The First Slip

The smell of roasted chicken filled the dining room, warm and rich, but Eli’s stomach was in knots. He sat across from Lily, watching her spoon mashed potatoes onto her plate, smiling at something trivial her dad had said about work. Damian didn’t speak much, but when he did, everyone seemed to fall quiet just to listen.

Eli tried not to fidget. He could feel Damian’s presence at the head of the table like a weight pressing down on him. The man didn’t need to raise his voice. He didn’t need to glare. The quiet control he carried was enough to make Eli’s pulse skip every time their eyes met.

“More wine, Eli?” Lily asked, nudging the bottle toward him.

“Uh, yeah, sure.” He reached for it, trying to keep his hands steady as he poured her a glass.

“You’re so tense,” she teased, laughing. “Dad doesn’t bite, you know.”

Eli forced a laugh, his throat dry. If only she knew the truth—that it wasn’t fear of disapproval that made him sit up straighter or mind every word. It was something darker. He could feel Damian’s gaze flicking toward him, weighing him, testing him even in silence.

He focused on his plate, pushing food around without much appetite. His chest tightened every time Damian cleared his throat, shifted his chair, or simply picked up his fork. It was absurd—Eli wasn’t a kid. He was a grown man. But something about sitting under that man’s gaze made him feel stripped bare, waiting for the next command, waiting to see if he’d be judged worthy.

“Did you hear me?” Lily nudged him gently with her foot under the table.

“Oh—sorry.” He gave her a quick smile. “What were you saying?”

She rolled her eyes but laughed. “I said we should go hiking this weekend.”

“Hiking?” Damian’s deep voice cut in, smooth but firm. Eli’s gaze snapped up. Damian leaned back in his chair, watching him, one eyebrow raised as though daring him to respond.

Eli swallowed hard. “Uh… yeah. Hiking sounds good.”

But Damian didn’t look away. He held Eli’s gaze just long enough for heat to rise in Eli’s chest, for his fork to tremble against his plate. Then Damian looked back to his meal as though nothing had happened.

The conversation around the table carried on—Lily chatting about plans, Damian adding a few dry comments here and there—but Eli could hardly hear it. He was too aware of himself, every movement, every sound. He was waiting. He didn’t know for what, but he knew it was coming.

The clink of silverware filled the silence between bursts of Lily’s chatter. She was telling a story about her friend from class, her voice bright, oblivious to the undercurrents flowing just beneath the table.

Eli nodded here and there, pretending to listen, but his attention kept circling back to Damian. Every movement the man made seemed deliberate—methodical. He cut his chicken with slow precision, pausing only to sip his wine. He didn’t look at Eli often, but when he did, it was enough to make Eli’s skin prickle.

Then it happened.

Damian set down his knife, leaned slightly back in his chair, and said it with casual finality:

“Pass me the salt.”

His tone wasn’t harsh, wasn’t even commanding by normal standards. But Eli froze as though struck. Something in the way Damian spoke—calm, steady, leaving no room for hesitation—made the words cut sharper than any shout could.

The salt shaker was closer to Lily. She reached for it automatically, but Eli’s hand shot out first. His fingers closed around the glass before she even touched it. He slid it across the table to Damian, head ducked, heartbeat hammering in his ears.

“Here,” Eli whispered, too quietly.

Damian’s hand brushed his as he took it. The touch was nothing, fleeting, but it seared through Eli’s skin like fire. He dared a glance upward. Damian was looking at him, eyes heavy, unreadable—but there was the faintest curve to his mouth. Not quite a smile. More like a knowing smirk.

Eli swallowed. His palms were damp, his throat dry. That was all it took. Two words, and he’d obeyed like it was instinct. Like he’d been waiting for it.

“Thanks,” Damian said simply, turning the shaker in his hand. He didn’t look at Lily, didn’t even acknowledge her. His gaze stayed locked on Eli for a second longer than necessary before he finally turned back to his meal.

Eli forced himself to breathe. He picked up his fork again, trying to mask the way his hands trembled. He stabbed at his food, unable to taste anything. His ears rang with the sound of his own pulse.

Why did he move so fast? Why didn’t he let Lily do it? Why couldn’t he stop himself?

He felt the chain tightening, invisible but unbreakable, looping tighter around his throat.

And worse—he knew he didn’t want to resist.

Lily tilted her head, fork pausing mid-air.

“That was quick,” she said, a playful lilt in her voice. “What, are you trying to impress my dad or something?”

Her laugh was lighthearted, but Eli nearly choked on his sip of water. Heat crawled up his neck, his whole body stiffening. He darted a glance at Damian, searching for help, for some cue on how to react.

