Chapter 15 - Elias #3
Because I know this isn’t even the beginning.
This is just him proving the point: he owns me on the ice, and he owns me here too.
His hand keeps me right on the edge—stroking slow, rough, deliberate—never enough to let me finish, never merciful enough to stop either.
My thighs are shaking, sweat beading at my temple, my cock dripping down his knuckles.
I’m choking on my own moans, back arching, panting, and still he doesn’t let me tip over.
“Captain—fuck—sir—” The words tear out of me raw, broken.
And then it hits me.
I’ve never once called him by his name. Not when I worshiped him from posters on my ceiling. Not when I watched his fight reels on repeat, moaning into my own hand at fourteen. Not when he pinned me against that hotel wall and took me apart for the first time.
Not once.
Damian.
The name doesn’t cross my lips. It doesn’t even try. Because I wouldn’t dare. Not without his permission. Not when every nerve in me knows he hasn’t given it.
The realization makes my grin twist sharp and feral even through the wreckage. Because that’s how far gone I am. That’s how deep this leash cuts. He doesn’t need to forbid it—I just know.
And I love it. I love every second of it.
He catches the grin instantly. Of course he does. His eyes narrow, burning down into me like he can see the secret sitting on my tongue. His grip on my cock slows, his fist in my hair tightens.
“What’s so funny, pup?”
I shake my head, breath wrecked. “Nothin’, sir.”
“Liar.” His forehead presses hard against mine. “You’re grinning like a brat who thinks he’s clever. Tell me. Now.”
My laugh cracks, delirious, half-moan, half-cackle. “Just…realized something.”
His cock grinds against my hip through his jeans, his palm squeezing me harder, dragging another broken whimper out of me. “Spit it out.”
I bite my lip, shaking, grinning wider even as I gasp through it. “Never called you by your name. Not once. Wouldn’t. Not unless you gave me permission.”
The words detonate between us.
His hand clamps harder at the back of my neck, pinning me to the wall. His jaw ticks, his breath rough.
And then—he smirks.
“Good,” he rasps. “Even your tongue knows who owns it.”
My cock twitches helplessly in his fist. My grin splits wider, reckless and feral, even as my whole body trembles from being kept at the edge.
Because he’s right.
He owns me. Every sound. Every breath. Every word.
And I wouldn’t dare say his name without permission.
“On your knees,” he orders, suddenly yanking his hand away from my cock.
I whine, almost collapsing from the loss. My thighs quake, precum smeared wet across my stomach, but I obey. My body drops fast, knees hitting the hardwood with a dull crack. My grin doesn’t fade—it only sharpens, wider, madder—because I know this is only the start.
“Crawl,” he says. His voice isn’t raised. Doesn’t need to be. “Bedroom. Now.”
I’m grinning like a lunatic as I drop my palms to the floor and crawl forward..
The floor’s cold under my palms, my knees sliding. Every inch of me is humming—cock leaking down my thigh, lungs ragged, grin still split across my mouth even as I crawl like a dog.
I can feel him behind me. Heavy steps. Calm, measured, inevitable. The kind of pace that makes my skin burn before he even touches me.
By the time I reach the bedroom door, my arms are trembling. I drag myself inside anyway. The room’s empty—just the bare mattress shoved against the wall, sheets half-wrung from sleep. Nothing else. Nothing to hide behind.
“Up.”
His voice cracks like a whip behind me. My whole body jerks. I scramble forward, brace my palms on the mattress, then bend. My chest pressed to the thin sheet, my ass high and waiting.
And then—finally—his hand.
Fingers dragging slow over the backs of my thighs, rough calluses catching against my skin. Up and up, tracing muscle, following the line of my spine until I shiver so hard my knees buckle against the bedframe.
His hand drags higher, broad palm pressing between my shoulder blades, forcing me flatter against the mattress. “Look at you. Bent over, dripping, waiting for your captain to use you.”
A whimper tears out of me before I can choke it down. My grin falters, twists wrecked, but it doesn’t die.
“You love it, don’t you, pup?” His fingers trail back down, slow and deliberate, over the curve of my ass, the trembling backs of my thighs. “Every order. Every time I break you down. Every time you crawl.”
“Yes, sir.” My cock twitches hard against the sheets.
His chuckle rumbles low in my ear. Cruel. Pleased. “Honest. That’s good. You’re learning.”
His hand strokes down my thigh again, slow enough to make me moan. “On the ice, you run your mouth like you don’t know fear. But here—here you give me everything. No fight. No mask. Just obedience.”
My grin’s gone feral now, sharp and wrecked. “Love it—fuck, I love it—”
“Of course you do.” His hand fists sudden in my curls, jerking my head back until my throat arches, until I’m gasping into the sheets. “Because you’re mine, Elias Mercer. And nothing makes you harder than being reminded of it.”
I moan, wrecked, trembling under him, my cock dragging against the mattress, leaking into the thin fabric.
“Good boy,” he rasps again, dragging his hand down my spine slow, deliberate, until it cups my ass, squeezing hard enough to bruise. “Now let’s see how much more you can take.”