Chapter 27 - Elias #2
His palm drops between us, cupping me through my jeans, squeezing until my hips jerk up desperate. His eyes pin me when he pulls back just enough to look down at me, sharp and steady, his thumb pressing cruel at my throat.
“Good boy,” he rasps. “You earned this.”
I whimper. My knees buckle, but he doesn’t let me slide down. He keeps me crushed against the wall, his weight pinning me upright, his mouth wrecking mine while his hand works me merciless.
Every grind, every tug of his fist, every filthy promise whispered against my lips—it’s all too much. Too good.
“Sir, please—” My words break sharp, desperate, my head thudding back against the wallpaper. “I need—”
“You’ll take what I give you.” His hand slides harder against me, thumb brushing just under the head until I cry out, high and wrecked. “And you’ll thank me for every second.”
“Yes, Captain,” I gasp, chest heaving, eyes blurring with tears. “Thank you—thank you—”
My nails dig into the fabric of his jersey, clutching like I’ll die if I let go, and my thighs tremble under the weight of him.
“Sir—fuck, sir, I can’t—” The words tumble out.
“Yes, you can.” His voice is stone, steady, low against my ear. “Good boys take everything.”
I whimper, choking on air. My hips buck helplessly, my cock leaking through denim, slicking his palm as he grinds it harder, faster.
The world blurs. The crowd, the Wrath, the barn, the noise—it’s all gone.
There’s only him. His scar curling sharp against my mouth, his hand wringing me dry against hotel wallpaper.
“Say it,” he growls, grip in my hair yanking my head back so I can’t look anywhere but at him. “Say who you belong to.”
“You, sir!” My voice cracks, sharp and hoarse. “Always—always yours—”
“Good boy.”
The praise detonates through me harder than the hand on my cock.
My vision whites out, my chest arches off the wall, and I break—coming hard in my jeans, shaking so violently the picture frame above us rattles.
My cry tears out raw, shameless, muffled against his shoulder when I can’t hold it back anymore.
He doesn’t stop. Not right away. He works me through it, hand relentless, smirk sharp when I cry out his name into his chest. His grip keeps me upright when my knees give, my body trembling from the wreckage.
By the time he finally lets go, I’m destroyed. Boneless. My chest heaves against his, my face flushed scarlet.
And he’s smirking. Slow. Sharp. Scar pulling like he knows exactly what he just did.
“You did good tonight, pup.” His thumb strokes once across my jaw, rough but steady. “On the ice. Here. You earned that.”
A broken sound claws out of me, half laugh, half whimper. “Th-thank you, Captain.”
He kisses me again—hard, claiming, filthy—and then his hand slides back into my hair, tugging me off the wall like I weigh nothing.
“Bed.” One word. Final.
My legs stumble, still shaking, but I don’t argue. I follow him across the room.
My knees knock the mattress when he pushes me back.
“Lie back.”
My ribs still aching from tonight, my jeans damp and sticky where he wrung me out against the wall. But I obey. Of course I obey. I sink onto the sheets, heart thrumming like I’m waiting for the puck to drop all over again.
He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t tear at me like he did in the elevator or the hallway. No—he stands at the edge of the bed, broad shoulders framed in the warm hotel light, eyes dragging slow over every inch of me.
“You look wrecked,” he murmurs, low, steady. “But you’re not done yet.”
My cock jerks weakly against ruined denim, my body already spent, but heat surges through me anyway. “Y-yes, sir.”
His scar curves into the smallest smirk. Then he climbs onto the bed—slow, deliberate, knees sinking heavy into the mattress on either side of me. The sheets dip, the air shifts, and suddenly the whole room feels smaller.
“Hands up.” His voice is soft but sharp, leaving no room for disobedience.
I raise them. My wrists hit the headboard. He doesn’t tie me down—he doesn’t need to. His stare alone is enough to chain me in place.
One big hand lands on my ribs, right where the bruise throbs deep under the skin. A reminder of every board battle and every filthy promise he made tonight.
“Mine,” he says, thumb pressing steady over the bruise.
“Yours,” I gasp, chest jerking under the weight.
His other hand works my hoodie up slow, peeling fabric inch by inch until my stomach’s bare, flushed and trembling under the hotel light. He doesn’t tear it. Doesn’t rush. Just strips me careful, deliberate, like he’s got all night to make me lose my mind.
By the time the hoodie’s off, my breath’s gone. I’m laid bare in front of him.
He leans down.
“Good” he murmurs. “Now I’m going to take my time with you.”
His hand slides lower, heavy on my stomach, thumb brushing just above the waistband of my jeans.
“Say please,” he murmurs. Calm. Steady.
My throat closes, heat exploding through me all over again. “P-please, sir…”
“For what?” His eyes pin me, one glacier, one void. “You don’t get shit until you say it right.”
