Chapter 9: The Marking
Eli woke to the scent of bergamot and the crisp, clean feel of high-thread-count sheets against his naked skin. The space beside him in the massive bed was empty, but still warm. Morning light, sharp and businesslike, cut through a gap in the blackout curtains. For a moment, he lay there, cataloguing the aches. The pleasant soreness in his muscles, the deeper, more intimate throb that reminded him of the bath, of fingers and possession, of being claimed and cleaned.
The memory sent a flush through him that had nothing to do with the sun.
He found Dominic in the kitchen, already dressed in a suit of charcoal wool that looked like it had been poured onto him. He was sipping black coffee, scrolling through something on a tablet. He looked up as Eli padded in, barefoot and wrapped in a robe he’d found on the bathroom floor.
“There’s coffee,” Dominic said, his voice a neutral morning rasp.
Eli poured a cup, leaning against the cold marble countertop. He felt unmoored, a piece of driftwood washed up in this sleek, sterile space. The silence stretched, filled only by the hum of the Sub-Zero.
“The cleaners came,” Dominic stated without looking up from his tablet. “Rug looks new.”
Eli choked on his coffee. A laugh, sharp and surprised, escaped him. “Good to know.”
Dominic slid the tablet aside and fixed his blue gaze on Eli. It was a different kind of look than the ones from the night before. This was appraisal. Calculation. “You’re coming to the office with me.”
It wasn’t a question. Eli’s rebellious streak sparked, a faint pilot light in the warm haze of his submission. “I have my own job, you know.”
“You’re my assistant. Your job is where I am.” Dominic stood, straightening his cuffs. “We have a shareholders’ lunch at one. Your presence is required.”
“Required for what?”
A ghost of a smile touched Dominic’s lips. “For me.”
An hour later, Eli sat in the back of the Rolls-Royce, wearing a suit Dominic’s personal shopper had somehow produced. It fit perfectly. Of course it did. He felt like an imposter, a doll dressed up by its owner. The car glided through the financial district, a silent predator among the crowds.
Dominic’s office tower was a blade of glass and steel. The elevator ride was soundless, a smooth ascent that made Eli’s stomach dip. When the doors slid open on the top floor, it was like entering a cathedral of money and power. The air was cooler here, smelling of lemon polish and chilled metal. Every surface gleamed. Assistants and executives moved with hushed efficiency, their eyes sliding over Eli with polite, instant dismissal. He was just another accessory following in Blackwood’s wake.
Dominic’s personal office was worse. It was vast, minimalist, and somehow terrifying. The floor-to-ceiling windows offered a dizzying, omnipotent view of the city. Eli recognized the mahogany desk from the synopsis, a dark monolith under a single, sharp chandelier. His eyes landed on the portrait. A younger Dominic, maybe twenty-five, stared out with eyes that held none of the polished control of the present man. Those eyes were raw ambition, a hungry blade. Eli shivered.
“Sit,” Dominic said, already behind his desk, his attention on a stack of documents.
Eli sat in the chair opposite, feeling small. He watched Dominic work. The man was a machine. Phone calls were dispatched in clipped, ruthless sentences. Emails were scorched into existence with rapid keystrokes. This was the Dominic the world knew. The conqueror.
The morning bled away. Eli fetched coffee he didn’t drink, straightened things that were already straight. He felt the occasional glance, heavy and assessing, from Dominic. A silent inspection.
Just before the shareholders’ lunch, Dominic rose and came around the desk. He stopped behind Eli’s chair, his hands coming to rest on Eli’s shoulders. Eli froze.
“Stand up.”
Eli did, turning to face him. Dominic’s expression was unreadable. He reached out and adjusted Eli’s tie, his fingers brushing the skin of his throat. It was a proprietorial gesture. A claiming.
Then Dominic’s eyes flicked past him, to the window. To the buildings across the street. His gaze hardened.
“See that building? Thirty-seventh floor. The corner office.” His voice was soft, dangerous. “Matthew Gable. He’s been trying to poach my lead engineer for six months. He’s also been watching this office through his telescope for the past twenty minutes, thinking I don’t know.”
Eli’s blood ran cold. He started to turn his head.
“Don’t look,” Dominic commanded, his hands tightening on Eli’s shoulders. “Look at me.”
Eli stared into Dominic’s icy blue eyes. A slow, wicked smile spread across Dominic’s face. It was the smile from the portrait. The blade.
“He wants a show?” Dominic murmured, his voice dropping to a low, intimate register that thrummed through Eli’s bones. “Let’s give him one.”
His hands slid from Eli’s shoulders to his biceps, gripping hard. In one smooth, powerful motion, he spun Eli around and pushed him forward, until his palms slapped against the cool, unforgiving glass. The city sprawled beneath him, a toyland of ants and cars. Eli could see the reflection of Dominic behind him, a dark statue of intention.
