“Fucking exquisite,” I growl against his ear, my breath hot on his skin. “The way you spread for me, gripping my cock like you were made for it. Everyone can see the truth now—that you belong to me, that you were born to be filled by me.”
Around us, the Feast continues in a symphony of gasps and moans, but I barely register them. My world has narrowed to the man on my lap, to the pressure of his body gripping mine, to the flush spreading across the back of his neck.
I slip my hand between us, pushing a finger alongside my cock, stretching him further. Elliot arches against me, a broken sound escaping his throat.
“Open up,” I command, working another finger inside him. “I know you can take more.”
Theo watches, transfixed, as his hand continues stroking Elliot’s leaking cock. “He’s close,” he observes.
“Not yet,” I command, grabbing Elliot’s cock from Theo’s hand. “He comes when I allow it.”
I squeeze the base of his shaft, denying his release. Elliot whimpers, trembling while he’s suspended on the edge.
“Please,” he begs.
I stroke his cheek with my free hand. “What do you need, baby?”
His eyes meet mine over my shoulder, a vulnerability mixing with desperate desire. “You,” he whispers. “Only you. Please, Julian.”
Something shifts inside me at his words. This isn’t just about claiming him—it’s about owning every gasp, every moan, every surrender. Not for show, not for the Hunt, but for us alone.
The wordsonly youcrack something open inside my chest. The naked vulnerability in Elliot’s eyes calls to me, demanding a response beyond physical possession.
My fingers twitch, hovering near the edge of my mask. The black lacquered covering has been my shield all night, the barrier between Julian Frost and the persona I adopt during the Hunt. Removing it now, in front of everyone, would expose something I’m not prepared to acknowledge—that this isn’t just a conquest anymore.
I drop my hand. The mask stays in place.
It’s customary to keep our masks on throughout the Feast—a tradition grounded in Purgatory’s foundations. The anonymity supposedly protects us, though everyone knows exactly who hides behind each carefully crafted disguise. The real purpose is maintenance of the fantasy, the separation between our everyday selves and these primal creatures who hunt and claim without reservation.
But there’s another reason I can’t bring myself to remove it: I refuse to let Ravenwood’s elite see how completely Elliot Chambers has unraveled me. How he’s somehow slipped beneath my armor to touch something I didn’t know existed. The mask hides my expression; conceals the emotion I know must be visible on my face.
I’ve built my reputation on taking what I want without ever giving myself. Revealing that vulnerability here, now, would be tantamount to confessing weakness before sharks who would never forget such a display.
Instead, I tighten my grip on Elliot’s hips, driving upward with renewed intensity. Physical dominance is safer territory than the emotional precipice I’m teetering on.
“You have me,” I growl against his ear, my voice rough. “All of me.”
The words are dangerously honest, admitted only because my mask remains firmly in place.
19
ELLIOT
I’ve never been so turned on in my entire life.
Julian’s cock fills me as I move in his lap, the delicious stretch and fullness making my head spin. When I gather enough courage to look around the table, the contrast in reactions hits me like a punch to the gut.
Several guests visibly recoil from our display. Mrs. Patterson, that pillar of Ravenwood society, covers her mouth with her napkin like she might vomit at the sight of me—Elliot Chambers, respectable art dealer—being fucked by another man. Councilman Morrison’s face twists with such revulsion that he turns his chair away.
“Disgusting,” someone whispers, loud enough for me to hear.
A month ago, that single word would have shattered me. Now, with Julian’s hands gripping my hips and Theo’s fingers teasing my cock, I can’t find it in me to care. The judgment in their eyes makes this more delicious.
But not everyone shares their disgust.
Ms. Chen leans forward in her chair, her pupils dilated, and her lips parted. She shifts in her seat, pressing her thighs together in a way that makes it obvious she’s enjoying our display. Beside her, Addison Pike can’t seem to look away. Herbreathing has quickened, fingers repeatedly touching the pearls at her throat as she watches Julian’s cock disappear inside me.
Councilman Torres, who built his entire campaign onfamily values,stares at us with undeniable hunger. District Attorney Bateman adjusts himself under the table while his eyes track every movement of my exposed cock like he wants to suck on it—fuck, it makes me even harder.