Chapter 5
Elliot
The absurdity of the situation hit me like a runaway train, washing away any remaining pretense of calm. It was one of the most absurd things I had seen in my life.
I couldn't help but burst out laughing. Not a polite chuckle, not a nervous giggle, but a full-blown, hysterical laugh that echoed through the patio and drew curious glances from the lounging alpha pack members.
I couldn't help but find it absurd that my laugh drew more attention than their nakedness.
"This is insane!" I exclaimed, wiping tears from my eyes. "Utterly and completely insane! You expect me to just… stroll around in the middle of this place? Surrounded by half-naked men? It's like a fever dream! A very, very strange fever dream."
I stopped laughing abruptly, the reality of my situation crashing back down on me. The amusement evaporated, replaced by a rising tide of panic and anger.
This was no joke. They really had me trapped here.
"And you expect me to just… accept this?" I demanded, turning to Damon, my voice trembling with frustration. "This is ridiculous! This is insane! I'm not some pet to be paraded around your… your naked club!"
My eyes darted around the patio, taking in the casually lounging men, and a sudden wave of claustrophobia washed over me. I truly, really was trapped, confined within these gilded walls, surrounded by strangers who were barely clothed. On top of all that, their nakedness was the most absurd factor.
"I don't want to be your prisoner," I protested weakly, my voice cracking slightly. "I didn't ask to be here! You took me from the forest! You kidnapped me!"
I glared at Damon, his amusement unwavering. His eyes were still sparkling with that infuriating mix of enjoyment and possessiveness. He really was enjoying seeing my outburst, wasn't he?
"As I said before, you're not a prisoner, Elliot," he said calmly, as if addressing a child throwing a tantrum. The thought made me furious. "You're a guest. A very special guest."
"A guest who can't leave?" I retorted. "A guest who has been stripped of his freedom and forced into this… this bizarre situation? That's not a guest, Damon. That's a hostage!"
He understood that and we both knew it, but he still wasn't going to admit it. He just wanted to keep toying with me.
I took a deep breath, trying to regain control, but the frustration was bubbling up inside me like a volcano about to erupt.
"And for the love of all that is holy," I added, gesturing wildly at his naked body, "put some clothes on!"
The demand felt strangely liberating, a small act of defiance against this surreal situation. It wasn't about the nudity itself, it was about the power dynamic, the blatant disregard for my boundaries, and the sense of being reduced to an object of amusement.
"Put some clothes on! Please!" I repeated. "Just… cover up a little!"
Was that really so difficult?
Damon stared at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. The playful smirk slowly faded from his lips, replaced by a flicker of something else—surprise, perhaps? Or maybe… amusement. He found me so funny, didn't he?
"Demanding, are you?" He said. "I hadn't realized that you were going to be quite so assertive and sensitive."
Sensitive? He didn't know anything about me.
He paused, studying me with those piercing blue eyes. "Very well," he said finally, a mischievous glint returning to his gaze. "If it's what you want."
Yes, it was what I wanted, but was he really going to give it to me?
He stood up suddenly, turning towards the manor.
"You're serious? You're just going to… go inside?" I asked, incredulous. "To get clothes? While I'm standing here, freezing and feeling like I've stumbled into some bizarre, naked cult convention?"
And I knew what he was going to tell me. He was going to tell me to follow him. As if that could solve anything.
He simply shrugged, a gesture that oozed careless confidence. "Efficiency isn't always immediate, Elliot. Patience is a virtue." He then turned and began walking towards the mansion, beckoning me to follow. "Besides, it wouldn't do to catch a chill before we get properly acquainted with our surroundings, so follow me."
I was right.
Regardless, I reluctantly trailed after him, muttering under my breath about the absurdity of it all. The sheer laziness of it! "So, what's inside? More naked men sculpting marble statues? Do you have a fully clothed butler serving champagne?"
He chuckled, his voice echoing through the sprawling gardens. "Something like that. We prefer to call it 'refined living'." He paused, glancing back at me with a knowing smirk. "And yes, we do have a rather excellent sommelier."
The interior of the mansion was even more opulent than I'd imagined. Vast hallways stretched out before us, lined with priceless artwork and illuminated by enormous chandeliers. The air hummed with quiet activity—hushed conversations, the clinking of glasses, the soft strains of classical music drifting from somewhere deep within the house. It felt like a museum, but lived in, and quite lavishly at that.
"This is… excessive," I said, not daring to raise my voice.
"Excess is merely a state of mind," Damon replied, his eyes sweeping over the room with an air of detached amusement. "We simply appreciate the finer things in life." He paused, then added with a playful grin, "And we have the resources to indulge them."
I rolled my eyes. "Right. And what exactly does Nightshade do to acquire those resources?" I pressed, determined to get some real answers.
But even though I asked that question, I knew they did things that were in a legal gray area.
He led me down a long hallway, pausing before a massive oak door. "As I said, we provide services," he repeated, echoing his earlier response. "Let's just say we have a talent for resolving delicate situations and ensuring stability."
"And what kind of 'delicate situations' are we talking about?" I persisted, feeling like I was chasing a ghost.
