Chapter 30 - Damian
The moment we clear the arena doors, Elias is vibrating. Jacket half hanging off his shoulders, cheeks still red as sin. The rookies are howling behind us—Cole screeching “FIVE!” like it’s the only word he knows, Mats snorting every time Elias flinches, Tyler shrieking he’s too young for this.
I don’t give them a look. I just steer Elias through the crowd, one hand heavy at the back of his neck until the SUV’s unlocked and waiting.
He scrambles into the passenger seat, fumbling with the jacket, muttering “oh my god” under his breath like he’s praying for a meteor.
I slide behind the wheel. Engine roars. Doors shut. Silence swallows us whole.
He doesn’t even make it to the first stoplight before I reach across the console.
My hand fisting in his hair.
His gasp is high, desperate.
“Cap—sir—” His lips parted like he already knows.
I lean low, voice flat, steady. “Five.”
He whimpers. Tries to hide in the collar of the jacket I gave him. Doesn’t work. My grip tightens until he tips his head back, throat bared.
“Did you think I’d wait until we were home, pup?” I murmur, eyes cutting into him while traffic hums outside. “You opened that pretty mouth in front of the whole locker room. You gave me a number.”
His chest heaves. “I—I didn’t—fuck—I wasn’t—”
“You were.” My thumb drags slow over his jaw, pressing enough to make him gasp. “And now you’re going to give me five. Right here. Right now.”
His whimper cracks higher, thighs shifting restless against the seat. He grips the edge of the console like it’ll save him, but his voice comes out wrecked.
“Yes, sir.”
Good boy.
I ease the SUV onto the highway, one hand heavy on the wheel, the other still tangled in his curls. My chest rumbles low, steady.
“Undo your belt.”
He gasps. His hands twitch. But he obeys, fumbling clumsy with the buckle until it clicks free, his breath sharp in the hum of tires on asphalt.
“Pants down,” I order, calm as death.
He whines, but he shoves them down anyway.
The city lights streak across the windshield, cold and gold, while my pup trembles bare beside me.
And I haven’t even started.
My hand stays tight in Elias’s hair as I steer us onto the main road. He’s panting already, pants shoved halfway down his thighs, belt clinking against the console.
“Hands,” I order.
His green eyes flick up, wide, wrecked. “S-sir—”
“On your cock, pup.” My tone doesn’t shift. “Now.”
A whimper cracks out of him, but he obeys. Fingers shaking, he wraps his own hand around himself, already slick at the tip, already twitching from nothing but my grip in his hair and my voice in his ear.
“That’s it,” I murmur, my eyes cutting from the road to the wrecked mess trembling beside me. “Stroke it. Slow.”
His breath stutters. His fist moves once, twice, dragging desperate down his length. A gasp breaks from his throat, legs trembling against the leather seat.
“Good boy,” I rasp, shifting gears with one hand while the other tugs his curls harder, forcing his head back against the seat. “You wanted to give me attitude in front of the whole team? Then you can make yourself come five times for me.”
“F-five—”
“Yes.” My thumb presses into his pulse, steady. “Start counting.”
He moans, low and frantic, hand moving faster now as the SUV hums beneath us, city lights streaking across the windshield. Every sound he makes ricochets in the cab, every gasp turning higher the closer he gets.
The corner of my mouth tugs when I smirk, eyes steady on the dark road ahead.
“And if you get my car dirty,” I murmur, “you’re cleaning it with that tongue that loves talking back at me.”
The sound Elias makes is a broken whimper, his thighs trembling against the leather. But his hand starts moving for real now—stroking himself properly, desperate, wrecked as the city streaks past outside.
“Good boy,” I rasp, eyes flicking between the road and him—my pup, flushed and gasping, jacking himself in the passenger seat like he was made for this. “Don’t stop until you give me five.”
He whines, hips jerking into his fist, teeth sinking into his lip until it splits.
Then his back arches hard, his hand stroking fast and frantic, and he spills hot over his own stomach with a strangled sob.
“One.” His voice breaks as he gasps it out, eyes squeezing shut. “O-one, sir.”
I shift gears, steady, unbothered. The SUV hums down the road, my knuckles easy on the wheel, the other hand still fisted in his curls.
“That’s it,” I murmur again, scar curving with my smirk. “Now four more.”
His head jerks, eyes snapping open, glassy and desperate. “S-sir—”
“Don’t test me, pup.” My grip tightens, dragging his head back until his throat’s bared. “You wanted to run your mouth in front of the whole team. Now you’re going to wreck yourself in my car until you can’t see straight. Five. Or you’ll wish I’d kept it at punishment.”
