Chapter 27 - Elias
The elevator hums low, a box of steel and shadow, the kind that makes every sound echo twice as loud.
My heart’s still racing from dinner—boisterous, chaotic, Cole narrating every play until Mats nearly shoved bread down his throat, Shane muttering prayers over dessert, Tyler whining about being stuck between Viktor and Damian like it was divine punishment.
And me.
Sitting there grinning like an idiot the whole time, ribs aching from laughter, cheeks sore, buzzing so high I swear the Wrath’s crowd could’ve heard me across town.
Now it’s quiet. Too quiet. Just me and him, side by side in the elevator, the buzz of fluorescent lights above us. My curls are damp from a too-fast shower, my throat still raw from laughing, from chirping, from winning.
The doors shut with a soft ding. We’re moving. Up. Higher.
And then—he moves.
Big body crowding mine, broad shoulders pinning me against the mirrored wall before I even know what’s happening. His hand fists tight in my hair, tugging my head back just enough that his mismatched eyes slice down into me.
“Cap—” I start, breathless, shocked.
His mouth crashes against mine before I can finish.
It’s not soft. Not sweet. Not polite. It’s claiming—teeth dragging, tongue sharp, a kiss that knocks the breath out of my lungs and steals the ground from under my skates even though I’m not wearing them. I gasp against him, my hands clutching at his chest like I’ll die if I don’t hold on.
The sound I make is embarrassing—high, needy, a whimper muffled into his scarred mouth. But he eats it up. He always does.
When he finally drags back, my lips are swollen, my lungs wrecked, and my knees feel like glass.
“Good boy,” he murmurs, thumb stroking once along my jaw, rough and steady. His voice is low, calm, scraping me down to bone. “My good pup. You humiliated them tonight.”
Heat detonates in my chest. Praise like that—it’s worth more than any hat trick, any stat line, any highlight reel. My face burns, my body buzzing so hard I can’t tell where the elevator hum ends and I begin.
“I—sir—” My voice cracks, broken between words, my throat still raw from yelling. “I just—just wanted to make you proud.”
He smirks, sharp across his scar. “You did. Every faceoff. Every pass. Every chirp.” His hand tightens, tugging my head back farther until my throat’s bared, until I’m breathing fast and shallow under his gaze. “The Wrath bled for you. And you still kept your head up.”
A whine claws out of me, wrecked and needy, my chest heaving like I just finished another period. My hands clutch tighter at his chest, desperate for anchor, desperate for him.
The elevator hums higher. He presses in harder, his chest crushing mine, his hand tugging sharp at my curls until my lips part. His mouth brushes my ear.
“You’re glowing, pup.” His breath is hot against my skin. “Dripping sweat, buzzing like lightning. All because you did what I told you.”
“Yes, sir.” The words slip out instinctive, wrecked, a confession and a prayer all at once.
“Say it again.”
“Yes, Captain.”
His chuckle rumbles low, dangerous, pleased. “Good boy. You’ll say it for me all night.”
My cock twitches hard in my jeans. My face flames hotter. “Sir—” I gasp, barely managing to choke it out, “there’s cameras—”
“Let them watch.” His smirk cuts sharper, thumb pressing against my pulse. “Let the whole world see you glow for me.”
The elevator hums louder. Higher. My knees are jelly, my lungs wrecked, my pulse hammering under his grip. And the only thought left in my head is that I’ll follow him anywhere—even to the top floor, even to the ends of the earth—so long as his hand stays in my hair and his voice stays in my bones.
His mouth drags over mine again, slower this time. Not gentler. Just deliberate, claiming, a kiss that feels like he’s writing his name on me in heat and teeth. His hand stays tangled at my nape, tugging sharp enough to sting, holding me still while he eats at my mouth like I’m already his.
I am. Christ, I am.
“Good boy,” he rasps against my lips, thumb stroking slow across my throat where my pulse hammers. “My perfect center. My pup. You love when I tell you that, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir.” The words tumble out broken, breathless, like I’d choke if I tried to hold them back.
He smirks. Sharp. Cruel. His hand drags lower, palm flattening against my chest, feeling every hard, shallow breath I suck in. Then his fingers trail down, slow, deliberate, until they press over the bulge in my jeans.
I choke on a sound—high, pathetic, a whine that echoes way too loud in this little steel box.
“Shh.” His eyes cut into mine, burning calm. “You want the cameras to hear you beg?”
Oh, fuck. Cameras. I’d forgotten. Heat floods my face, burning scarlet all the way down my throat. I jerk against his hand, desperate, but he presses harder, palm firm against the ache.
“You’ll behave.” His voice is steady, calm, like stone pressing into me. “You’ll take my hand like a good boy. Quiet. Obedient. Can you do that for me, Elias?”
