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Elias moves at once. Trousers. Briefs. The little shuffle of a boy putting armor back on after it has already failed him once.

The paddle stays in his hand the entire time. He does not set it down. He understands that much.

When Elias is covered again he looks less like a secret in my kitchen and more like the problem I walked out of Keller’s to collect.

Still flushed.

Still mine for the night in every way that counts.

The elevator chime sounds. My driver is already there.

“Follow,” I say.

I walk Elias to the doors. He stays at my side, not quite touching, the paddle held against his thigh as if he can hide it from the city.

The driver does not look at him as anything beyond what he is. A boy to be driven home. He does not look at the leather in Elias’s hand either.

“Take him home,” I say. “Door to door. No stops.”

“Yes, sir.”

Elias steps into the elevator. For a second he turns back. Those green eyes. That mouth. Hell, he’s something else.

The doors close. I stand there until the display drops. Then I go to the kitchen, take a glass, and pour vodka to the line I never bother measuring. I drink it in one. The burn lands on top of the night and does not wash the boy off me.

I set the glass down. I remove my shirt, then my trousers. Each piece comes off as I walk.

Vest.

Briefs.

Antique Rolex.

By the time I reach the bathroom I am naked and my cock is already thickening from the memory of Elias against the elevator wall.

The enclosure is large enough for two. But tonight it is only me. I step in and turn the water on hot. It hits my shoulders and runs down my back.

Steam lifts.

The city beyond the glass is a smear of light. I close my eyes.

I see Elias’s trousers at his ankles. I see the first spank and the way his body jumped, how his cheeks clapped. I see my fingers sliding over the hard cock he didn’t dare to even try to hide.

I grunt.

My hand wraps my cock. I give myself the permission I refused this previously.

I begin to wank myself. Slow at first. Then harder.

I think of the heat of his ass under my palm. The shine of gel on skin I had just punished. I think of him walking into my home hobbled and exposed because I told him to.

The orgasm is close already.

I do not stop it this time. Work is done enough. The boy is tagged. The war can wait until I have slept.

The fantasy shifts…

Not the elevator now. Somewhere else, a moment that hasn’t happened yet, and might never.