“You climbed me at the bar.”
“I had to claim my prize!”
“You licked glitter off a cherry and almost got arrested.”
He whimpers, hips jerking up into nothing, straining for friction he’s not allowed. “I said I was sorry—”
“You’re not sorry.” My voice drops, right against his open mouth. “You’re fucking glowing.”
And he is. God, he is. Flushed and gorgeous, tied to my bed with glitter in his curls and sin in his smile, wrecked and radiant and mine.
He’s shaking so hard the mattress trembles under him. Drunk Elias is a different creature entirely—louder, needier, shameless to the point of madness. Every part of him begs, even when his mouth is too wrecked to form the words. His voice is hoarse from shouting in the club, but it still breaks beautifully every time I deny him.
“Sir—please, I can’t—I can’t—” His head thrashes, curls sticking to his temples, teeth sinking into his lip like he’s trying not to scream even though he already is. His cock leaks thick against his stomach, twitching with every rock of my hips. “I’m gonna come, I swear—sir, it’s right there—I can’t hold it—”
“You will.” I rest one hand on the center of his chest, pinning him to the mattress. He gasps, chest bowing up into my palm, body wild with adrenaline and alcohol. “You’re gonna hold it for me, pup, even if it kills you.”
“It is killing me,” he chokes, the words nearly a wail. “Please, sir—please—I’m begging—”
“You haven’t even started begging,” I growl, leaning down until my mouth is against his jaw, my breath hot against his slick skin. I grind in slow enough to make him whine. “You want to come? Then give me something real.”
His eyes blow wide, pupils huge and glossy and terrified in a way that tells me he knows exactly what I mean. Drunk Elias has no filter. No brakes. No shame. And I want every filthy, unguarded truth he’s drowning in right now.
“S–sir—what do you want—?”
“What you always want to say,” I murmur, thrusting deep enough to make his voice crack. “What you think about when you’re high on me. What you dream about when you’re sleeping on my chest. What you whispered into my mouth the first time you broke for me.”
He’s panting. Tears spill hot and fast from the corners of his eyes, streaking down his flushed cheeks. His arms flex above his head, fingers clawing uselessly at the restraints, thighs shaking so violently I have to grip them hard to hold him steady.
“Say it,” I whisper, rough. “Or you don’t come.”
He lets out a sound, raw, strangled, humiliatingly beautiful, like the truth is clawing its way up his throat and he’s too drunk, too desperate, too mine to stop it.
“Please,” he sobs. “Please—I want—I want—fuck—I can’t—I can’t say it—”
“You can.” I slam in once and his whole body bows, back arched, toes curled, mouth open in a soundless scream. “You can and you will. Say it, pup.”
Then it hits him all at once. The pleasure, the pressure, the alcohol, the week-long chokehold of the finals, the ring he can’t stop thinking about, the way I held him after the Bastards win, the way I whispered good boy against his cheek. His whole face crumples, body shattering under mine, voice breaking open in a wrecked sob that tears straight out of his lungs.
“I want to wear your name,” he cries. “I want to wear your name, sir—I want your ring—I want everybody to know I’m yours—I want to be yours forever—please, sir, please—just let me come—”
I lose control.
I slam into him like the answer is yes, like it’s carved into my bones, like I’ve been waiting to hear it in that voice, that desperation. He sobs harder, whole body shaking, thighs clamped around my hips in a trembling vice as I pound him into the mattress.
“Again,” I snarl, hand closing around his jaw, forcing him to look at me even through the tears. “Say it again.”
He breaks. “I want your name,” he screams. “I want your name—I want your ring—I want to be your husband—sir, please—please—please—”
“That’s it,” I growl, fucking him so hard the headboard slams the wall. “Come for me.”
He screams, a hoarse, beautiful, drunken wail that echoes off the apartment walls as he comes untouched, shooting across his stomach, his chest, his throat, his whole body convulsing under mine. His orgasm is endless, messy, loud, his voice breaking,sobs and gasps tangling with my name in a way I’ve never heard from him before.
I fuck him through every second of it.
And when he finally collapses, shaking and crying, I don’t pull out. I cage him in with my body, mouth against his ear, both hands cradling his face like he’s the only thing alive in my world.
“You want my name?” I murmur, ruined. “You’ll have it.”