“Yes, Captain.” My whisper breaks, cracked sharp against the mirrored walls.
“Good.” His thumb drags slow across my zipper, enough to make me shudder hard, enough to wring another pathetic whimper out of me that I can’t swallow.
The hum of the elevator rises, the numbers blinking higher, and every second stretches forever. His hand cups me harder, thumb pressing cruel over the spot that makes my hips buck. I bite down on my own lip so hard I taste blood, my body shaking, my thighs trembling under his weight.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, his lips brushing the shell of my ear now. “Look at you—red, wrecked, grinning even while you whine. The Wrath never stood a chance. You’d bleed yourself dry just to hear me say you’re good.”
“Yes, sir.” I gasp it sharp, my forehead pressing to the cold mirror, desperate for something solid to hold me up.
“Eyes up.” His command cuts through me, sharp as steel.
I obey instantly, dragging my eyes back to his. Our reflections glare back at us from the steel panel—him towering, broad, calm as a predator; me flushed, trembling, lips swollen, pupils blown wide. The leash is invisible but it’s there, wrapped tight around my throat, tethering me to him.
“You’re glowing,” he smirks, scar tugging sharp. “The Wrath thought they could break you. But you’re my rookie. My pup. My good boy. And you’ll prove it again the second those doors open.”
The elevator dings.
My whole chest seizes. Not from panic. From need.
Because his hand doesn’t leave my cock. His fist doesn’t let go of my hair.
The doors slide open.
He doesn’t let go.
His hand stays clamped tight around the back of my neck, his other palm still pressed firm over the ache in my jeans, keeping me trembling, keeping me his.
My lungs seize when I see the hallway stretch out in front of us—bright carpet, hotel art nailed crooked to the walls, some poor tourist dragging their suitcase in the distance.
And me? I’m wrecked. Red-faced. Hard. Chest heaving like I’ve just sprinted a full three periods.
“Cap—” I choke, as his hand finally eases off my cock.
“Walk,” he orders, low, final.
My knees barely hold, but I stumble forward, his grip steady at my nape, steering me like he owns me. (He does.) The air outside the elevator feels colder, sharper, and every nerve in me is lit up, screaming with the ache of being dragged down this hallway like a dog on a leash.
Each step is fire. My cock twitches with every tug of his hand, my ribs flare from the bruise still healing, but I don’t stop. I couldn’t if I wanted to. Not with his shadow swallowing mine, not with his stare burning into the back of my skull.
“Sir…” I whisper.
“Quiet, pup.” His thumb presses at the base of my neck, calm, steady, a reminder and a promise.
The carpet blurs under my sneakers. Room numbers flicker past. My body trembles, face burning so hot I swear the tourist dragging her suitcase is going to see steam rising off me. But Captain doesn’t slow. He just steers me sharp to the right, key card sliding clean, the door clicking open.
He pushes me through first.
The room swallows me in gold light and quiet. Plush bed, curtains drawn, neat little table by the wall. Safe. Normal. Except nothing feels safe when his hand is still at my neck, still reminding me who I belong to.
The door shuts with a click that sounds more like a lock on a cell than a latch on a hotel room.
My chest heaves. My throat works. My knees nearly buckle with the weight of everything pressing down on me—his hand, his eyes, his silence.
And then he smirks. Sharp. Cruel. Beautiful.
“Good boy,” he murmurs, thumb stroking once across my throat. “Now we can celebrate properly.”
The smirk is still cutting across his scar when his hand clamps tighter in my curls. He tugs me backward, hard enough to make my spine arch, hard enough that my mouth falls open on a gasp.
Then he moves.
One stride, two, dragging me with him until my back hits the wall with a thud. The wallpaper’s rough against my shoulder blades, the art above the bed rattling from the impact, and his body is there—solid, immovable—pressing me into place like he’s been waiting all night to do it.
“Cap—” The word cracks, helpless, pathetic.
“Quiet.” His mouth drops hot over mine.
Christ.
It’s not a kiss. Not really. Not gentle. His teeth scrape my bottom lip, his tongue pushes in without asking, and I melt like I was built to. My hands twitch at my sides before I manage to clutch his jersey, twisting hard in the fabric like I’ll die if I let go.
The wall shakes with how hard he cages me in, every inch of him pressing down until I can’t tell where he ends and I start. My ribs burn, my cock aches, but I don’t care—I only care about the way he growls against my mouth.
“Three goals,” he mutters, teeth dragging my lip raw. “Every draw clean. You humiliated them for me, pup.”
“Y-yes, sir,” I choke, voice muffled by his mouth, wrecked already.