The basement was dark, the only light spilling down in strips through the steel rafters above. The air was thick with heat, with the smell of sweat and leather and latex. Devon stood close, so close Elias could feel the weight of his presence before the touch ever came.
When Devonâs hand slid around his throat, Elias shivered. Not from fear, but from the inevitable way his body leaned into it. His chin lifted at the pressure, his eyes darting up to meet Devonâs, wide and uncertain, but not resisting.
âGood boy,â Devon growled, his voice low, commanding.
Eliasâs breath hitched, his lips parting as though he wanted to reply, but no words came. Devonâs grip tightened just enough to remind him where he stood, who decided when words were allowed.
âSpeak,â Devon ordered, his thumb brushing slowly against the side of Eliasâs throat, threatening and tender at the same time.
Elias didnât know what he was supposed to say. A flush spread across his cheeks. His hands twitched at his sides, wanting to reach for Devon, but unsure if he was allowed. Devon noticed, of course he noticed, and leaned in closer, lips at his ear. His grip on Eliasâ throat tightened.
âDo you want my hand here?â he asked, his tone deliberate, a challenge wrapped in command.
âYes,â Elias gasped, the word barely audible.
Devonâs grip firmed, pulling Elias a fraction closer, their chests pressing together. âSay it properly.â
âYes, sir,â Elias whispered, this time steady, his eyes lowered in submission.
âBetter,â Devon said, his voice a velvet blade. âDonât make me repeat myself again.â
Devon smiled slowly. He kept his hand at Eliasâs throat, using it to guide Elias toward the exit. To take his claim. To remind him of the line heâd already crossed and wouldnâtâcouldnâtâretreat from.
