Caleb hated early morning lectures.

It wasn’t just the timing. It was the way the light poured in too bright through the old campus windows, the way the seats creaked with restless bodies, the professor's dull monotone scraping against the last fragile remnants of sleep.

But today’s lecture was different. A guest speaker, they’d said. A successful entrepreneur. Head of his own company. Caleb had groaned inwardly. That usually meant some guy in his forties who hadn’t updated his slides since 2006.

Still, he showed up early, as always. He sat third row from the front, middle seat. The best view of the screen, just far enough not to be called on. Hoodie zipped, notebook out, trying to stay awake as students trickled in.

Then the door at the front opened.

Caleb blinked.

He wasn’t expecting that.

Damien Laurent didn’t walk—he strode. Like he owned the place. His suit was deep charcoal, tailored sharp enough to cut glass. Shirt collar open, no tie. Hair dark and swept back, not a strand out of place. He had that air about him—wealth, control, danger—all wrapped in a man who looked more like an actor playing a billionaire than a real one.

The room went still. A few girls whispered. One guy muttered “Jesus” under his breath. Caleb swallowed hard.

Then Damien’s eyes swept the lecture hall. One calm pass over the crowd, and then—

They stopped.

Right on him.

Caleb’s spine stiffened. He looked away too quickly, face burning.

He didn’t imagine it. He felt it—like heat. Like being seen in a way he wasn’t used to. Like being noticed.

And he hadn’t even said a word.

---

“I’m not here to talk about business,” Damien said into the mic, voice smooth and low, with just a bite of command. “You can Google my net worth. You can read articles on how I built my company.”

He stepped away from the podium, hands in his pockets, casual like he wasn’t intimidating every student in the room.

“What I do want to talk about is instinct.”

Caleb watched him, transfixed.

“Instinct makes the difference between survival and success. Between mediocrity and power. Between doing what you’re told…”

Damien’s eyes flicked to him again. Just a glance. Just long enough to make Caleb’s thighs squeeze together in his seat.

“…and doing what you want.”

A few students were actually taking notes now. Others just stared. Caleb barely realized his pen had stopped moving.

“Instinct brought me here. I take what I want. I don’t apologize. And neither should you.”

He paced a little, slow. Controlled. Then stopped again.

“Questions?”

Dead silence.

Then Caleb’s hand rose.

Even he was surprised.

Damien’s brow lifted, intrigued. “Yes?”

Caleb’s voice was softer than he meant it to be. “What’s the cost? Of taking everything you want?”

The air shifted.

Damien smiled—small, crooked. Dangerous.

He walked forward, closing the space slowly. The mic was forgotten. When he spoke, it was just loud enough.

“The cost?” he repeated. “Control. That’s the price. You lose it, or you take it. Simple.”

Caleb swallowed. “And if someone doesn’t want to give it up?”

Now Damien was right in front of him. Close enough that Caleb could smell the cologne—something clean, dark, expensive.

“I make them want to.”

The silence afterward was electric.

Caleb sat frozen, skin hot under his hoodie. Damien held his gaze one second longer than necessary, then finally turned away.

He answered a few more questions. Talked numbers. Strategy. A little about risk and reward.

But for the rest of the lecture, Caleb didn’t hear a word.

---

When the crowd dispersed, Caleb stayed seated. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe he was stunned. Maybe he wanted to talk. Maybe some part of him hoped—

"You're braver than you look."

The voice made him jolt.

Damien stood next to him now, hands in his pockets, head tilted slightly.

Caleb scrambled to stand. “I—I just asked a question.”

“A good one.” Damien’s eyes scanned him lazily, like he was already being sized up. “What’s your name?”

“Caleb.”

“Caleb,” Damien repeated, like he was tasting it. “What are you studying?”

“Business. Third year.”

“Top of your class?”

“I—I guess. Kinda.”

Damien smirked. “No need to lie. You’re sharp. Curious. You like the game, but you're not sure if you can play it yet.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Silence again. But it wasn’t awkward. It was heavy.

Damien’s gaze dropped—just a second, to Caleb’s mouth. Then back to his eyes.

“You want to learn from someone who doesn’t sugarcoat it?” Damien asked, voice lower now. “Someone who teaches in practice, not theory?”

Caleb licked his lips. “…Yeah.”

Damien reached into his coat and pulled out a small black card.

“This is my assistant’s number. You tell her you’re free for an informal meeting. I’ll have you brought to my office. Let’s say…” he paused, eyes raking him again. “Tuesday. 5 PM.”

