Chapter 18 Julian #2
After a moment’s consideration, I nod. “You can pleasure my boy,” I say, emphasizing the possessive. “But know that I have ultimate claim over him. He belongs to me.”
The words send a visible shiver through Elliot, his cock twitching in response. Interesting. He likes being referred to as mine, being spoken about as a possession rather than a person. I file that information away for later exploration.
Theo nods, acceptance clear in his eyes. “Of course,” he agrees, reaching out to wrap his hand around Elliot’s leaking dick.
Elliot’s head falls back against my shoulder as Theo strokes him, a strangled moan escaping his throat. His body tightens around my cock inside him, the dual stimulation clearly overwhelming him. Precum beads at his tip, which Theo collects with his thumb, spreading it down Elliot’s length.
“That’s it,” I whisper, watching Elliot’s face contort with pleasure. “Let everyone see how good we make you feel.”
There’s a commotion near the entrance as Ravenwood’s elite filter into the feast. I barely register their presence; my entire world has narrowed to the man on my lap, to the tight heat of his body wrapped around my cock. Elliot’s breath hitches as I roll my hips upward, driving deeper inside him.
“Fuck, baby,” I whisper against his ear, nipping at the lobe. “Your ass was made for my cock. The way you stretch around me, so fucking right for me, aren’t you?”
Theo’s hand continues its steady rhythm on Elliot’s length, making his muscles clench around me with each stroke.
“Such a perfect little slut for me,” I murmur, one hand sliding up to grip his jaw, turning his face toward mine. “You were made for this—to be filled and fucked and claimed.”
Someone’s voice rises above the ambient sounds of pleasure filling the room—angry, indignant. Mayor Pike. Something about his daughter being present. I don’t bother turning to look.
“Let them all see what I see,” I continue, focusing entirely on Elliot. “How gorgeous you are when you surrender.” I thrust up sharply, making him gasp. “When you kneel before your king.”
The word slips out naturally, and I feel Elliot’s response immediately—a full-body shudder, his cock leaking more precum over Theo’s fingers.
“Yes,” I hiss, tightening my grip on his hips. “That’s what I am to you now, isn’t it? Your king. The one who rules your pleasure, who commands your body.”
I shift my mask up to bite down on the junction between his neck and shoulder, marking him again.
“And kings don’t share what’s theirs,” I add, shooting a pointed look at Theo while grinding Elliot down harder on my cock. “Not anymore.”
Elliot whimpers, his head falling back against my shoulder as his hips work in small, desperate movements between Theo’s hand and my cock.
“I can’t get enough of you,” I admit. “The way you take me, how responsive you are to me. You’re fucking perfect, Elliot.”
I grip Elliot’s jaw harder and turn his face toward mine, watching how his eyes are glazed with pleasure, pupils blown wide. His body clenches around my cock with each stroke of Theo’s hand, the dual stimulation clearly overwhelming him.
“Fucking exquisite,” I growl against his ear, my breath hot on his skin. “The way you spread for me, gripping my cock like you were made for it. Everyone can see the truth now—that you belong to me, that you were born to be filled by me.”
Around us, the Feast continues in a symphony of gasps and moans, but I barely register them. My world has narrowed to the man on my lap, to the pressure of his body gripping mine, to the flush spreading across the back of his neck.
I slip my hand between us, pushing a finger alongside my cock, stretching him further. Elliot arches against me, a broken sound escaping his throat.
“Open up,” I command, working another finger inside him. “I know you can take more.”
Theo watches, transfixed, as his hand continues stroking Elliot’s leaking cock. “He’s close,” he observes.
“Not yet,” I command, grabbing Elliot’s cock from Theo’s hand. “He comes when I allow it.”
I squeeze the base of his shaft, denying his release. Elliot whimpers, trembling while he’s suspended on the edge.
“Please,” he begs.
I stroke his cheek with my free hand. “What do you need, baby?”
His eyes meet mine over my shoulder, a vulnerability mixing with desperate desire. “You,” he whispers. “Only you. Please, Julian.”
Something shifts inside me at his words. This isn’t just about claiming him—it’s about owning every gasp, every moan, every surrender. Not for show, not for the Hunt, but for us alone.
The words only you crack something open inside my chest. The naked vulnerability in Elliot’s eyes calls to me, demanding a response beyond physical possession.
My fingers twitch, hovering near the edge of my mask.
The black lacquered covering has been my shield all night, the barrier between Julian Frost and the persona I adopt during the Hunt.
Removing it now, in front of everyone, would expose something I’m not prepared to acknowledge—that this isn’t just a conquest anymore.
I drop my hand. The mask stays in place.
It’s customary to keep our masks on throughout the Feast—a tradition grounded in Purgatory’s foundations.
The anonymity supposedly protects us, though everyone knows exactly who hides behind each carefully crafted disguise.
The real purpose is maintenance of the fantasy, the separation between our everyday selves and these primal creatures who hunt and claim without reservation.
But there’s another reason I can’t bring myself to remove it: I refuse to let Ravenwood’s elite see how completely Elliot Chambers has unraveled me.
How he’s somehow slipped beneath my armor to touch something I didn’t know existed.
The mask hides my expression; conceals the emotion I know must be visible on my face.
I’ve built my reputation on taking what I want without ever giving myself. Revealing that vulnerability here, now, would be tantamount to confessing weakness before sharks who would never forget such a display.
Instead, I tighten my grip on Elliot’s hips, driving upward with renewed intensity. Physical dominance is safer territory than the emotional precipice I’m teetering on.
“You have me,” I growl against his ear, my voice rough. “All of me.”
The words are dangerously honest, admitted only because my mask remains firmly in place.