Chapter 23 Elliot
ELLIOT
Ican’t stop jiggling my leg under the table. Mike notices immediately and slides another beer toward me.
“Dude, relax. We’re not going to embarrass you in front of your...” he pauses, grinning, “what are we calling him? Boyfriend? Hook-up?”
“Jesus, Mike.” I grab the beer, my face burning. Derek laughs, but it’s good-natured, not mocking. After all these years of hiding, their easy acceptance feels surreal.
“Seriously, though,” Derek says, “we’re happy for you.”
I take a long swallow of beer. “Julian’s... different. I don’t know what he’ll think of this place.”
“What, Crossroads not fancy enough for him?” Mike glances around at the worn wooden tables, the neon beer signs, and the dartboard with missing points.
“He’s used to...” I struggle to explain Julian’s world, “different establishments.”
Derek snorts. “Well, our nachos kick ass, so he can deal.”
My phone buzzes. Julian’s outside. My stomach drops.
“He’s here,” I mutter.
Mike straightens his posture. “Showtime!”
The door swings open, and Julian walks in like he’s entering a foreign country. Even in jeans and a sweater, he radiates wealth and privilege. His eyes scan the room, and I see the subtle curl of his lip, the slight stiffening of his shoulders.
Every patron turns to look—Julian has that effect—before returning to their drinks. He spots me and walks over, navigating around sticky tables with obvious distaste.
“Elliot.” His voice carries that cultured tone that sounds jarring against the backdrop of classic rock playing from ancient speakers.
“Julian, these are my friends, Mike and Derek.”
They stand, extending hands. Julian shakes them after the briefest hesitation.
“Nice place,” he says, in a way that clearly means the opposite.
Something shifts in me. This bar has been our sanctuary for years. We celebrated promotions, mourned breakups, and watched countless games here.
“The beer’s cold and the company’s good,” I say, more firmly than I intended. “That’s what matters.”
Julian raises an eyebrow, surprised at my tone. I realize I’ve never pushed back against him before. It feels... good.
Julian slides into the seat next to me, his thigh pressing against mine. The contact sends a spark racing up my spine.
“So, Julian,” Mike leans forward, “what kind of establishment do you usually frequent?”
I wince. The way he emphasizes establishment is pure Mike—friendly but challenging.
Julian smirks. “Places where the glasses match.”
Derek snorts beer through his nose. “Fair enough, man.”
My shoulders tense as I wait for this interaction to go sideways. These are two completely different worlds colliding.
“We ordered nachos,” I say, just to fill the silence.
“Perfect,” Julian replies, though I can tell by the slight tightening around his eyes that bar nachos aren’t his idea of dining.
Mike launches into a story about the time I got so drunk I tried to convince everyone I could do a backflip. “So, Elliot here climbs onto the pool table—”
“Mike, seriously?” I interrupt, mortified.
Julian’s hand finds my knee under the table and squeezes gently. “No, please continue. I’d love to know more about this side of Elliot.”
“He’s always been the cautious one,” Derek chimes in. “Except when tequila’s involved.”
“Is that so?” Julian’s eyes gleam with interest. “I haven’t seen him with tequila yet.”
“Don’t get any ideas,” I mutter, but I’m smiling now despite myself.
The server drops off a massive plate of nachos, and to my surprise, Julian reaches for one without hesitation.
“These are actually quite good,” he admits after a bite.
Mike raises his beer in triumph. “Told you. Best nachos in Ravenwood.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Julian says, but there’s humor in his voice.
I feel the knot in my chest loosening. My worlds aren’t collapsing. Julian is trying, and my friends are being their usual accepting selves.
“How’d you two meet?” Derek asks.
Julian’s hand tightens on my knee. I take a deep breath before answering, “At Purgatory.”
“Purgatory, huh?” Mike nods, not pushing for details. “That place is legendary. Never been myself.”
“It’s... something else,” I say, relieved at how easily they accept this.
Derek grabs another nacho. “You know what we should do? Beat these college kids at pool. They’ve been hogging the table all night.”
Julian glances at the pool table. “I haven’t played in years.”
“Perfect,” Mike grins. “Neither has Elliot, so you guys can lose together.”
Julian laughs—a genuine laugh that transforms his face. I’ve never seen him like this, relaxed and unguarded outside his element.
As Derek challenges the college kids, Julian leans closer. “Your friends are surprisingly tolerable.”
“High praise coming from you,” I say, but I can’t help smiling.
His thigh presses against mine under the table, and his cologne— cedar, salty air and a subtle hint of…
vanilla, maybe. Sweet but not feminine—fills my senses.