Caleb stared at the card.

“I’m not offering this to anyone else,” Damien added. “And I don’t repeat offers.”

Then, just like that, he turned and walked away.

Caleb stood frozen, heart racing, card clenched in his fingers.

---

That night, he couldn’t sleep.

He stared at the card on his desk. Sleek, simple. No name, just a number.

He kept replaying Damien’s words in his head.

“I make them want to.”

And the way he’d looked at him. Not like a student. Not like a kid.

Like prey.

---

He texted the number the next morning.

> Hi. This is Caleb. Damien invited me to meet Tuesday at 5 PM. I’m available.

The reply was instant.

> Noted. Car will pick you up at 4:15 from the university entrance. Wear something simple.

Simple?

He reread it three times.

Something about that line made him shiver.

---

Tuesday came fast.

He dressed in a white button-up and black slacks—plain, but nice. No cologne. Clean hair. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

The car was waiting when he stepped out of campus. Black, polished, silent. A man in a suit opened the door for him.

He slid in and sank into leather.

It smelled like Damien.

---

The ride was quiet.

Every block closer made his stomach twist tighter. He didn’t know why he was nervous. This was just a meeting. An opportunity. A connection.

Right?

But nothing about Damien Laurent felt normal.

The building came into view. Glass, steel, thirty-eight stories tall. The top lit golden in the dusk.

The elevator ride felt eternal.

And when the doors opened, he stepped into something else.

Damien’s office was massive—floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, bookshelves that looked untouched, a sleek bar in the corner. Dim lights. Deep rugs. Silence.

And Damien, standing by the window, watching him.

“Caleb.”

His name in that voice made him shiver.

“You came.”

Caleb nodded. “You said to.”

Damien smiled—slow, indulgent. “Good boy.”

The door clicked shut behind him with an ominous finality.

Caleb’s heart thudded in his chest as he stepped into Damien Laurent’s office. The world outside faded—college classes, textbooks, shitty roommates, ramen dinners. None of it existed here.

The room smelled like leather, wood polish, and faint smoke. Low jazz hummed from unseen speakers, curling in the air like incense. Floor-to-ceiling windows wrapped around the office, offering a panoramic view of the glowing city. It felt like a lair.

And Damien stood in the middle of it, drink in hand, watching him like he was something rare and breakable.

Caleb swallowed. “Nice place.”

“It serves its purpose.” Damien’s voice was velvet—low, steady, with that dangerous edge underneath. “Come in. Sit.”

There was only one chair—directly across from Damien’s desk. Caleb crossed the rug, acutely aware of the sound of his own footsteps, and sat.

Damien didn’t sit. He walked behind the desk, placed his drink down, and leaned back against the edge.

“I assume you’re wondering why you’re here.”

Caleb hesitated. “You said it was a… meeting.”

“A very specific one.” Damien’s eyes flicked down his body—slow, deliberate. “I don’t extend this kind of invitation often.”

“To college students?”

“To anyone.”

Caleb shifted in his seat. “Why me?”

“Because you’re sharp. Curious. You don’t fawn, but you pay attention. You ask the kind of questions people are too scared to ask.”

“…Okay.”

“And,” Damien added, voice lower now, “because you looked at me like you wanted something you didn’t understand yet.”

Caleb’s face burned. “I didn’t mean—”

“You don’t need to explain.” Damien straightened. “Instincts aren’t always conscious. But they don’t lie.”

He circled the desk slowly, like a predator closing in.

“I offer mentorship,” he said. “But not in the traditional sense. I’m not going to help you get an internship. I’m not going to give you a resume review.”

Caleb frowned. “Then what—”

“I’ll show you the parts of the world no one teaches. Real power. Influence. Control.”

Damien paused behind him, fingers brushing the back of the chair.

“And in return, you’ll give me something back.”

Caleb froze.

Damien leaned down, voice hot against his ear. “Your submission.”

---

The word detonated in the room.

Caleb’s fingers clenched in his lap.

“I—I don’t…”

“You will,” Damien said smoothly. “If you accept.”

He walked around and sat finally, hands folded on the desk.

“This isn’t just about sex, Caleb. It’s about trust. Discipline. Ownership. I want to shape you. Guide you. Teach you control by taking it.”

Caleb’s lips parted, breath shaky. “You want to… own me?”

Damien’s eyes darkened. “In every way that matters.”

The words shouldn’t have made Caleb’s cock twitch—but they did. Shame and heat coiled together in his stomach.

