I step closer, the sound of my boots slow, deliberate. His breath hitches with every one.
This is where he belongs. Not grinning, not whining about favoritism. On his knees, waiting for my hand in his hair and my voice in his ear.
I stop in front of him, the shadow of my frame swallowing his smaller one whole. Elias kneels perfectly, chest rising and falling quick, hoodie clinging damp to his ribs, curls dripping into his eyes.
“Hands behind your back,” I murmur.
He obeys instantly, fingers lacing at the base of his spine, shoulders tightening as the position opens his chest up to me.
Good.
I let the silence stretch. Let the sound of his ragged breathing fill the apartment while I look down at him—really look. His lips parted, eyes wide, pulse hammering hard enough I can see it beating in his throat.
My hand fists slow into his hair. Damp, soft, easy to yank. His head tilts back under my grip.
“Why are you on your knees, pup?”
His throat works. His lips tremble, twitching into a shaky smile, but the words tumble out anyway: “Because I—because I had an attitude, sir.”
My thumb drags down his jaw, rough, deliberate. “And?”
He swallows. His eyes shine up at me like he’s confessing at the altar. “Because I forgot the rule.”
“Which rule?”
His chest heaves. “Don’t…don’t talk back. Don’t question you.”
I smirk. “And what happens when you forget that rule?”
A sound cracks out of him before he manages it. His voice goes thin, wrecked. “You punish me, sir.”
“Correct.”
My grip tightens, pulling his head back farther until his throat’s bared to me, wet skin shining under the dim light. He gasps, hands clenching tighter behind his back, body trembling, but he doesn’t move.
“Good boy,” I rasp, letting my thumb press under his chin until his jaw juts open. “Now open wider. You’re going to thank me properly.”
His throat’s bared, lips parted, eyes blown wide with that desperate shine I’ve seen since the first second he chirped me on the ice. He wants this. Needs it. Worship disguised as bravado until I strip him down to nothing but obedience.
“Take my cock out.”
His breath stutters. His hands twitch where they’re locked behind his back, but I release the command with one sharp tug. He scrambles forward, hoodie brushing against my legs, shaking fingers dragging at my zipper until he frees me.
I don’t help. I don’t need to. I just look down at him, watching his eyes flick up once—glassy, frantic, worshipful—before they drop again.
“Good,” I rasp. My thumb strokes once across his jaw, guiding him closer. “Now earn your mercy.”
The sound he makes is raw, broken, but his mouth seals around me like he was built for it.
Christ.
Heat surges through me as his lips stretch, as his throat works, as he takes me deeper with that desperate need painted across every line of his face. He’s sloppy, eyes already watering, but he doesn’t stop. He won’t. Not when it’s me holding his head steady, not when it’s me telling him to take it.
I fist tighter into his curls, tugging just enough to force his eyes up.
“Look at me.”
He does. His eyes shining, cheeks hollowed, mouth full of me, choking on every inch like it’s holy.
