Chapter 22 Julian
JULIAN
Iswirl eighteen-year-old Macallan in a crystal tumbler, watching the amber liquid catch the light in my penthouse living room. Floor-to-ceiling windows frame Ravenwood’s skyline, the city lights glittering like the jewelry adorning the necks of society wives who’d watched me claim Elliot.
“Never thought I’d see the day Julian Frost would be domesticated,” Victor says, his massive frame dwarfing my Italian leather armchair. He downs his whiskey in one gulp, disregarding its value. Typical.
“I’m hardly domesticated,” I reply, though the protest feels hollow even to me.
Theo lounges on my couch, legs crossed elegantly. “Says the man who claimed another hunter for an entire year. That’s fucking unprecedented.”
“Unprecedented is Julian’s specialty,” Jenson comments. The Blackwood brothers’ spymaster rarely joins our post-Hunt gatherings, but curiosity about my claiming must have drawn him out. “Though I must say, none of us predicted the art dealer.”
I maintain my composed expression despite the scrutiny. “Elliot wasn’t planned.”
Victor barks out a laugh. “Nothing about the Hunt is ever unplanned with you. You’ve always got some angle.”
“Perhaps this time the angle was simply pleasure,” Theo suggests, his eyes meeting mine.
“The gallery owner got under your skin,” Jenson observes quietly. “Interesting.”
I set my glass down with deliberate care. “He’s surprising.”
“Must be, to have Julian Frost breaking his rules of not claiming prey,” Victor says. “Xavier was shocked you asked for the year with another hunter.”
“I’m surprised he agreed,” Theo adds.
“Xavier respects innovation,” I say.
“So what now?” Victor asks. “You parade your conquest around town? Add him to your collection?”
Something sharp twists inside me at his words. “Elliot isn’t a conquest.”
The room falls silent. I’ve revealed too much.
Theo’s lips curve into a subtle smile. “Well. That is interesting.” He stretches his arms above his head and sighs with theatrical flair.
“So I take it this means I’m not getting my usual post-Hunt fuck from you tonight, then?
” He pouts, eyes glinting with mischief beneath his perfectly styled hair.
I narrow my eyes at him, irritated by his deliberate provocation in front of the others. Theo knows exactly what he’s doing. He’d had his taste of Elliot during our threesome but still wants to reveal our previous arrangement to the room. It’s a dick move, even if he meant it lightheartedly.
My gaze shifts to Victor, who’s reaching for the whiskey bottle to refill his empty glass. His massive, tattooed arms flex as he pours another generous portion, oblivious to the tension he’s about to be pulled into.
“Perhaps Victor should do the honors,” I suggest, my voice carrying the precise balance of casualness and command that makes people uncomfortable. “Fuck Theo’s ass, since you didn’t get the chance to claim anyone during the Hunt. Seems wasteful to let your... talents go unappreciated.”
Victor chokes mid-swallow, whiskey spraying from his mouth onto his shirt. He wipes his lips with the back of his hand, eyes widening as he processes my suggestion.
“I’m not gay,” he practically snarls, defensive posture immediately replacing his relaxed demeanor.
Theo’s laughter fills the room. “Such a narrow worldview, Victor. This isn’t about sexual orientation.
It’s about power and pleasure.” Theo rises from the couch with feline grace; his eyes locked on Victor.
The fight club owner’s discomfort is palpable, but I notice his pupils dilating as Theo approaches.
“Don’t be so provincial, Victor,” I say, settling deeper into my chair.
Theo’s fingers move to the buttons of his shirt, unhurried and deliberate. “Julian’s right. Sometimes, the most powerful men enjoy trying something new. Even if just for a night.”
Victor remains frozen, his massive frame tense as Theo discards his shirt, revealing the lean muscles beneath. The contrast between them is striking: Victor built like a brick wall, Theo lithe and graceful.
“I don’t—” Victor starts, but his protest dies as Theo unfastens his pants and lets them pool around his ankles.
I can’t help but smile at Victor’s sharp intake of breath. Theo stands before him wearing nothing but a black lace thong that barely contains his already hard cock, the tip visibly wet where it peeks above the delicate fabric.
“Christ,” Victor mutters, his hands gripping the armrests.
“See something you like?” Theo asks, turning slowly to display his perfect ass framed by thin lace straps.
I take another sip of whiskey, enjoying the scene unfolding in my living room. Victor’s arousal is evident in the significant bulge straining against his jeans—the man is proportional in all ways, which will make watching him with petite Theo particularly entertaining.
