Chapter 28 - Damian #2
Silence hums across the line for a moment, just the sound of the road beneath my tires. Then Viktor’s voice again, lower this time. “You sure about that? Kid’s not built like you. He feels too much. You throw him into that fire, he’ll burn.”
I grip the wheel tighter, leather creaking under my gloves. Elias does feel too much. That’s what makes him dangerous. That’s what makes him mine.
“He’ll burn,” I say, “and he’ll rise.”
Viktor doesn’t answer right away. I can almost picture him, stone-faced in his apartment, sharpening his skates like always, eyes unreadable.
Finally: “Then you better keep him steady. Because they’ll try to take him from you. On the ice. Off it. Doesn’t matter. They’ll smell how much he belongs to you.”
Belongs. My chest rumbles low, the word hitting harder than I want it to.
“Good,” I rasp. “Let them try.”
Silence again. Heavy. Respectful. Then Viktor mutters something sharp in Russian—too fast, too rough—and hangs up.
The SUV hums low as the city lights rise on the horizon. My jaw’s tight, my blood steady, my cock twitching just at the thought of my rookie’s green eyes when I tell him the world already knows.
Because if Elias thought kneeling at my feet was devotion—he’s about to learn what it means to kneel in front of the whole goddamn world.
By the time I roll into the garage under my building, the headlines have sharpened to knives in my mind. Doesn’t matter. Let them cut. They won’t touch what’s mine.
I kill the engine, climb out, boots echoing against concrete. The elevator hums slow, doors sliding open like a mouth waiting to swallow me. Floor numbers blink. Up. Up. My pulse steady as a drum.
The apartment door unlocks under my key, the weight of the handle heavy in my palm.
And there he is.
Elias.
My rookie. My center. My pup.
He’s sprawled across my bed like he belongs there, curls damp from a shower, drowning in one of my shirts that swallows him whole. His phone buzzes against the nightstand every thirty seconds, screen lighting up with headlines, mentions, alerts. He doesn’t even look at it anymore.
His eyes snap up to mine the second I step inside. Wide. Bright. A little pale, a little panicked—but glowing. Reckless grin tugging at his lips like he can’t decide if he’s about to combust or beg.
“Cap…” he breathes. “It’s everywhere.”
I shrug out of my jacket, slow, deliberate, never breaking eye contact. “Good.”
He blinks, throat working. “Good? They—they’re calling me your—your project, your—fuck, some are saying—”
“Mine,” I cut him off.
His breath hitches, body trembling even under the blanket. His fingers twitch like he doesn’t know whether to clutch the sheets or crawl to me.
“You don’t care?” he whispers.
“No.” I stalk closer, boots slow against the hardwood. “Let them write. Let them scream. Let them dig. You already belong to me. The world’s just catching up.”
His lips part, voice breaking. “Sir…”
I smirk. My hand fists into his curls before he can say another word, dragging his head back so those desperate eyes are locked on mine.
“You want to tell me again?” I rasp, low enough to burn. “Tell me what you told me two nights ago?”
His breath shatters. He nods so fast it’s pathetic, reckless. “I—I do, sir. I do, I do—”
My mouth crashes against his, stealing the words from his lips, swallowing the sound like it’s mine too.
Elias’s hair is wild, damp and dripping onto my shirt collar as his fingers tug clumsy at my tie. He’s already breathless, mouth parted like every second he’s near me steals his oxygen.
I let him get halfway. Knot loosened, fabric sliding down—then I pull my phone out of my pocket and shove it into his hand.
“Read them to me.”
His fingers freeze. Tie dangling off his knuckles, my phone heavy in his palm. “Wh—what?”
“Headlines,” I say, calm, low, final. “You said they’re everywhere. So read them. Out loud.”
Before he can argue, I push him back. One hand flat to his chest, firm, steady, sending him sprawling against the mattress. His legs kick uselessly, tangled in the sheets. His hair falls over his eyes, green burning through them when I grip his waistband and strip his pants down in one brutal yank.
He gapes up at me, breathless. “Captain—”
“Read,” I growl, tossing denim to the floor, already dragging his boxers down after them. His cock springs free, flushed and leaking, twitching against his stomach as his other hand trembles with my phone.
His eyes dart between the screen and me. His throat works. “Uh—uh, okay, uh—‘Kade’s Pup? Rookie Mercer Protected or Possessed?’”
My smirk sharpens. I fist my hand around his cock, slow, deliberate, dragging one stroke that makes him choke on a gasp. “Keep going.”
His voice cracks, high and frantic, as the screen lights up another. “Um—‘Captain or Keeper? Damian Kade’s Leash on Elias Mercer—’ f-fuck—Cap—”
I stroke harder. His hips jerk up. He nearly drops the phone, fingers trembling so bad the headline blurs.
“Read,” I snarl again, teeth bared in a grin, squeezing tight until he moans. “Don’t stop.”
