Wrecked by my enemy

Chapter 3: No Turning Back

Elias’s hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

Not the small, polite tremor he could hide in board meetings. This was full-body, teeth-rattling s**t that made the black silk blindfold feel like it was already cutting off his air. He’d paid the obscene membership fee, his heart beating so hard he could taste copper at the back of his throat. The handler’s grip on his elbow was firm but impersonal, guiding him through a door he couldn’t see, down a corridor that smelled faintly of leather and something colder underneath.

No turning back now. He said to himself.

The second the handler’s hand left his arm, the world went completely black. Not dim or shadowy. Pitch f*****g black. The kind of dark that pressed against his eyelids and made every other sense scream louder. Silk sheets whispered under his bare feet when he took a hesitant step forward. The air was cool against his skin, carrying the faint scent of clean linen and something sharper, ozone, maybe, or the ghost of sweat from whoever had been in this room before him.

His pulse was everywhere. Throat, wrists, behind his eyes, lower, where his body was already reacting to the sheer wrongness of what he was about to do.

Elias swallowed hard, the sound loud in his own ears. He’d spent twenty-eight years being the perfect Hawthorne heir. He went to the right schools, did the right sports and had the right fiancée chosen by his father to “fix” whatever defect Victor saw in him. He’d smiled through the engagement gala earlier that night while Victor’s quiet barbs landed like precise little knives.

So here he was. In the city’s most infamous anonymous club, blindfolded before he’d even crossed the threshold, because apparently the only way to shut his father’s voice up was to let a stranger destroy him in the dark.

He stripped.

Clothes hit the floor one by one. Jacket, shirt, pants, underwear. The cool air raised goosebumps across his chest and thighs. His c**k was already half hard from nerves, shame and something he refused to name. He knelt on the thick carpet, knees sinking in, palms resting on his thighs. The position felt ridiculous. Vulnerable. Exactly what he’d come here for.

The words had been sitting in his throat for years, maybe since boarding school when he’d learned to hate the way his body reacted to the wrong kind of touch. He forced them out now, his voice cracking just a little.

“Destroy me.”

Silence answered. Then the soft click of the door opening and closing. The person's footsteps were measured and confident. Cracking his shoulders and crossing the room toward him.

“Alright,”. He heard the stranger say, “Let’s see how loud you f*****g break.”

The first touch landed on his shoulder. Large hand, calloused palm, warm. Commanding. Elias jerked like he’d been shocked, a full body flinch that made his breath hitch. The hand didn’t pull away. It slid down his arm, slow and deliberate, mapping muscle and bone like it had every right to be there.

Another hand joined at his jaw, tilting his head up. A rough thumb brushed his bottom lip, parting it. Elias’s heart slammed so hard he was sure the stranger could feel it through his skin. Then the mouth was on his hat, demanding, no hesitation. The kiss wasn’t gentle. It was claiming. Teeth nipping at his lip, tongue pushing in like it already knew how Elias would taste when he finally stopped pretending.

Years of denial cracked open all at once.

Elias made a broken sound into the stranger’s mouth, hands flying up to grip broad shoulders before he could stop himself. The man was built with solid muscle under expensive fabric, taller than Elias by a couple of inches. He smelled like rain and something darker, like the Maybach leather mixed with clean sweat. The stranger pushed him backward onto the silk sheets without breaking the kiss, one knee sliding between Elias’s thighs to spread them.

No mercy. Just like he’d asked for.

Calloused fingers dragged down his chest, pinching a n****e hard enough to make Elias arch and gasp. The stranger’s mouth followed, tongue, teeth, sucking marks into skin that might leave a bruise tomorrow. Elias’s c**k was fully hard now, leaking against his stomach, and the stranger wrapped a rough hand around it, stroking once, twice, slow and torturous.

“f**k!” Elias choked out, hips jerking up into the touch. He wasn’t supposed to talk. The protocol said no names, no conversation, but the word slipped out anyway. The stranger didn’t punish him for it. Instead, he chuckled low against Elias’s collarbone, the vibration shooting straight to his d**k.

The stranger flipped him onto his stomach like he weighed nothing. Big hands gripped his hips, yanking them up, so Elias was on his knees, face pressed into the cool silk. Fingers slick now, somehow circled his hole, teasing, pressing in with one thick digit. Elias moaned, loud and shameless, pushing back against the intrusion. The stranger added a second finger, scissoring, curling, finding the spot that made white sparks explode behind the blindfold.

Elias was shaking again. Different kind this time. It was desperate. His c**k hung heavy between his legs, untouched now, dripping onto the sheets. Every thrust of those fingers dragged another broken sound out of him. He felt split open already, and the man hadn’t even f****d him yet.

“Please,” he gasped, not sure what he was begging for. More? Harder? To be ruined so thoroughly he couldn’t pretend anymore?

The stranger pulled his fingers out. Elias whimpered at the loss, then felt the blunt head of a thick c**k pressing against him. No condom talk, the club handled that, vetted everything. The stranger pushed in slowly at first, letting Elias feel every inch, stretching him wide. The burn was perfect. Elias’s hands fisted the sheets as the man bottomed out, hips flush against his ass.

Then the pace changed.

Hard. Deep. Primal. The stranger f****d him like he was born to own him. One hand braced on Elias’s shoulder, the other wrapped around his c**k, stroking in time with every brutal thrust. Teeth sank into the back of Elias’s neck, not quite breaking skin. The angle hit that spot over and over until Elias was sobbing on the sheets, body trembling, every nerve on fire.

He came first, harder than he ever had in his life, a vision whiting out behind the blindfold, c**k pulsing over the stranger’s fist as he shouted something wordless. The orgasm tore through him, leaving him shaking and raw, tears soaking the silk under his cheek.

The stranger didn’t stop.

He kept f*****g him through it, pace relentless pace, growling low against Elias’s ear. “That’s it. Give me another.”

Elias didn’t think he could. His body was limp, oversensitive, but the stranger flipped him onto his back, hooked his legs over broad shoulders, and drove in deeper. The new angle made Elias cry out again, fresh sparks shooting up his spine. The stranger’s hand returned to his c**k, stroking him back to hardness with rough, perfect pulls.

For the first time in twenty-eight years, Elias felt seen. Not as the perfect heir, or as Victor’s disappointing son. Just a body that wanted to be taken apart and put back together in the dark by someone who didn’t give a f**k about his last name.

“Goddammit.” He came a second time, weaker but no less devastating. The man followed him over the edge with a wrecked groan, hips stuttering, filling him deep.

For a moment, there was only heavy breathing and the slick sound of skin against skin.

Then the stranger leaned down, lips brushing Elias’s ear, voice low and rough and utterly wrecked.

“You’re mine tonight, pretty boy.” A slow grind of hips that made Elias whimper. “And I’m nowhere near done.”