“You’re both guests in my home,” I say smoothly. “Feel free to enjoy yourselves.”
Theo smirks, stepping between Victor’s massive thighs. The size difference between them is almost comical—Victor could break Theo in half with his bare hands, yet Theo holds all the power in this moment.
I watch Theo drop gracefully to his knees between Victor’s massive thighs. The fight club owner sits rigid in my armchair, his hands gripping the leather so tightly I can see his knuckles whiten, but his eyes tell a different story. They’re fixed on Theo with unmistakable hunger.
“Don’t fight it,” Theo murmurs as he unzips Victor’s jeans and frees his impressively large cock. “Everyone’s allowed to indulge during Hunt week.”
Victor’s breath catches as Theo takes him in hand, measuring him with a low whistle of appreciation. When Theo’s lips wrap around the head, Victor’s entire body jerks as if electrocuted.
“Fuck,” he growls, one hand releasing the armrest to grasp Theo’s hair.
Across the room, Jenson has made himself comfortable on my chaise lounge with the Kylie twins—platinum blonde sisters who always come as a matched set.
Their dresses are pushed up around their waists as Jenson’s hands work between both their thighs simultaneously.
The sisters moan in perfect harmony, their eyes fixed on Victor receiving Theo’s attentions.
I sip my whiskey, appreciating the tableau of pleasure unfolding in my penthouse. Victor’s resistance crumbles with each bob of Theo’s head, his hips now moving in shallow thrusts as Theo takes him deeper.
Despite the erotic display, I find myself strangely unaroused. Not uninterested—the aesthetics of pleasure have always fascinated me—but untouched. My mind wanders to Elliot, alone in his apartment. What is he thinking? Is he still processing his public claiming?
“God, yes,” Victor groans, his resistance fully broken as he fucks Theo’s throat.
Victor’s hands are fully committed now, guiding Theo’s head as he thrusts upward. I find myself a spectator in my own living room, oddly disconnected from the carnal display that I’d normally be the center of.
Across the room, Jenson has positioned himself between the Kylie twins on my chaise lounge.
One blonde head bobs rhythmically between his legs while he buries his face between the other twin’s thighs.
Her back arches as she grips the armrest, high-pitched moans punctuating the room’s heavy atmosphere.
I swirl the remaining whiskey in my glass, attention returning to Victor and Theo. The nightclub owner pulls off Victor’s impressive length with an obscene pop, lips glistening.
“Ready for more?” Theo asks, rising with fluid grace.
Victor only growls in response, his massive hands still reaching for Theo.
Theo crosses to my bar cabinet, retrieving a bottle of lube I keep stocked for such occasions. He returns to Victor, who watches with undisguised hunger as Theo turns his back, displaying his perfect ass while he slicks his fingers.
Theo reaches behind himself, working his fingers inside his ass. Victor’s breathing grows heavier with each passing second, his monster cock twitching against his stomach.
When Theo deems himself ready, he coats Victor’s enormous dick in lube before straddling Victor’s massive thighs, positioning himself above the fight club owner’s considerable erection.
“Been thinking about this ever since I met you,” Theo admits as he slowly lowers himself.
Victor’s hands grip Theo’s waist, his fingers digging into flesh as Theo takes him inch by inch.
I unzip my slacks and take my cock in hand as I watch the scene unfold.
There’s something mesmerizing about the stark contrast between them—Victor’s hulking form dwarfing Theo’s smaller frame as Theo rides him.
Despite Theo’s slender build, his cock is impressive—hard and flushed, bobbing rhythmically as Victor’s massive hands guide him up and down.
Each time Victor thrusts upward, Theo’s erection slaps against his stomach, leaving glistening trails on his skin.
I stroke myself lazily, appreciating the aesthetic of their coupling.
The fight club owner looks almost primal now, his earlier protests forgotten as he growls and bites at Theo’s neck.
Theo’s performance is flawless as always—he knows exactly how to arch his back, how to moan at precisely the right pitch to drive his partner wild.
Yet as I continue touching myself, I realize the display isn’t affecting me the way it should.
My thoughts drift to Elliot—how his eyes had widened when I entered him, the broken sounds he made when overcome with pleasure.
The vulnerability in his expression when he finally stopped fighting himself.
Without conscious decision, I reach for my phone. I angle it downward to capture my hand wrapped around my cock, the head glistening with pre-cum. Cool-off period be damned. The moans from across the room provide a fitting soundtrack as I compose a text to accompany the photo.
Missing your mouth around this. Your ass too. Nothing else compares.