He scrambles. “—‘Ravens Rookie or Reaper’s Pet? Mercer’s Role Under Captain Kade—’ Oh my god—”
His head tips back, lips trembling around every word. His cock twitches in my fist, his free hand clawing at the mattress, the phone wobbling uselessly in the other.
And I—Christ—I’ve never seen anything prettier. My pup, naked, trembling, reading filth dressed up as headlines while I wring him out stroke by stroke. Every word a collar, every gasp a vow.
“Good boy,” I rasp, leaning low enough to scrape my mouth against his jaw. “Let them write it. Let them name it. They’ve got it right. You’re mine.”
His phone buzzes again, headline flashing across the screen. His eyes flood as he whispers it out loud, voice wrecked, breaking—
“‘Owned by His Captain.’”
Perfect.
I lean closer, breath hot against his ear, eyes locked on the way his chest moves. “You think this is bad, pup? Headlines calling you mine?”
He whimpers, choked, nodding weakly. The phone slips, screen tilting.
“It’ll get worse,” I growl. My hand strokes faster, crueler, dragging another sob out of him. “Every game. Every goal. Every time you look at me like that. Every time I touch you. They’ll write it. They’ll scream it.”
“C-Cap—”
“Worse,” I snarl. “They’ll catch us in the tunnel. Locker room. Hotel. They’ll catch you on your knees for me, Elias, and they’ll print it in ink big enough to burn the whole league.”
His head thrashes against the pillow, lips trembling open as another moan tears out of him.
“And it won’t matter.” My voice sharpens, deadly final, each word a blade. “Because you’ll be the best goddamn center in the league when you finally say I do.”
His whole body seizes. The phone drops from his hand, forgotten, clattering useless to the floor. His fingers claw at me instead—at my shoulders, my arm, my back—clinging like I’m the only anchor he has left.
“Sir—fuck—please—” His cry shreds, high and broken.
I don’t tease. Not tonight. Not after everything. My hand fists hard, stroking him relentless, dragging every sound out of his throat like worship. His body bows clean off the mattress, mouth open on a scream.
“Come for me, pup.”
He breaks.
Hot, messy release streaks his stomach, his chest, his own throat. He’s sobbing with it, voice raw as he gasps my name between every choked moan. His nails dig into me, holding on like he’ll drown if he lets go.
“Good boy,” I rasp, still stroking him through it, my mouth hot against his temple. “Scream it. Let them hear. You’re mine.”
He does. He screams. Hoarse, wrecked, begging me even as he spills again, clinging tighter, whole body convulsing in my grip.
“You scared, pup?”
He blinks up at me, glassy, worshipful. His chest jerks as another gasp stutters out. He shakes his head—small, desperate—breath breaking around it. “N-no, sir.”
Good.
My hand leaves his cock and finds his thigh instead, rough palm dragging over skin that’s already trembling. I grip firm, haul him closer under me until his knees spread wider, until he’s exactly where I want him—pinned and open, mine.
“That’s right.” My eyes burn down into his, scar tugging as my mouth curls. “There’s nothing to be scared of.”
He gasps, fingers clutching at my arms, his body arching instinctively closer even as his breath stutters.
“If anyone tries anything,” I murmur against his mouth, my grip tightening on his thigh, my chest pressing down to crush him deliciously into the sheets, “I’ll make them swallow their teeth.”
The whimper he makes breaks straight into my mouth when I kiss him. His lips part, his whole body shudders, and he clings tighter like I’ve just carved a vow into his chest.
I don’t stop kissing him. Not when his lips tremble against mine, not when his breath comes wrecked and shallow, not when his hands clutch at my shoulders like I’m the only thing holding him to earth. I keep him right here, pinned under me, devouring every gasp until he has nothing left but me.
It turns slower. Darker. My mouth drags from his lips to the corner of his jaw, to the pulse hammering frantic in his throat. My teeth scrape. My tongue soothes. He whimpers, his head tipping back without me even asking for it.
“You hear me, pup?” My voice is low, dangerous, words pressed against his skin like a blade. “If anyone so much as looks at you the wrong way, I’ll put them in the ground.”
His fingers twitch against my shoulders. He shudders. “Sir—”
I sink my teeth in, hard enough to make him yelp, not enough to draw blood. My eyes flick up, pinning him even as my mouth stays at his throat.
“They can write what they want. They can ask what they want.” My hand fists tighter on his thigh, hauling him higher, opening him wider. “But the second one of them tries to touch what’s mine?”
My lips brush his ear, slow, lethal.
“I’ll break every bone in their body and feed them their own teeth.”
His gasp turns into a whimper that cracks in the back of his throat. He clings harder, his nails digging into my arms, his hips twitching under me like he’s half terrified, half desperate to grind against me.
Good boy. He loves it.
I kiss him again, deep and filthy, swallowing the wrecked sound he makes as if I can brand my promises into his lungs.