Page 13 of Your Devoted Monster
Instead, in a flash of the defiance that would never be extinguished, Ezra spat.
The warehouse went silent except for their breathing.
Ezra watched Gabriel look down at his expensive boots, now splattered with come and saliva. Watched him process it. Waited for the reaction.
When Gabriel looked back up, his eyes were dark with something between fury and delight. That look that said Ezra had done exactly what Gabriel wanted him to, even when he didn’t want it.
"Did you just—" Gabriel's voice was soft, dangerous. Not yelling. Worse than yelling. "Did you just spit on me?"
Ezra's resistance flickered fully back to life, burning through the haze. His jaw ached. His throat was raw. And he wasn't going to make this easy. "You didn't say to swallow."
Something flashed across Gabriel's face—surprise, maybe, or respect, or hunger. All three. Then he was dropping to one knee, his hand still fisted in Ezra's hair, and forcing Ezra's face down to the ground.
The position was awkward, humiliating—Ezra's bound arms making it impossible to balance properly, his face inches from leather and his own mess, his body weight all wrong.
"Clean them." Gabriel's voice was quiet, almost conversational. Somehow that made it worse. "Every drop."
The humiliation burned through Ezra like acid, sharp and clarifying. His face was already a mess of tears and spit and precome, and now Gabriel wanted him to lick his own?—
The hand in his hair tightened until tears pricked fresh at Ezra's eyes. Pain sparking bright behind the haze. "Now, Ezra."
His name. Gabriel said his name and that shouldn't matter, shouldn't make Ezra's cock throb, shouldn't make him want to obey.
Ezra bent forward, still dizzy from lack of oxygen, still floating on endorphins and shame and arousal all mixed together. His tongue touched expensive leather and he tasted polish mixed with salt mixed with bitterness.
Humiliating. Degrading.
And he was hard from it.
That was the truth he couldn't hide, not with his cock visible and leaking, not with the way his hips shifted trying to get friction against nothing.
This is who you are now,some voice whispered in his head. Not disappointed. Just observing.This is what he's made you.
No. What Ezra hadletGabriel make him. What he'd been waiting for Gabriel for.
He tried to clean the boots properly—some stupid instinct to do it right, to please, when had he started wanting to please?—but his coordination was shot, his vision still blurry with tears. The leather was slick under his tongue. He was making it worse,just spreading the mess around with spit, leaving wet streaks on the pristine surface. His tongue traced the seam where sole met leather, the textured tread, tasting Gabriel and humiliation in equal measure.
Gabriel's hand stayed fisted in his hair, keeping him in place. Not guiding. Just holding. Making Ezra do all the work while Gabriel watched him debase himself.
Minutes passed like this—Ezra's world narrowed to the taste of leather and shame, the ache in his jaw, the burn in his shoulders from the zip ties cutting deeper with every shift of his weight. Had he been doing this for five minutes? Ten? Time was meaningless. His tongue was going numb, his neck cramping from the angle, his knees screaming against concrete.
But his cock stayed hard, throbbing in time with his heartbeat. That was the worst part. The most honest part. The part that proved Gabriel right about everything.
"Messy." Gabriel's voice cut through the haze. Not angry. Just observing. "Can't even do this right."
Then Gabriel stood, and his boot connected with Ezra’s shoulder—not hard enough to really hurt, just enough to unbalance him. Ezra sprawled backwards onto the concrete, his bound arms trapped beneath him, shoulder blades grinding against the floor. His cock slapped hard and leaking against his stomach, on display, obvious.
This is insane,some distant part of his brain supplied.
But that voice was so small compared to the roar of need and want andfinally, finally, finally.
Gabriel loomed over him, backlit by the single overhead light. Predatory and perfect andhis—and when had his mind decided on that?
Then Gabriel placed his boot directly on Ezra's cock. Not stomping. Just placing. Pinning it against Ezra's stomach with deliberate pressure.
Ezra's whole body went still. The pressure was immediate, maddening,perfect. He was already so close from the throatfucking, from the boot cleaning, from the complete mindfuck of the night. His cock had been leaking and aching and ignored, and now?—
Gabriel didn't wait, didn't drag it out. Just started grinding in tight, ruthless circles.