“And if I say no?”

Damien shrugged. “Then we part ways. You walk out, and I don’t chase you. No pressure. No punishment. Just…” He smiled thinly. “Disappointment.”

Caleb’s throat tightened.

“And if I say yes?”

Damien’s smile changed. Slow. Dangerous. Triumphant.

“Then you’ll start training. You’ll learn my rules. My expectations. You’ll be corrected when you disobey. Rewarded when you perform.”

Caleb’s heart thumped. His body was already betraying him—sensitive, hot, aching.

Damien leaned forward, his voice like silk. “Tell me something, Caleb.”

“…Yeah?”

“Are you hard right now?”

Caleb’s breath caught.

“Yes.”

“Good.” Damien sat back. “You’re not broken. You’re just waiting to be claimed.”

---

Caleb left the building dazed, the black card now joined by a small envelope in his jacket pocket. Inside was a typed note:

> Report to the penthouse Friday, 7 PM.

Clean. Sober. No underwear.

Door will be open. Do not knock.

---

The rest of the week was hell.

Classes blurred. People talked, laughed, moved around him—and all Caleb could think about was Friday. About Damien. About what would happen in that penthouse. What it would feel like to give in completely.

He hadn’t even kissed the man, and yet…

He’d never felt so owned.

---

Friday – 6:55 PM

Caleb stood in front of the elevator, heart hammering.

He wore black slacks, slim but not tight. A pale blue dress shirt buttoned to his collarbone. And beneath it all, nothing. No underwear. No socks. Bare skin beneath every layer, just as instructed.

He’d showered twice. Brushed his teeth until his gums ached. His skin was still tingling.

The elevator dinged.

The penthouse level.

He stepped in.

The ride up was silent.

When the doors opened, the hallway was quiet. No lights. Just the soft hum of the city beyond the windows.

And the door—slightly ajar.

His chest tightened. One step. Then another.

He didn’t knock.

He pushed it open and stepped inside.

---

The lights were low, golden. Candles flickered on the marble counter. The living room opened wide, clean lines, tall windows.

And Damien stood by the fireplace, glass of scotch in hand, shirt sleeves rolled up, gaze hungry.

Caleb froze.

Damien smiled. “Come here.”

Caleb walked slowly, every step echoing.

When he stopped in front of him, Damien’s eyes raked down his body.

“You followed directions.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good boy.”

The praise hit like a spark.

Damien stepped closer, hand grazing Caleb’s cheek.

“Take off your shirt.”

Caleb obeyed.

Then his pants.

Until he stood naked, flushed, cock half-hard, and completely vulnerable.

Damien circled him slowly.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured. “Soft. Unclaimed. But not for long.”

Caleb’s cock twitched.

Damien’s fingers trailed down his back, stopping at his ass.

“You’ll learn,” he whispered. “To beg. To kneel. To serve.”

Caleb’s knees wobbled.

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

“Then get on your knees.”

And he did.

The plush carpet pressed against Caleb’s knees, cool and thick beneath his skin.

The penthouse was quiet but charged—electric with anticipation. His breath came shallowly, nipples hard from the sudden chill in the air and the heat of Damien’s eyes on him. Naked, trembling, he could hear every breath Damien took, feel every inch of space between them charged like a drawn wire.

Damien didn’t speak at first.

He just watched.

The tension dragged out, making Caleb’s skin itch, his spine lock straight. Every instinct said to cover himself, to run, to hide his flushed face and hard cock. But Damien had told him to kneel—and that command pulsed louder than his nerves.

Then Damien moved.

Slow steps around him, like a predator observing his prey before the first bite.

"You’re obedient," he murmured. “Good. But obedience without understanding is just performance. You’re not here to perform for me, Caleb. You’re here to belong to me.”

Caleb’s lips parted, chest rising and falling.

"Yes… sir," he whispered.

A hand slid into his hair. Gentle, at first. Then firm. Damien twisted a handful, tilting his head back until Caleb was looking up—into those cold, dark eyes.

"You like saying that?"

Caleb’s lips trembled. “Y-Yes.”

“You’re not sure if you mean it yet.” His tone was patient, but biting. “That’s alright. You will.”

The hand in his hair released, and Damien walked to the armchair, unbuttoning his cuffs as he moved. He didn’t undress—just sat back, legs apart, and gave a single command:

“Crawl.”

Caleb’s body obeyed before his mind did. Hands and knees on soft carpet, head down, he crawled across the room like an offering.

Closer.

Closer.