My body instantly responds, blood rushing south with embarrassing predictability.
Three days of being thoroughly claimed by this man have apparently rewired my system. Just his presence is enough.
“Are you alright?” Julian murmurs, noticing me shift in my seat. “You seem... uncomfortable.”
“I’m fine,” I mutter, reaching for my beer to hide my face.
His hand slides higher on my leg, fingers tracing dangerous patterns along my inner thigh. “Are you sure about that?”
I nearly choke on my drink. “Julian,” I warn, glancing around to make sure no one notices.
His breath tickles my ear. “I like knowing I affect you this way.”
Mike returns with pool cues, totally oblivious to my predicament. “You guys ready to get destroyed?”
“Absolutely,” Julian says smoothly, removing his hand from my leg.
I stand awkwardly, tugging my shirt down as much as possible. The pressure against my zipper is becoming painful. Julian notices my discomfort and smirks, clearly enjoying my suffering.
As we walk to the pool table, Julian places his hand on the small of my back. Even that innocent touch makes my dick throb. What has this man done to me?
The night progresses with ease. Julian manages to hold his own at the pool table despite his claims of rustiness. I’m terrible, but it doesn’t matter because I can’t stop grinning at the sight of Julian Frost—the Julian Frost—leaning over a sticky bar table, trash-talking Derek about his shot.
“You call that aiming?” Julian arches an eyebrow as Derek misses. “I’ve seen better precision from drunk toddlers.”
Mike howls with laughter. “Man, your boyfriend’s savage, Elliot.”
I nearly choke at the word boyfriend, but Julian doesn’t correct him. Instead, he catches my eye across the table with a look that makes heat spread through my chest.
“Another round?” the server asks.
“I’m good,” I say, checking my watch. It’s nearly midnight.
“I should be heading out too,” Julian says, setting down his pool cue. “Early meeting tomorrow.”
Mike gives me a not-so-subtle wink. “Yeah, it’s getting late. You guys should... get some rest.”
“Subtle, Mike,” Derek laughs, punching his arm.
We say our goodbyes outside the bar. Mike hugs me, whispering, “He seems cool. Different, but cool.”
Julian stands slightly apart, checking his phone, but I notice his eyes tracking me.
“I’ll call for a car,” Julian says as we wave to my friends.
“The subway’s right there,” I point. “Or we could grab a cab—”
Julian’s hand clamps around my wrist, his eyes suddenly dark with something primal. Without a word, he yanks me sideways, pulling me down the narrow alley beside the bar.
“Julian, what—”
His mouth crashes into mine, pushing me against the brick wall. The kiss is messy, desperate, all teeth and tongue. His hands grip my hips, pinning me in place.
“Couldn’t wait,” he growls against my mouth. “I’ve been watching you all night.”
I should be concerned about being in an alley, about who might see us, but those thoughts evaporate as Julian presses his body against mine. We’re both hard, our erections grinding together through our pants with delicious friction. I groan into his mouth, my hips bucking involuntarily.
“Fuck,” Julian hisses, his fingers digging into my ass, urging me closer.
“Julian, wait,” I gasp, pulling my mouth away from his. “We agreed on a cooling-off period, remember? No sex for at least twenty-four hours.” I squirm as his hands continue their exploration. “My ass seriously needs a rest after the Hunt.”
Julian’s eyes darken, and a wicked smile curves his lips. “Yeah, well, my ass doesn’t, and it’s hungry for a cock.”
I freeze, my brain short-circuiting at his words. Did Julian Frost—the man who’s been nothing but dominant since I met him—suggest...?
“You want me to—” I can’t even finish the sentence.
“Fuck me?” Julian completes it for me, his voice dropping to a dangerous purr. “Yes, Elliot, I do.”
My cock throbs painfully against my zipper. Just the thought of being inside him without being restrained to a chair makes me dizzy with want.
Julian reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a small packet of lube, pressing it into my palm. “I came prepared.”
Before I can process what’s happening, he turns to face the brick wall, unbuckles his belt, and pushes his jeans down his thighs in one smooth motion. He bends slightly at the hip, looking over his shoulder with those ice-blue eyes that have haunted my dreams.
“Well?” he challenges. “Are you going to make me wait all night?”
My hands shake as I tear open the lube packet. Julian’s ass is perfectly sculpted, pale and firm against the darkness of the alley. I squeeze the lube onto my fingers, my other hand fumbling with my zipper.
When I free my cock, it’s so hard it hurts, already leaking at the tip. I apply more lube, slicking myself while staring at Julian’s exposed body. I work some of the cool gel around his entrance, watching as he pushes back against my fingers, eager and impatient.