The flush creeping up Elliot’s neck is beautiful. We’ve known each other for years, circling the same wealthy pools, but he’s never admitted what I’ve always known.
“You’re insufferable,” he mutters.
“Part of my charm.” I signal the bartender for another drink. “Though I’ve been told I have other appealing qualities.”
Elliot’s eyes flicker between Theo and me. “I imagine you have. Not that I’m interested in firsthand experience.”
“Shame.” I accept my scotch with a nod. “Experimentation broadens one’s horizons. Perhaps that’s why Theo’s business ventures are so successful—he’s not afraid to explore uncharted territory.”
Elliot downs his drink in one swift motion, his jaw tight with irritation. He’s so easy to read. It’s almost disappointing.
“Speaking of exploring,” he says, eager to change the subject, “will you be participating in the Hunt this year?”
I trace the rim of my glass with one finger. “Of course. I never miss an opportunity to... pursue new acquisitions.”
“The women this year are particularly enticing,” Elliot comments, his voice pitched lower. “Though the competition will be fierce.”
“Indeed.” I follow his gaze to where the Dexter twins have cornered an unsuspecting stripper. “The Blackwoods and their favorites always get first pick. The rest of us fight for scraps—or settle for alternatives.”
“Alternatives?” Elliot’s eyebrow rises above his mask.
“Don’t be naive, Chambers.” I lean closer, enjoying how he tenses but doesn’t pull away. “When the women are claimed, some hunters find... other outlets for their frustration. I’ve fucked a man or two during the Hunts. Found it equally satisfying, if not more so.”
He swallows hard, Adam’s apple bobbing. “That’s not my preference.”
“No?” I smirk. “Never been curious? Never wondered what it would feel like to bend over for someone like Theo? Or perhaps you’d prefer to be the one doing the bending.”
“You’re crossing a line, Frost.” His voice has an edge now, but his pupils have dilated.
“I rarely recognize lines, much less respect them.” I finish my scotch and set the glass down. “It’s what makes me such an effective hunter.”
I move closer to Elliot, closing the already minimal distance between us. The crowd pulses around us, providing the perfect cover for intimacy—forced or otherwise. His cologne is expensive but subtle, like the man himself. Always hiding his true nature behind carefully crafted facades.
“You know,” I murmur, my lips nearly brushing his ear, “I bet that perfectly tailored suit hides an ass that feels like fucking heaven.” I let my breath warm his skin, watching goosebumps rise along his neck. “If all the pretty little prey are claimed duringthe Hunt, maybe I’ll bend you over and find out just how good you feel.”
Elliot stiffens but doesn’t pull away. Interesting.
“I’d spread those cheeks and work my tongue into that tight hole until you’re begging,” I continue. “I bet you’d grip my cock like a vice, wouldn’t you? All that restraint would melt away while you take every inch. Tell me, Chambers, have you ever had someone fuck you so deep you forget your own name? Or are you saving that virginal ass for someone special?”
His breathing has changed—faster, shallower. Almost imperceptibly, he shifts his weight, and I allow my gaze to drop, trailing down his torso to the telltale bulge straining against expensive fabric.
“Look at that,” I whisper, emanating from every word. “Your cock seems considerably more honest than your mouth.”
I rest my hand on his forearm, feeling the tension vibrating through him. His pupils have dilated so much that his eyes appear almost black behind his mask.
“And if you’re a really good boy,” I add, letting my thumb trace small circles against his sleeve, “I might even let you sink into my ass. Would you like that, Elliot? To feel me clenching around you while I tell you exactly how to move?”
His jaw works, desire warring with years of denial.
Elliot’s face hardens suddenly, arousal visibly wrestling with his pride. He takes a deliberate step back, straightening his suit jacket with hands that aren’t quite steady.
“You’re a fucking idiot, Frost,” he hisses, but there’s no real venom in it—just the desperate flailing of a man caught in his own contradictions. “Not everyone’s as... fluid as you are.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Aren’t they?”
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he mutters something about needing another drink and strides away. His retreat is hasty but dignified—a perfect encapsulation of Elliot Chambers himself.
I watch him go, surprised by the intensity of my reaction. My cock strains uncomfortably against my tailored pants, demanding attention I won’t give it—not here, anyway. I’m no stranger to desire, but this feels different. Usually, I pursue women, appreciating their softness, their curves, the delicate interplay of power that comes with seduction.