He whimpers, body twitching, cock still sensitive and slick in his trembling hand. But he strokes again anyway, moaning through his teeth, hips jerking as the road hums beneath us.
And I don’t stop driving.
Not until he breaks on my command.
Not until he gives me all five.
His first orgasm still slicks his stomach, his hand shaking as he forces himself to stroke again, raw and oversensitive. Every gasp out of him is wrecked, every whimper sharp enough to pierce through the low growl of the engine.
“Faster,” I order, calm, flat.
He obeys. His hips twitch, thighs trembling. His eyes squeeze shut when his breath stutters.
“Say it,” I growl.
“Two, sir!” His cry shatters into the cab as he comes again, spilling weak against his stomach, body jolting hard against the seat. “F-fuck—two.”
“Mhm” My thumb strokes slow across his scalp before I drag his head back farther. “Three more.”
His chest jerks, lips trembling, hand twitching where it still wraps around his cock.
“Cap—please, I can’t—”
“Yes, you can.” My voice cuts through the dark, final. “Three more, pup. Keep stroking.”
His fist drags again, slow at first, then sharper when I tug his hair tighter. His hips writhe against the seat, thighs trembling as sweat streaks down his chest.
It takes longer this time. He sobs through it, chokes on every breath, but I don’t let him stop—not until his cry breaks hoarse..
“Three.” His body jerking limp under my grip. “Th-three, sir.”
“Good boy,” I rasp, shifting gears smooth as the road curves. “Two more.”
And that’s when he falters.
His hand shakes too hard. His lips gasping useless air, eyes glassy as his fist stalls out halfway down his cock.
“Cap—” His voice cracks, desperate, shaking. “I c-can’t—fuck, I can’t—”
The corner of my mouth lifts into a smirk. My grip in his hair tightens, forcing his head back until his eyes lock on mine.
“Yes, you can,” I growl. “And you will.”
He whines, broken, tears threatening his lashes as he strokes again, choking on every sound.
I’ll drag him through four and five if it kills him.
The highway stretches dark and endless, Ravensburg sleeping cold on either side. My SUV hums steady beneath us, leather creaking every time Elias jerks in his seat.
He’s a wreck.
Sweat slick on his chest, tears brimming his eyes, his thighs trembling as his hand stutters around his cock. Every gasp he makes is broken, desperate, sharp enough to rattle the air between us.
“Sir, I—I can’t—”
“Yes, you can,” I growl, scar pulling as my smirk cuts across the shadows. My grip tightens until he gasps, throat stretched, eyes locked on mine whether he wants it or not. “You gave me a number. You don’t get to stop until I take every one.”
His hand trembles, but he strokes again anyway, raw and twitching.
“Good boy,” I rasp. “Keep going. Show me you can bleed obedience for me even when you’re crying.”
His whimper cracks into a sob, hips jerking. “S-sir—please—”
“That’s it.” My thumb presses into his pulse, hard, until he whines. “Beg while you stroke. Say it.”
“Please—please, Captain—fuck, I’ll be good—I’ll take it, I’ll—” His words crumble into a cry as his body arches, his hand dragging faster, sharper.
“Say it,” I snarl, my voice cutting over his sobs. “Say the number.”
His scream shreds high in the cab as he does it again, streaking hot across his chest. “Four!” he sobs. “F-four, sir—fuck—four!”
My chest rumbles low with satisfaction, a predator’s growl curling through the hum of the engine.
“Perfect,” I murmur, eyes locked on his ruined face. “One more.”
His lips tremble. His chest jerks. He looks wrecked, trembling, ruined. And he knows I won’t let him stop.
Five is waiting.
The garage swallows us in shadow, concrete cold and humming with the echo of the SUV’s idle. The engine ticks low as I slide into the space, cut the ignition, and kill the lights.
Elias is trembling beside me—pants shoved halfway down, chest streaked with sweat and come, lips bitten raw. He’s barely holding himself together. Four down. One left.
I unbuckle him slow. Deliberate. The click echoes in the dark.
Before he can breathe, I drag him across the console. His yelp cracks high, desperate, as I haul him into my lap, straddling me bare.
“Cap—sir—” His voice is shredded, hoarse from crying, wrecked from begging.
“Five,” I rasp. My hand wraps around his cock, slick and raw, twitching against his stomach. “This one’s mine.”
His cry tears ragged from his throat the second I stroke.
He clings—arms around my neck, nails scraping down my shoulders. His lips tremble against my mouth, his sobs cracking with every pump of my fist.
