you don’t get to hide behind masks. I want to see every expression on your face when I catch you.”
His breath catches, chest rising and falling in quick succession.
I reach for my own mask, sliding it back into place over my features. The weight settles against my skin, reinforcing the power dynamic between us. Hunter and hunted. Predator and prey.
“Now run from your king,” I command. “But know this, Elliot—you will be caught and conquered in the end.”
He hesitates for a moment, swallowing hard as his eyes dart between me and the exit. Then something shifts in his expression—a flash of exhilaration breaking through the fear. He lunges for his discarded pants, nearly stumbling in his haste to pull them on.
I watch him, enjoying the show as he struggles with the fabric, his movements frantic yet graceful.
With one last glance at me—equal parts terror and anticipation—he turns and disappears into the corridor, his footsteps echoing as he flees into the maze.
My cock stirs immediately at the thought of pursuit, blood rushing south despite having just emptied myself inside him minutes ago. By the time I reach for my own pants, I’m already half-hard, the fabric refusing to cooperate as I try to contain my growing erection.
“Fuck,” I mutter, adjusting myself uncomfortably as I finally manage to zip up. The pressure against my semi-erect cock only heightens my arousal, my body already eager for the next round with my newly claimed prey.
I give Elliot a generous head start before setting off after him. The anticipation of the chase thrums through my veins, heightening every sense. The corridors of Purgatory stretch before me like a dark labyrinth, and somewhere within them, Elliot is running.
This feeling is... different. Usually, during the Hunt, there’s a detached satisfaction in the pursuit, a clinical appreciation for the game.
But as I track Elliot through the maze, my heartbeat quickens in a way I don’t recognize.
I find myself smiling, replaying the way his eyes had widened when I commanded him to run, how his lips had parted so prettily.
I pause at a junction, listening for footsteps. Instead of my usual focus, I’m thinking about the way Elliot felt beneath me—not just the physical sensation, but the trust in his surrender. How rare that is in our world, where everyone wears masks beyond the physical ones we don for the Hunt.
My cock throbs painfully against my zipper as I catch a glimpse of movement down a darkened corridor. I adjust myself, wincing at the pressure. I’ve never wanted a second round quite this desperately before.
Strange.
I’ve had plenty of satisfying encounters over the years, yet none have left me feeling this insistent hunger. There’s something about Elliot that gets under my skin—perhaps it’s the challenge of making him accept who he is, or maybe it’s something more.
The thought stops me cold. Something more isn’t in my vocabulary—not with anyone I’ve pursued during the Hunt, not with my occasional liaisons with Theo. Yet here I am, practically sprinting after Elliot Chambers with an urgency that surprises me.
I slow my pace, suddenly aware that I’m rushing this. I find myself wanting to prolong the chase, to savor every moment of this game we’re playing.
My footsteps are deliberately heavy against the floor. I want him to hear me coming. That’s part of the thrill—the dread, the inevitable surrender.
A small sound echoes from around the corner—the shuffle of bare feet, quick breathing. My prey is near.
“I can hear you, Elliot,” I call out. “There’s no point in hiding.”
A sharp intake of breath answers me—a gasp that might as well be a beacon in this dark maze.
I smile, adjusting myself through my pants.
The knowledge that he’s just ahead, heart racing, perhaps pressed against a wall, hoping I’ll pass by.
.. it sends blood rushing straight to my already engorged cock.
“You know what happens when I catch you,” I continue, slowing my pace to prolong his anxiety. “And I will catch you.”
I pause, listening to the rapid breathing just beyond the next turn. He hasn’t moved. Perhaps he’s frozen in place, weighing his options. Run and be chased down? Or submit now and accept what’s coming?
“I’ve got a thick, hard dick ready for you, Elliot,” I call out, my voice dropping to a dangerous purr. “Ready for you to choke on. To sit on. To rub your pretty cock against while you beg me for more.”
My own words affect me more than they should.
“The question isn’t if I’ll catch you,” I say, moving forward with deliberate slowness. “It’s how many times I’ll make you come when I do.”
I hear Elliot’s breath catch, then the sudden slap of bare feet against the floor as he bolts. A smile spreads across my face. The prey runs, as he should.
But there’s something different about his flight—something almost deliberate in the way his footsteps echo. He’s making no effort to silence his movements, practically announcing his location with every slap of bare feet against cold marble.
Then I hear it—a soft, theatrical “shit!” followed by the clatter of something being knocked over. The sound bounces off the walls, a beacon calling me forward.
He wants to be caught.
I break into a sprint, my leather shoes gripping the floor with each purposeful stride. Poor Elliot, barefoot and fumbling in the dark—he never stood a chance.
I round the corner and spot him immediately, pale skin practically glowing in the dim light. He glances back, eyes widening when he sees me closing the distance.
Three more strides and I’m on him, my hand shooting out to grab the back of his neck. My fingers dig into the soft flesh, jerking him to an abrupt halt. He gasps as I pull him roughly against me, his back colliding with my chest, his ass pressing perfectly against my straining erection.
“Found you,” I growl into his ear. I tighten my grip on his neck, holding him firmly in place as I grind against him. Even through the fabric of my pants, the heat of him is intoxicating.
“Is this what you wanted?” I ask. “To be caught? To be taken?” I roll my hips, making sure he feels every inch of my hardness against the curve of his ass.
“Tell me, Elliot—are you ready to be fucking ruined for all other men? Because once I’m done with you tonight, you’ll never look at another cock without thinking of mine inside you. ”
Elliot squirms in my grip, his bare skin warm against my palm. “No, I’m not,” he whispers, but his back arches almost imperceptibly, pressing his ass more firmly against my hardness.
I can’t help but laugh, low and rich. The sound echoes off the corridor walls, surrounding us both.
“Don’t lie to me, Elliot. Your body has been honest with me since the moment I laid eyes on you.
” I lean closer, my lips brushing against the shell of his ear.
“Even when your words were still trapped behind that wall of denial, your cock knew what it wanted.”
His breath hitches, a small tremor running through him. I can feel his pulse racing beneath my fingertips where they press against his neck—rapid and desperate, like a trapped bird. But he doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t even try.
“Be a good boy,” I command, my voice dropping to a whisper, “and kneel for your king.”
I release my grip on his neck, stepping back enough to give him space to move. For a moment, he stands frozen, and I wonder if he’ll finally find the courage to run again—to prolong our game.
But then, with a grace that surprises me, Elliot sinks to his knees. There’s no hesitation now, no internal struggle visible on his features. His movements are fluid, eager even, as he turns to face me and settles back on his heels.
He looks up at me through those long lashes, his eyes dark with desire and something deeper, acceptance of my claim. His lips are slightly parted, waiting. Ready.
The sight of him like this—on his knees before me, half-naked and willing—makes my balls tighten. This isn’t just about power or dominance. It’s about witnessing Elliot finally embrace who he is, what he desires at his core.
For the first time in my life, I truly feel like royalty, not because of my wealth or status, but because this beautiful man has chosen to surrender to me out of all the men he could have picked.