His hand drags higher, broad palm pressing between my shoulder blades, forcing me flatter against the mattress. “Look at you. Bent over, dripping, waiting for your captain to use you.”
A whimper tears out of me before I can choke it down. My grin falters, twists wrecked, but it doesn’t die.
“You love it, don’t you, pup?” His fingers trail back down, slow and deliberate, over the curve of my ass, the trembling backs of my thighs. “Every order. Every time I break you down. Every time you crawl.”
“Yes, sir.” My cock twitches hard against the sheets.
His chuckle rumbles low in my ear. Cruel. Pleased. “Honest. That’s good. You’re learning.”
His hand strokes down my thigh again, slow enough to make me moan. “On the ice, you run your mouth like you don’t know fear. But here—here you give me everything. No fight. No mask. Just obedience.”
My grin’s gone feral now, sharp and wrecked. “Love it—fuck, I love it—”
“Of course you do.” His hand fists sudden in my curls, jerking my head back until my throat arches, until I’m gasping into the sheets. “Because you’re mine, Elias Mercer. And nothing makes you harder than being reminded of it.”
I moan, wrecked, trembling under him, my cock dragging against the mattress, leaking into the thin fabric.
“Good boy,” he rasps again, dragging his hand down my spine slow, deliberate, until it cups my ass, squeezing hard enough to bruise. “Now let’s see how much more you can take.”
Christ, I could live off these sounds.
Whimpers. Moans. The gasps that claw out of his throat like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. Every broken noise a prayer he doesn’t even know he’s saying.
My hand drags slow down the line of his spine, palm wide, deliberate, until it curls at the hem of his boxers. Thin fabric, damp with sweat and pre-come, clinging to his ass like it’s trying to hide him from me. Useless.
I hook my fingers under the band, tug it down an inch. Watch his whole body jolt forward, ass pushing back into the touch like he’s begging without words.
“Good boy,” My thumb strokes the dip of his hipbone, then pulls the fabric lower. Half an inch. No more. Just enough to make him squirm.
“Sir—” His voice cracks, desperate. “Please—I—”
I smirk, leaning over him, my breath hot against the sweat on his neck. “Please what, pup?” My hand slides down further, boxers peeling away slow, baring him inch by inch. “Youwant me to ruin you? You want my cock? Or are you just so starved you’ll take whatever I give you?”
He fists the sheets in both hands, knuckles white, ass arching higher. “Anything, sir. Fuck—anything—”
That’s better. That’s begging.
I palm his ass, rough, squeeze until he cries out, then drag my hand slow across the back of his thigh. Calluses scrape his skin, raise goosebumps in their wake. My other hand fists in his hair, jerking his head back so he’s forced to gasp into the mattress.
“You sound perfect when you beg,” I growl against his ear. “Like you were born for it. Like your mouth was made to choke on yes, sir, and nothing else.”
My cock throbs hard against my jeans, but I don’t free myself. Not yet. Not until he’s wrecked enough to forget he even has words besides mine.
I bare him to me, cock flushed, dripping onto the sheets. He tries to grind against the mattress, desperate for friction, but I clamp a hand down on his hip. Hold him still.
“Not yet,” I rasp. My thumb traces the bruise I left on his side last night. “You’ll come when I tell you. Not before.”
“Yessir,” he gasps.
My smirk sharpens. He’s learning.
I trail my fingers lower, brushing the inside of his thigh, watching the muscles twitch under my touch. His chestheaves, his legs tremble, his ass arches higher. Begging. Wordless, frantic begging.
“Say it,” I order. “Say exactly what you want.”
His voice cracks into a sob. “I want you, sir. Fuck—please, I want your cock, I want you to split me open, I need it, I need you—”
Perfect.