“Sir—please—please, I can’t—”
“Yes, you can,” I growl, steady, cutting through his panic. My grip stays firm, relentless, dragging him higher with every stroke. “You’re my good boy. You’re going to give me five because I said so. Say it.”
His body jerks, thighs trembling against my hips, eyes rolling back as he sobs against my mouth. “F-five—five, sir—please, I’ll give it to you, I swear—”
“Good pup,” I rasp, my chest rumbling as I stroke him harder, faster. “You’re perfect like this. Crying in my lap, begging me to break you.”
His scream rips into the dark as he gives me the fifth one, convulsing hard enough that his hair whips damp across his temples.
“FIVE!” His voice shatters hoarse, raw, every syllable a plea and a prayer. “F-five, sir—fuck—”
I don’t stop until he’s twitching limp in my lap, sobbing wrecked into my chest, clinging like he’ll die if I let him go.
My mouth brushes his ear. “My sweet little pup. You gave me all five.”
He nods into my scarred jaw, his arms wrapped tight around me.
I lean forward, one arm locking him steady, and snap open the glove compartment. Plastic rustles. I pull out the pack of wipes, tear it open, and drag one free.
Elias whimpers, head tipped against my scar, but he doesn’t resist when I start wiping him down—slow, steady strokes across his chest, his stomach, careful over the oversensitive twitch of his cock.
“Sir—” He gasps. “You don’t have to—”
“Quiet.” My tone stays flat. My hand keeps moving.
By the time the wipe’s streaked with slick, I crumple it, drag another, and finish what I started. Then I tuck him back in, pull his pants up gentle, buckle him smooth, like he hasn’t just cried himself hoarse in my lap.
He’s still shaking when I brush my hand slow down his thigh, grounding him. His lips tremble. “You’re cruel…” he whispers, eyes blazing up at me through damp lashes.
My lips twist. “You picked five.”
A wrecked whine tears out of him, head shaking against my jaw.
“And you knew I was cruel since you were twelve, pup,” I murmur, low, calm, final, brushing a strand of curls back from his forehead. “Don’t act surprised I’m cruel on ice and off it.”
His throat works. His breath stutters. Then—despite the tears still shining in his lashes—he grins. Small. Shaky.
Because he loves it.
Because he loves me.
His body’s still trembling against me, small little jerks that tell me he’s wrung dry, but his mouth—Christ, his mouth—never stops.
I run both hands through his hair, fisting slow until my knuckles scrape his scalp. Damp, heavy strands coil around my fingers, catching every time I tighten, and the sound he makes is wrecked—half-groan, half-moan, full devotion.
“You still gonna give me attitude in front of the whole team, baby?” I rasp, dangerous, burning into the silence of the garage.
He groans louder, hips twitching weak in my lap, his eyes glassy when he tips his face up to grin at me. Reckless.
“Yeah…” he pants. His grin splits wider. “Yeah, Cap.”
Brat.
My scar pulls with a smirk as I yank his head back farther, curls wrapped tight around my fists until he gasps. “Next time,” I murmur, my voice cutting steady through his wreckage, “I’ll pick the number.”
His whimper still hangs in the air when I release his curls, letting them tumble free around his flushed face. He slumps against me instantly, boneless, spent, his cheek pressed hot to my chest.
I don’t bother with words. I just shift, one arm wrapping firm around his back, the other bracing his thighs. Then I stand, hauling him up like he weighs nothing.
He gasps, curling tighter against me, small hands fisting in my shirt like he’s scared I’ll set him down. “Cap—”
“I’ve got you,” I murmur, low, steady.
The garage hums quiet except for the click of my boots and his ragged breathing against my throat. The house looms above, dark and waiting, doors unlocking under my hand without me ever loosening my grip on him.
Upstairs, I strip him down slow, careful. Not like before. Not cruel. Just steady hands tugging his ruined clothes off, wiping away the last of the mess with another crumpled wipe.
He’s wrecked but when I pull one of my shirts over his head, he sighs. A real sound. Soft. Like he knows he’s safe.
The hem hangs halfway down his thighs, sleeves swallowing his wrists. He looks small in it. Mine.
I tuck him into bed. He clings anyway, arms looping around my neck, curls damp against my jaw.
I don’t fight him. I just climb in beside him, one hand in his hair, the other wrapped heavy around his waist, holding him where he belongs.
“Five was too much…” He complains.
My mouth brushes his temple, eyes closing in the dark. “No, pup. It was perfect.”
He doesn’t argue. Not this time.
And sleep finally drags him under in my arms.