Chapter 10: The Washroom Claiming
The boardroom was a cage of polished oak and murmured judgments. Eli sat against the wall, a notepad balanced on his knee, the pen in his hand the only anchor to reality. Every shift in his chair sent a phantom echo of the window’s cold glass against his skin. The bruise on his neck, expertly concealed by foundation that felt like a lie, throbbed in time with his pulse.
He kept his eyes on the notes, on the figures swimming across the page. He did not look at Dominic, who held court at the head of the vast table, his voice a cold, clear instrument slicing through dissent. But Eli felt him. Every glance was a physical touch. Every pause in his speech felt like a finger pointed in Eli’s direction.
The subject was a hostile takeover, and Dominic was dissecting a rival company with surgical, merciless precision. The other board members, older men with wary eyes, nodded along. One of them, a man named Vogel with a neatly trimmed silver beard, kept glancing at Eli. It wasn’t a lascivious look. It was curiosity, edged with a faint distaste. He was noting Eli’s presence, his youth, the unnatural stillness with which he held himself.
Eli’s pen scratched against the paper. Asset stripping… Liquidation of non-core holdings… The words blurred. His ass ached, a deep, proprietary soreness that was a constant reminder of the morning. Of the possession. He crossed his legs subtly, trying to alleviate the pressure.
“Thorne.”
Dominic’s voice cut through his fog. Eli’s head snapped up. Every eye at the table turned to him.
“The projections from the Berlin office,” Dominic said, his gaze unwavering. “Hand them to Mr. Vogel.”
Eli’s hands trembled slightly as he sorted through the folders on the table beside him. He found the document, stood, and walked the few paces to Vogel’s seat. As he leaned forward to place it, his collar gaped slightly. The foundation was good, but in the unforgiving light of the boardroom, the edges of the bruise were a faint, yellowing shadow against his pale skin.
Vogel’s eyes dropped to Eli’s throat. A flicker of understanding, then cold disapproval, passed over his face. He took the folder without a word.
Eli returned to his seat, his face burning. He felt stripped bare. They know, he thought wildly. They all know. He chanced a look at Dominic. The man’s expression was one of faint, icy amusement. He had done it on purpose.
The meeting concluded with a vote that was a mere formality. Dominic had already decided. As the members filed out, murmuring amongst themselves, Vogel paused beside Dominic’s chair.
“A word, Dominic?” His voice was low.
Dominic waved a dismissive hand. “It can wait, Richard. I have other matters.”
Vogel’s eyes flicked to Eli again, then back to Dominic. The message was clear. He left without another word.
The door clicked shut. Silence descended, thick and heavy. Dominic didn’t move. He stared at the cityscape through the window, his fingers steepled.
“You distracted them,” he stated.
Eli said nothing. He was still trembling.
“Every man in that room was thinking about what was under your suit. About who put that mark on your throat. They weren’t thinking about quarterly losses.” He finally turned his head, those blue eyes pinning Eli to the chair. “You looked too pretty taking notes. All serious and fuckable.”
The crude word in the pristine room was a shock. Eli’s breath hitched.
Dominic stood. “With me.”
He didn’t wait for a reply. He strode from the boardroom, expecting obedience. Eli followed, his legs unsteady. They walked down the hushed corridor, past the empty offices of the executive floor. The only sound was the sharp click of Dominic’s Oxfords on the marble.
He didn’t head for his office. He turned down a shorter hallway towards the private washroom reserved for the top suite. He pushed the heavy door open. The room was a study in sterile luxury: floors of veined marble, sinks of polished chrome, mirrors that reached the ceiling, reflecting the cold, recessed lighting a hundred times over.
Dominic stepped inside. Eli hovered at the threshold.
“Close the door,” Dominic said, his voice echoing faintly off the hard surfaces.
Eli obeyed. The click of the lock was deafening. Dominic removed his suit jacket, draping it carefully over a towel hook. He turned, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows with slow, deliberate motions. The exposed forearms were corded with muscle, a faint dusting of dark hair.
“Come here.”
Eli walked towards him, each step feeling like a surrender. Dominic didn’t touch him. He just looked him up and down, a predator assessing its catch.
“Turn around. Face the mirror.”
Eli turned. Their reflections stared back—Dominic, tall and controlled behind him; Eli, a pale, freckled ghost in his expensive, ill-fitting armor.
Dominic’s hands came up and rested on Eli’s shoulders. In the mirror, his eyes were dark pools. “You felt him looking, didn’t you? Vogel. You felt his eyes on your throat.” His hands slid down, over Eli’s chest, his stomach. “You liked it. That little spike of fear. Of exposure.”
“No,” Eli whispered, the lie weak.
One of Dominic’s hands slipped between Eli’s legs from behind, cupping him through the fine wool of his trousers. Eli gasped, his hips jerking forward.
“Yes, you did,” Dominic murmured into his ear, his breath hot. “It made you hard. It’s making you hard right now.” He pressed the heel of his hand against Eli’s cock, rubbing slowly. “You’re a filthy, desperate little thing. You get wet for an audience.”