Until his face hovered between Damien’s legs.

He could see the bulge behind the fabric. Thick. Prominent. Waiting.

Damien didn’t unzip. He didn’t instruct.

He just waited.

Caleb’s hands trembled as he reached up.

“Did I tell you to touch me?” Damien’s voice cut like a whip.

Caleb froze. “N-No, sir.”

Damien’s hand gripped his jaw.

“You want my cock?”

“Yes.”

“Say it.”

Caleb’s throat tightened. “I want your cock, sir.”

“Why?”

“I… I don’t know.”

Damien’s gaze pierced him. “Because you were made to kneel. Because that mouth of yours was never meant to argue—it was meant to serve. And because once you’ve tasted me, you won’t be able to want anything else.”

Then he finally unzipped.

The sound was deafening.

Caleb’s breath caught.

Damien’s cock was heavy, thick, the flushed head already exposed. It pulsed slightly with each of his slow, controlled breaths.

Caleb leaned forward instinctively, but Damien stopped him with a hand in his hair.

“Wait.”

His thumb brushed Caleb’s bottom lip, slowly, tenderly. Then he pressed in—past his lips, onto his tongue.

Caleb moaned softly, lips closing around the digit.

“Suck.”

He did.

And Damien watched him, heat building in his eyes.

“Good,” he murmured. “You look better with something in your mouth.”

The thumb slid out, slick with saliva.

“Now. Show me how much you want it.”

Caleb didn’t hesitate this time.

He leaned in, lips wrapping around the head of Damien’s cock, tongue swirling as he eased forward. It was overwhelming—thick, velvety, too much. But he didn’t stop.

Damien’s fingers curled into his hair.

“There you go,” he said, voice husky. “Take it. Take it all.”

Caleb gagged softly as Damien’s hips pushed forward, slow but firm.

Tears welled in his eyes. His throat burned. His lungs screamed. But god, the sounds Damien made—low groans of satisfaction, muttered praises—sent pleasure coursing through him like fire.

“Such a pretty little mouth,” Damien growled. “So fucking tight.”

Caleb moaned around him, heat building in his belly.

His cock throbbed against the carpet. Every inch of him was straining. Desperate. Humiliated. Owned.

When Damien finally pulled out, Caleb gasped, saliva trailing down his chin.

His whole body trembled.

“Up.”

Caleb tried to stand—legs shaky, chest heaving—but Damien didn’t wait.

He grabbed him by the throat.

Not hard—just enough to feel.

“You’re not here to get off,” he hissed. “You’re here to learn what it means to be mine.”

Then he spun him around.

Bent him over the arm of the couch.

Caleb cried out—more shock than pain—as Damien’s hand slapped his ass. Once. Then again. The sound echoed through the room.

“You’re going to take what I give you,” Damien growled, yanking his hips back. “No matter how rough. No matter how deep.”

Caleb gasped, face pressed into the velvet cushion. “Yes, sir.”

Damien didn’t prep him more than a swipe of lube.

He didn’t wait.

He slid in slowly, letting Caleb feel every fucking inch.

Caleb screamed.

It burned.

Too big. Too full. Too fast.

But he didn’t beg him to stop.

He begged him for more.

The rhythm was brutal.

Damien’s hips slammed against him, cock burying itself deep with every thrust. His hand gripped Caleb’s neck, keeping him still, forcing him to feel everything.

“You like this?” he snarled. “Getting fucked like a toy?”

“Yes—ah—sir—please—harder—”

“You were made for this,” Damien panted. “That pretty ass—mine. That tight hole? Mine.”

Caleb sobbed against the cushion. The pain blurred into pleasure. The stretch. The weight. The dominance.

“Come for me,” Damien ordered, slamming into him. “Come untouched, like a good fucking pet.”

And Caleb did—with a cry so raw it echoed through the penthouse.

He came hard, spilling onto the couch, thighs shaking uncontrollably.

Damien didn’t stop.

He chased his own release with brutal thrusts, growling as he spilled deep inside him.

When it was over, Caleb collapsed.

Damien didn’t speak for a moment. He pulled out gently, wiping them both clean with a towel he’d set aside, then cradled Caleb against his chest on the couch.

“Breathe,” he whispered. “You did good.”

Caleb shook, eyes glassy.

He felt ruined.

He felt complete.

Damien brushed hair from his face.

“You’ll stay the night. I’ll send your excuse to your professor.”

“…You can do that?”

“I can do anything.”

Caleb shivered.

And nestled deeper into his arms.