“Relax,” Julian commands, his free hand stroking down my spine. “Breathe and push back.”
I follow his instructions, taking a deep breath and rocking backward as the pressure increases. The stretch is unlike anything I’ve experienced—burning, intense, overwhelming. A high, broken sound escapes me as the head breaches me.
“God,” I mewl, the unfamiliar fullness making my thighs quiver. “It’s so much.”
Julian works the toy deeper with careful, deliberate movements. When it hits that spot deep in my ass, my vision blurs at the edges, and I hear myself making sounds I never imagined could come from my throat—desperate, wanton groans.
The reflection below shows my face transformed—eyes wild, mouth open in pleasure, no trace of the controlled art dealer I’ve pretended to be.
“Look at yourself,” Julian urges. “See how beautiful you are when you stop lying.”
I meet my own gaze in front of me in the mirror, witnessing my undoing as Julian drives the dildo deeper.
I can’t tear my eyes away from the mirrors. Everywhere I look—in front, below, to each side—there I am. Exposed. Vulnerable. Transformed.
The man in the reflection can’t possibly be Elliot Chambers. This man’s face is flushed crimson, his eyes blown wide with undisguised lust, lips parted and swollen.
And behind me, Julian himself—beautiful in a way that makes my chest ache. His sculpted body, his intense focus, the possessive grip of his hand on my hip. The sight of him kneelingbehind me, controlling me, owning me, sends another pulse of pleasure radiating through my body.
“Look at how stunning you are like this,” Julian murmurs, catching my gaze in the reflection. “Like you were made for this.”
Even as pleasure courses through me, something dark and familiar slithers through my consciousness. My mother’s voice, distant but distinct:No son of mine...
The shame rises like bile, threatening to poison this moment. Years of conditioning don’t disappear in an instant, even as my body surrenders completely.
“Stop thinking,” Julian commands, as if reading my mind. He twists the dildo slightly, hitting a spot that makes me cry out. “Stay here with me. With this.”
I try to focus on the physical sensations—the delicious stretch, the pressure against my prostate, the weight of my cock between my legs—but the shame persists, a shadow lurking at the edges of my pleasure.
“I can’t—” I gasp, the words strangled. “Everyone would?—”
“There’s no one here,” Julian cuts me off. “Just you and me and what your body is telling you it needs.”
Suddenly, a wave of panic crashes over me. What the hell am I doing?
I scramble to my feet, yanking the cock ring off with trembling hands. The pleasant haze of desire evaporates, replaced by ice-cold horror. My mother’s voice echoes in my head, louder now, impossible to ignore.
“This can’t happen,” I gasp, backing away from Julian. “This isn’t right. I’m not—I can’t be?—”
Julian rises slowly, his movements deliberate, non-threatening. Instead of the mockery I expect, his expression softens.
“Elliot,” he says, his voice gentle in a way I haven’t heard before. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”
“No,” I shake my head violently. “No, it’s not okay.”
Julian takes a cautious step toward me. “You’re a good boy, Elliot. You deserve pleasure. You deserve to be who you are.”
The words—so close to what made me come undone earlier—send another unwanted surge of desire through me. But the panic is stronger.
“Don’t say that,” I snarl, lunging for my discarded pants. My hands shake so badly I can barely pull them on.
Julian doesn’t try to stop me, just watches with those penetrating eyes that seem to see right through me.
“Running won’t change who you are,” he says quietly. “You can’t outrun yourself.”
I struggle with my shirt. “Watch me.”
As I stumble toward the door, Julian’s voice follows me.