Before he could answer, he opened the door and ushered me into a lavish study, filled with leather-bound books, antique maps, and a massive mahogany desk. The room radiated an air of quiet power, a sanctuary from the chaos of the rest of the house.
It was his office. I was in his dominion now even more than I was before. It was a chilling thought.
"We'll discuss that later," he said, turning his attention to a nearby wardrobe. "For now, let's focus on something more pressing—my attire."
And then, the agonizing process began.
Damon started with a slow, deliberate grace, unbuttoning a hidden shirt with an almost theatrical flourish. He savored each movement, each pause, drawing out the anticipation like a conductor prolonging a dramatic crescendo. Each piece of clothing was carefully selected, examined, and then slowly, meticulously put on. A black silk undershirt first, clinging to his sculpted chest. Then, tailored trousers, the fabric rustling as he eased them over his legs.
"Are you serious?" I asked, struggling to contain my exasperation. "You're going to take an hour to get dressed?"
And somehow, I already knew the answer to that question.
He chuckled, not even bothering to look up. "Patience, Elliot. It's a lost art." He paused, admiring the way the trousers draped over his form. "Besides," he added with a wink, "a man must present himself properly."
Present himself properly. Fucking motherfucker. He was doing that just to keep toying with me, and the worst thing about it was that it was working. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't ignore it.
The minutes ticked by with agonizing slowness. I paced the room, fidgeting and muttering under my breath. I watched him pull out a crisp white shirt, slowly buttoning it up with meticulous care. Then came a black tie, knotted with practiced ease. The final touch was a flawlessly tailored black suit, which he slipped on with a flourish, transforming his appearance into something sleek and undeniably powerful.
Was he going to a formal meeting? I had no idea, and I didn't want to ask.
"Finally," I exclaimed, throwing my hands up in the air. "You're done! It took you longer to get dressed than it would take to negotiate a peace treaty that stops World War III!"
He turned to face me, a slow, satisfied smile spreading across his lips. His ice-blue eyes sparkled with amusement as he surveyed me, taking in my growing frustration.
"Did you enjoy the show?" He asked, tugging the right corner of his mouth and showing me his perfect teeth. "It's a performance, Elliot. Everything is a performance." Then, he tilted his head and added: "And you, my dear, are my audience."
Meanwhile, I couldn't deny it anymore. No matter how much I tried to hide it, Damon knew. Knew that my dick was rock-hard beneath my clothes, tenting my pants embarrassingly. I could feel the sticky precum leaking from the tip, dampening my boxers, and it was driving me crazy.
I hated myself for feeling this way. Really, really hated myself.
Fuck, why did he have to be so damn sexy? So confident and dominating? It was infuriating and arousing all at the same time.
Damon sauntered over to me, a smirk playing on his lips. He knew exactly what effect he was having on me, and he loved it. Loved toying with me, making me squirm.
"You seem… uncomfortable, Elliot," he said, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down my spine. He leaned in, bringing his face inches from mine, and I could smell the faint, tantalizing scent of his sweat mixed with his natural musk. It was intoxicating, and I struggled to suppress a groan.
"I'm fine," I muttered, trying to maintain a shred of dignity. "Just eager to get this over with."
He let out a low, rumbling chuckle, a dark timbre that echoed deep within me. "Over with? Oh, darling, we're just getting started." He paused, his gaze flicking down to my crotch, and I swore I could feel the heat of his stare like a physical touch. "In fact, I'd say you're very… eager indeed."
I blushed crimson, cursing my traitorous body. Damn omega hormones. I was supposed to be a rational adult, not a hormonal teenager ready to jump his bones at the slightest provocation.
Damon's gaze lingered, his smirk growing wider. "Tell me, Elliot," he breathed, his voice dropping to a seductive purr. "Do you usually react this strongly to alphas? Or is it just me?"
Should I even answer that question? Part of me was telling me that I shouldn't.
I swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way my pulse quickened at his proximity. "It's not you," I insisted, my voice coming out sharper than I intended. "I just… I'm horny, okay? It's been a while."
He let out a deep, velvety laugh, and it was so rich and intoxicating that it sent a wicked pulse straight to my core. "Ah, I see." He leaned in even closer, his lips brushing against my ear. "Well, I can help with that, you know. A little relief goes a long way in improving one's mood."
I froze, my breath catching in my throat. Was he seriously offering...?
And why was I surprised, anyway, considering the type of man he was?
"No, thank you," I said stiffly, forcing myself to push him away. "That's not going to happen right now."
He backed off, but the smug smile remained. "Of course you can," he agreed, though his eyes challenged me. "But sometimes, it's nice to have a helping hand, isn't it?"
I grunted noncommittally, refusing to rise to the bait. He was enjoying this far too much, and I refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing me lose control.
But fuck, it was hard. Harder than my aching cock straining against my zipper. The scent of his skin, the heat of his body, the pure alpha maleness that radiated from him—it was all driving me crazy.
I was a young, fertile omega, after all. My body craved an alpha's touch, his seed. And damn it, Damon Vexley was temptation incarnate.
Still, I had to resist. Had to maintain some semblance of self-control. Because giving in to him—to this—would mean losing myself, and I couldn't afford to do that. Not with so much riding on my freedom.
Not with so much at stake.