The Claiming

🔞

The city was hushed beneath the early morning sky, bathed in steel blue and hints of rose-gold.

Caleb stirred, muscles aching deliciously, eyelids fluttering open to the warm press of silk sheets against bare skin. For a moment, he didn’t know where he was.

Then he smelled the faint cedar scent clinging to the bedding.

Felt the soreness between his legs.

And the slow, lazy stroke of a warm hand down his spine.

Damien.

He tensed.

“You’re awake,” Damien murmured behind him, voice raspy with sleep.

Caleb swallowed thickly, head still hazy. “Mmhm…”

Strong arms curled tighter around his waist, tugging him flush against a firm, broad chest. Damien’s cock—still heavy, still there—rested against the curve of his ass like a quiet reminder.

“Sleep well?” Damien’s lips brushed his nape.

Caleb gave a small nod. “Sore…”

“You’ll get used to it,” Damien said, not unkindly. “But you took me so well, pet. I'm proud of you.”

Heat flooded Caleb’s chest. Pride. Shame. Desire.

He didn’t speak.

Just let himself be held.

---

After a light breakfast of fruit, eggs, and coffee—all made and served by Damien’s private chef, who never once looked at him—Caleb was led wordlessly down a hallway of the penthouse he hadn’t yet seen.

Damien walked behind him, hand on the small of his back, warm and possessive.

“You’ll need to learn your body,” Damien said. “What it’s capable of. How it responds to me. Where it breaks, where it begs.”

Caleb’s breath caught.

“Are we… going to have sex again?”

Damien smirked behind him. “Again implies we ever stopped, pet.”

He opened a dark mahogany door—and Caleb’s stomach flipped.

It was a bedroom.

But not just any bedroom.

It was his.

The bed was massive, the linens black. The room smelled like leather and pine. There was a wardrobe already full of neatly pressed shirts in his size. Drawers labeled “underwear,” “collars,” “restraints.”

And one entire wall?

Mirrors.

Caleb stood frozen.

“I—this is for me?”

Damien stepped up behind him, hands slipping under his shirt, palming his bare chest. “No, Caleb. This is for us.”

He pushed the boy gently forward, guiding him toward the mirrored wall.

Caleb’s reflection stared back—small, flushed, overwhelmed.

“Look at yourself,” Damien murmured, lips brushing his ear.

Caleb did.

“Do you see what I see?”

He shook his head.

Damien’s hand slid down his belly. “I see a boy who wants to be ruined. A boy who’s aching to surrender everything. Who wants to be taken so deeply he forgets where he ends and I begin.”

The breath whooshed out of Caleb.

Damien pulled off his shirt slowly, exposing him in the mirror.

Then his pants.

Then nothing at all.

He stood bare before the glass, staring at himself—slim thighs, flushed skin, half-hard cock already twitching.

Damien knelt behind him, spreading his cheeks apart slowly.

“Watch.”

One finger pushed in.

Caleb’s legs trembled.

“Still open from last night,” Damien murmured. “Still greedy.”

He added a second finger.

Caleb bit his lip, eyes glued to the mirror.

He looked wrecked. So exposed. His body jerking slightly as Damien’s fingers worked him slow, steady, stretching him out all over again.

Damien stood behind him and met his gaze in the mirror. “Do you see this body?” he asked.

Caleb nodded shakily.

“It belongs to me now.”

And then—he pushed in.

No warning.

Just one hard thrust and Damien’s cock was buried inside him, pressing every nerve alive.

Caleb cried out, bracing his palms against the glass.

“Watch.” Damien snarled. “You don’t look away when you’re claimed.”

Each thrust was deep. Deliberate. Measured.

Caleb could barely breathe.

The mirror showed everything—his open mouth, his red cheeks, the sweat on his chest, the force of Damien’s hips slamming into him over and over.

“Say it,” Damien growled.

“I—I’m yours—” Caleb choked out. “I b-belong to you—”

Damien’s hand wrapped around his throat—not choking, but grounding. “Louder.”

“I’m yours, sir!” Caleb moaned.

His cock was leaking, untouched, his whole body trembling. Pleasure crackled through him with every slap of Damien’s skin against his own.

“You’ll never want anyone else,” Damien hissed, slamming in harder. “I’ll fuck the thought of other men out of your soul.”

Caleb sobbed, “Yes—yes, please—fill me—mark me—use me—”

And Damien did.

He grabbed Caleb’s hips, slammed into him so deep it made the glass rattle, and came with a guttural growl—his cock twitching, spilling hot and thick inside him.

Caleb shuddered.

And came untouched—splashing against the glass in front of him, legs giving out under him.

Damien caught him before he hit the ground.

Held him close.

---

Later, wrapped in warm sheets in Damien’s bed, Caleb blinked up at the ceiling.

“…Do you treat all your boys like this?”

Damien kissed the side of his neck. “There are no other boys, Caleb.”

His heart stuttered.

“I don’t share. And I don’t repeat myself.”

“…Why me?”

Damien’s hand cupped his jaw, thumb stroking softly. “Because you’re mine. Whether you knew it or not.”