Eli’s head fell back against Dominic’s shoulder, his eyes squeezing shut. He couldn’t look at their reflection anymore.
“Look,” Dominic commanded, his voice a whip-crack. “Watch.”
Eli forced his eyes open. He watched, hypnotized, as Dominic’s elegant hands worked at his belt, his fly. The trousers pooled at his ankles. Dominic tore his underwear down, the sound of ripping cotton shockingly loud. His palm was rough and warm as it wrapped around Eli’s cock, already leaking.
“See that?” Dominic growled, stroking him slowly, torturously. “That’s for them. For every one of those old men wondering what I do to you.”
He stopped. His hands left Eli’s body. Before Eli could process the loss, Dominic had him by the arm, spinning him around and shoving him backwards, towards the line of marble sinks. Eli’s hips hit the cold edge, a jolt of pain. Dominic pushed him forward, bending him over the basin. The porcelain was icy against his flushed cheek.
“Hold on,” Dominic ordered.
Eli gripped the sides of the sink, his knuckles white. He heard the clink of Dominic’s belt buckle, the zip of his fly. Then a broad, wet palm was spreading spit over his entrance, the action crude and efficient. There was no tenderness, no preparation. Just intent.
The blunt head of Dominic’s cock pressed against him. Eli braced himself.
Dominic pushed in.
The breach was brutal, a white-hot spear of pain that tore a ragged cry from Eli’s throat. He was still sore, too tight from the morning. Dominic didn’t stop. He forced his way in, inch by brutal inch, until he was fully sheathed, his body flush against Eli’s back.
“God,” Dominic grunted, a sound of pure, savage satisfaction. “Still so fucking tight from earlier. Taking me twice in one day. You’re insatiable.”
He withdrew almost completely, then slammed back in. Eli sobbed, the sound echoing off the tiles. The rhythm Dominic set was punishing, a raw, animalistic fucking that had nothing to do with pleasure and everything to do with ownership. Each thrust jarred Eli’s body against the sink, his shoulder blades digging into Dominic’s chest.
“You’re mine,” Dominic chanted, his voice low and guttural. “Mine to use. Mine to fuck in my boardroom washroom like you’re nothing. Like you’re a hole.”
Eli’s tears dripped into the pristine white sink. The pain was subsiding, swamped by a rising tide of shameful, overwhelming sensation. His own cock, trapped and hard against the cold porcelain, ached. He was being split open, claimed all over again, and his body was betraying him, responding to the violence.
One of Dominic’s hands tangled in his hair, yanking his head back so he was forced to look up into the mirror. Their eyes met. Eli’s were wide, wet, ruined. Dominic’s were glazed with feverish intensity.
“See?” Dominic panted, his thrusts gaining speed, losing rhythm. “See how you look when you’re getting fucked? Look at yourself.”
Eli watched, hypnotized by his own degradation. The flushed skin, the tear-streaked face, the way his body jolted with each powerful drive. It was obscene. It was the most visceral truth he’d ever seen.
Dominic’s other hand snaked around his hip, finding his cock. He squeezed, once, tight and almost painful. “Come for me. Now.”
It was an order Eli’s body couldn’t disobey. The orgasm ripped through him, a convulsive, silent scream. His channel clenched violently around Dominic’s invading length, milking him.
With a final, deep snarl, Dominic buried himself to the hilt, his body stiffening as he emptied inside Eli, hot and relentless. He stayed there, pressed deep, for a long moment, both of them panting, the only sounds their ragged breaths and the drip of a distant faucet.
Slowly, he pulled out. Eli sagged over the sink, completely spent. He heard the soft sounds of Dominic putting himself back together.
A paper towel, dampened with cold water, was pressed against the back of Eli’s neck. It drifted lower, cleaning him with a clinical briskness. Dominic helped him stand, pulled his clothes back up. He faced him, his own composure already restored, only the slight disorder of his hair betraying what had happened.
He cupped Eli’s cheek, his thumb stroking over a tear track. His voice was soft now, almost gentle. “Good boy.”
The two words shattered Eli more completely than the fucking had.
Footsteps sounded outside the door. A jingle of keys. The cleaning staff.
Dominic’s eyes flicked to the door, then back to Eli. A wicked smile touched his lips. He leaned in, his voice a whisper. “Let them see.”
He unlocked the door and pulled it open just as a uniformed woman with a cart was passing. She stopped, her eyes darting past Dominic to Eli, who stood disheveled, eyes red-rimmed, a fresh mark already blooming on his hip where he’d been pressed against the sink. Her mouth opened, then closed. She looked down quickly, her face flushing crimson.
Dominic stepped out, pulling Eli with him. He didn’t look at the cleaner. “The boardroom needs attention,” he said over his shoulder, his tone perfectly corporate, as if he’d just concluded a taxing meeting. He guided Eli, who walked with a slight, telling stiffness, back down the hall towards his office, leaving the woman in stunned, embarrassed silence.