Shame burns hot across my cheeks, but I choke it out anyway. “Please undress me.”
The scar at his mouth twitches. Approval. He peels the button open—slow. Deliberate. The metallic pop feels louder than my heartbeat.
“Good boy.”
I whimper, hips jerking up before I can stop myself. His palm slams flat against me, pinning me back to the sheets. “Stay down.”
“Yes, sir.” The words crack out of me, pathetic and wrecked.
He drags the zipper slow. Each tooth splitting apart feels like it’s carving me open. My cock jerks under the denim, leaking, aching, and he still doesn’t rush. Just eases the fabric down inch by inch, watching me squirm, watching me beg without words.
“Beg louder,” he says.
“Please, sir,” I gasp. “I need you to touch me, I—I’ll be good—”
“Will you?” His hand tugs sharp until my head tips back. “You’ve had an attitude all week. Mouthy. Reckless. Why should I reward that?”
“Because I’m yours!” The words rip out of me, raw, desperate. “I’ll take anything, I swear—I’ll bleed for you, I’ll fight for you, just—please, Captain—”
His smirk sharpens. His hand leaves my hair, slides back down, and finally—finally—he drags my jeans open wide. The fabric peels off my hips, slow, merciless, until I’m bare under him.
My cock slaps against my stomach, leaking, and I sob sharp from the relief of it.
“Better,” he murmurs, eyes dragging over me like he owns every inch. His thumb presses into my bruised rib again, harder this time. “Keep begging, pup. You’re not done yet.”
His hand hovers just above my cock—close enough that the heat makes me flinch, not close enough to give me anything. My whole body arches off the sheets, desperate, but his palm never lands.
“Tell me what you want.” His voice is calm, low, lethal. Like he isn’t watching me shake apart under him.
“I—I want you to touch me, sir—”
“Too vague.” His thumb brushes the air just above my length, the ghost of contact that makes me choke. “Say it right.”
My throat works, shame clawing hot through me, but I can’t stop. “I want your hand on my cock, sir.”
His scar curves with a cruel smirk. “Better. But you’re not done.”
His hand shifts lower, knuckles grazing the inside of my thigh instead of where I need him. My hips buck sharp, useless, begging for friction.
“Say it,” he murmurs. “Every filthy thing you want. Or I don’t give you shit.”
“Fuck—” My voice cracks, high and raw. “Please stroke me, sir. Please jerk me until I come—I need it, I’ll beg, I’ll do anything—”
He hums, thumb dragging slow circles on my thigh instead of my cock. “And after I’ve wrung you dry? Then what?”
My face flames scarlet, words choking in my throat, but his grip in my curls yanks hard enough that I can’t bite them back. “Then—fuck—then I want your cock in me, Captain. I want you to fuck me until I can’t breathe—until I forget my name—”
His smirk sharpens, lethal. “Good boy.”
Finally—finally—his palm presses flat against my cock. Not stroking. Just weight. Heavy. Claiming. Enough to make me moan high into the quiet.
“Keep talking,” he orders. “The filthier, the better. Or I stop.”
My eyes fly wide. “S-sir—”
His palm leaves me completely. Gone. Empty.
A broken whine rips out of me, high and cracked. My cock protests, aching, leaking across my stomach, and still he doesn’t give me anything.
“You think I’m going to reward whispers?” His eyes cut into me like knives. “You want to come? You earn it. Say it loud.”
Humiliation floods hot through my chest, shame burning worse than any bruise. But I can’t—God, I can’t not. Not with him watching me like that. Not with every nerve in me clawing for his touch.
So I do.
“I want you to fuck me, Captain!” My voice cracks, sharp and wild, bouncing off the hotel walls. “I want you to split me open—make me choke—make me scream until everyone in this place knows I belong to you!”
He smirks. Sharp. Cruel. “Better.”
His palm slides back to my cock, deliberate, slow, dragging one stroke that has me crying out instantly.
“Again.”
“I’m yours!” I sob, my eyes squeezing shut as my body arches. “Always yours—I’ll crawl, I’ll beg, I’ll take it all—Captain, fuck me—”
“Good boy.” His hand grips tighter, stroking once, twice, teasing me with just enough friction to keep me trembling. “That’s how you beg. Loud. Shameless. Let them all hear who you belong to.”
My face burns nuclear—but I keep going. Because I’ll say anything, everything, if it means he won’t stop.
“I belong to you, sir!” The words rip out of me, high and desperate. “No one else—never anyone else—just you!”
His fist closes tighter around me, stroking slow, cruel.
“Perfect.” He leans close, lips brushing my ear. “Now beg me to ruin you.”
One second his fist is around my cock, the next—he’s flipping me.