“Wh-what are you doing?” Eli’s breath fogged the window.
“Showing the world.” Dominic’s body pressed against his back, pinning him. He leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of Eli’s ear. “Everyone needs to see who owns you.”
Before Eli could process the words, Dominic’s mouth was on his neck, not a kiss, but a deep, savaging bite. Eli cried out, his hands scrambling against the glass. The pain was bright, shocking, a brand. He could feel the pull of Dominic’s teeth, the promise of a bruise that would blossom like a violent flower. Across the canyon of steel and glass, someone was watching. Someone was seeing this.
Dominic released his teeth, laving the throbbing mark with his tongue. His hands came up, strong fingers splaying across Eli’s throat, not choking, but claiming. Holding him in place for the unseen audience. He rocked his hips forward, the hard ridge of his erection pressing against Eli’s ass through the layers of fine wool.
“He’s watching,” Dominic growled, his voice thick with dark delight. “He’s seeing how I treat what’s mine.”
One hand left Eli’s throat and snaked down, deftly undoing his belt, the zipper a harsh rasp in the quiet room. Eli’s pants were pushed down to his thighs. The cool office air hit his skin. He was exposed, bent over the desk of one of the most powerful men in the city, pressed against a window for anyone with a strong lens to see.
Dominic’s spit-slick fingers pressed against him, through his underwear, rubbing where he was still tender from the night before. Eli gasped, a shaky, desperate sound.
“Please, Dominic… not here…”
“Yes. Here.” The underwear was torn aside, a rough, pointless violence. Dominic fumbled with his own fly, and Eli heard the sound of him stroking himself, slicking his length.
There was no preparation beyond the careless press of his fingers. The head of Dominic’s cock nudged against him, blunt and demanding.
“Tell me you’re mine,” Dominic ordered, his breath hot on the bitten skin of Eli’s neck.
Eli was trembling, a cocktail of terror and illicit, dizzying arousal. The exposure was a violation. It was also the most potent aphrodisiac he’d ever known. “I’m yours.”
With a brutal, shallow thrust, Dominic pushed inside. The stretch was immediate, brutal. Eli shouted, his forehead dropping to the glass with a soft thud. It hurt. It burned. And it was utterly consuming.
“Louder,” Dominic snarled, driving deeper, setting a punishing rhythm that shoved Eli against the window with each snap of his hips. “Let him hear what I do to you.”
Eli moaned, a broken, wanton sound. His own cock, trapped and hard, leaked against the cold glass. The world outside was a blur of indifferent architecture. Someone, somewhere, was watching him get fucked. The idea unspooled something dark and needy in his gut.
Dominic’s grip on his throat tightened, just shy of cutting off his air. His other hand clutched Eli’s hip, fingers digging in, surely leaving bruises. The pace was merciless, a raw, piston-drive fuck that had none of the lingering intensity of the night before. This was pure possession. A public claiming.
“This is what you are,” Dominic panted, his thrusts becoming ragged, losing their rhythm to sheer need. “A dirty little secret anyone can see if they look hard enough. My secret.”
Eli was sobbing now, tears streaking his cheeks, his body convulsing around Dominic’s invading cock. The pain had melted into a white-hot pleasure, shamefully profound. He was going to come, untouched, from this violent, exhibitionist taking.
Dominic seemed to sense it. He leaned in, his voice a venomous, possessive whisper directly in Eli’s ear, each word punctuated by a deep, jarring thrust.
“Now…” thrust “…they’ll all…” thrust “…know why you…” thrust “…walk funny…” thrust “…after our meetings.”
The crudeness of it, the sheer filthy truth, tipped Eli over the edge. His orgasm ripped through him, silent, intense, a seizure of pleasure that left him blind and boneless against the glass. Dominic followed with a final, grinding push, his own release a hot flood inside Eli, a mark that couldn’t be seen but would be felt for hours.
He held them there for a long moment, both of them panting, Eli’s trembling form entirely supported by Dominic’s body and the window. Slowly, carefully, Dominic withdrew. He tucked himself away, his movements clinical once more. He gently pulled Eli’s pants up, fastened them, adjusted his ruined shirt.
He turned Eli around. Eli’s face was a mess of tears and breath-fog. Dominic studied him for a second, then used his thumb to wipe a tear from Eli’s cheek. The gesture was incongruously gentle.
“The lunch is in twenty minutes,” Dominic said, his voice back to its normal, cool timbre. He straightened his own suit jacket, ran a hand through his hair. He looked untouched, pristine, the ruthless CEO. Except for the faint, wild light still lingering in his eyes.
He leaned in, his lips almost brushing Eli’s. His whisper was for them alone.
“Fix your face. And remember the taste of that glass. It’s the taste of belonging to me.”