Page 34 of A Mistake of Identity
When the call ended precisely on schedule, Gabriel didn’t bother with pleasantries. He clicked off, taking in the sightbefore him. Ellis lay sprawled across his desk, body trembling, chest heaving, and skin sheened with sweat. His hole was stretched wide and glistening, the rim pink and puffy from Gabriel’s relentless attention. A substantial puddle had formed beneath where Ellis’ cock hung heavy and dripping, evidence of how close Gabriel had kept him to the edge without letting him fall.
Gabriel stood, unbuckling his belt. “Such a good boy for me,” he murmured, positioning himself. “Now I’m going to take what’s mine.”
Gabriel sank into the wet, velvety heat, Ellis’ thoroughly prepared body accepting him without resistance. His petit oiseau quivered beneath him, thighs trembling as desperate little whimpers escaped his throat. When Gabriel remained still, savoring the moment, Ellis grew impatient, grinding back onto his cock with a breathy moan of “Gabriel, please.”
The sight of his boy so desperate for him shattered the last threads of Gabriel’s control. His fingers dug bruising marks into Ellis’ hips as he set a punishing pace, their shared moans filling the office.
The door burst open without warning.
Ellis’ panicked gasp cut through the air. Gabriel withdrew immediately, tucking himself away with practiced efficiency as Ellis scrambled to the floor behind the desk, jerking the briefs back into place around his hips.
Maximilien Rohan stood in the doorway, his stern features hardening as he took in the scene. His eyes flickered to Ellis’ discarded clothes on the chair, then to where Ellis had disappeared. “Another one of Henri’s cast-offs?” He asked, voice dripping with disdain. “Really, Gabriel?”
Before Gabriel could respond, Maximilien’s eyes narrowed. “Is he a prostitute?” The question hung in the air fora moment before he answered himself. “Of course he is. Your brother’s tastes are... predictable.”
Gabriel stared at his father, brain struggling to process the abrupt shift. Henri’s cast-offs? Where had that come from? And why would his father assume Henri regularly consorted with prostitutes? His brother might be causing problems at the company lately, but this... this was something else entirely. His mouth opened, closed, opened again, but no sound emerged. Through his stunned haze, he registered his father’s judgmental gaze sweeping over the scene, the disheveled desk, Ellis’ clothes on the chair, the unmistakable scent of sex in the air. Something snapped. The words finally exploded from him, raw and furious.
“Get out,” His voice started low and rose to a roar. “GET OUT!”
Brenda appeared in the doorway, wringing her hands. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Rohan, I tried to—”
“You can’t keep me out of my own office, woman,” Maximilien waved her off dismissively.
“It’s not your office anymore, Father,” Gabriel snapped. “It’s mine.”
Maximilien scoffed as he circled the desk, peering down at where Ellis hastily pulled on his clothes. His laugh held no warmth. “I need to speak with my son. Get out.”
Gabriel watched as Ellis’ eyes darted between them, fear plain.
“Waiting to get paid?” Maximilien pulled out his phone, tapping at the screen. “The prostitute’s name is Ellis, yes?”
“He’s not a—” Gabriel started, but Maximilien was already hitting send.
Ellis’ phone buzzed under the desk. His little bird stared at the screen—$2000 had been transferred—before meeting Gabriel’s eyes.
Gabriel rubbed the bridge of his nose, exhaling slowly before reaching down to help Ellis out from under the desk. He pressed a soft kiss to Ellis’ lips. “Wait with Brenda, please?”
Ellis nodded, gathering his socks and shoes before slipping out, carefully avoiding Maximilien’s gaze.
Ellis
Ellis sat on the leather couch beside Brenda’s desk, his phone’s screen still glowing with the notification. $2000 transferred from Maximilien Rohan. The leather stuck uncomfortably to his thighs where sweat had dried beneath his hastily donned suit pants. His shirt buttons were misaligned, the expensive fabric catching against places still sticky with lube and dried sweat. The collar pressed against a fresh mark on his neck—Gabriel’s mark.
Through the glass walls of the reception area, he could see other La Sauvegarde employees moving about their day. A woman glanced his way, then quickly averted her eyes when she noticed his disheveled state. Ellis fought the urge to shrink into himself, to make himself smaller. The silk lining of his borrowed suit jacket felt suffocating.
He’d been getting paid for sex since before he could legally drink. Had taken money from men who looked at him like he was nothing more than a convenient hole. But somehow, this hit differently. Made him feel dirty in a way that a decade of sex work never had. His skin crawled where Maximilien’s dismissive gaze had touched him, the casual cruelty of the transaction making his stomach turn.
The rhythmic tapping from Brenda’s desk faltered, then stopped. Ellis looked up to find her watching him, her face tight with concern. She reached into her desk drawer and pulled out asmall packet of facial wipes, sliding them across her desk toward him.
Ellis gradually became aware that the rhythmic tapping from Brenda’s desk had stopped. He looked up to find her watching him with a pitying expression.
“Here.” She produced a steel water bottle from somewhere in her desk. “You look like you could use it.”
Ellis took it with trembling fingers.
“I’m sorry,” Brenda continued, her voice dropping so the passing employees couldn’t hear. “Maximilien’s a right bastard. Always has been.”
The sudden sound of raised voices behind the heavy office door made Ellis flinch. Lucas seemed to materialize in the reception area, striding quickly to Ellis’ side with an urgency that spoke of more than mere coincidence.