Damian, of course, was calm as ever. He sprinkled salt over his food, taking his time, every motion deliberate. He didn’t rush, didn’t flinch. Finally, he set the shaker down with a quiet clink and said, “Good manners, Lily. That’s all. He was just being polite.”

Polite. The word was so normal, so innocent, but Eli caught the flicker of amusement in Damian’s eyes. A private signal, meant only for him.

“Mm-hmm,” Lily said, narrowing her eyes in mock suspicion before breaking into a grin. “Well, in that case, maybe I should train you to react that fast when I ask for something.”

Her laugh filled the room, carefree. Eli forced himself to smile, his fork trembling as he stabbed another piece of chicken. “Yeah… maybe,” he said, his voice too thin, too nervous.

“Seriously though,” Lily went on, chewing thoughtfully, “you’re always on edge here. Relax. Dad’s not scary.”

Eli almost laughed, the sound catching in his throat. Not scary? His every muscle was taut, his every thought bent toward the man sitting at the head of the table. Damian didn’t need to raise his voice or threaten him. A glance, a word, a subtle shift in his chair—it was enough to strip Eli down to his bones.

“I’m fine,” he murmured.

“Sure you are,” Lily teased, bumping his foot under the table again. “Honestly, you’re acting like he’s the principal and you’re late for class.”

Damian cut into his chicken, lips twitching as though he was suppressing a laugh. He didn’t defend Eli this time. He let the comment hang in the air, his silence saying more than words could.

Eli’s stomach knotted tighter. Lily was joking, but there was a truth buried in it. He did act like Damian was some kind of authority figure. Because he was. Not in any way Lily could see, not yet, but Eli knew it in his marrow. And the more it showed, the more dangerous it became.

He kept his eyes down, chewing mechanically, waiting for the meal to end, waiting for a reprieve. But Damian wasn’t going to give him one. He could feel it.

The first slip had already happened, and Lily had noticed.

Lily wasn’t done. She leaned back in her chair, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips.

“You know, Eli,” she said, twirling her fork between her fingers, “I’ve never seen you move that fast for me. Maybe I should start making requests in Dad’s tone. You clearly respond to it.”

Eli froze, his fork hovering halfway to his mouth. His throat tightened, the food suddenly like sand on his tongue. He forced out a shaky laugh, but the sound was weak, strained.

Damian’s wine glass paused halfway to his lips. His eyes flicked toward Eli, sharp and knowing, before he calmly sipped. The corner of his mouth twitched, the ghost of a smirk, quickly hidden.

“I didn’t mean anything,” Lily went on, her laughter bubbling again. “I’m just saying—you’re jumpy. It’s cute.”

Cute. The word landed like a slap. Eli’s stomach twisted, heat crawling under his skin. He could feel Damian’s gaze on him even when it wasn’t directly there, a weight pressing down on his chest, pinning him in place.

He swallowed hard, trying to compose himself. “I’m just trying to be polite,” he muttered, echoing Damian’s earlier defense.

But the words felt hollow in his mouth, and he knew—knew—that Damian heard it too.

“Polite,” Damian repeated slowly, setting his glass down with deliberate precision. “That’s a good quality in a guest.”

The way he said it—measured, controlled, with that subtle undertone of amusement—made Eli’s skin prickle. The word “guest” wasn’t neutral. Not the way Damian spoke it. It felt like a reminder, a warning, and a claim all at once.

Lily, oblivious, laughed again. “See? Dad approves. You’ve officially passed the salt test.”

Eli forced a smile, but his chest was tight. Every second felt like walking a tightrope over a pit. He could feel himself slipping, balance tipping toward something he couldn’t name out loud.

Damian cut another piece of chicken, unbothered, his calm presence filling the space between words. He didn’t say anything else, didn’t need to. His silence was the leash.

Lily moved the conversation on, chatting about a movie she wanted to see that weekend. Eli nodded when he had to, but he barely heard her. His mind replayed the moment again and again—Damian’s voice, the salt shaker, his too-quick obedience.

It was just salt. Just a normal request. And yet it wasn’t. Because the way Eli responded—without thought, without hesitation—had given everything away. At least to Damian.

And maybe… maybe to Lily, if she was sharper than she seemed.

Eli’s hand shook as he reached for his glass. He took a long sip of water, desperate for something to ground him. But the moment was already carved into his bones.

The first slip.

And there would be no going back.

The dishes clattered softly in the sink as Lily rinsed plates. She hummed a tune under her breath, casual, carefree, as though the evening had been nothing unusual.

Eli sat on the edge of her bed later that night, staring down at his hands. His palms still tingled from the brief touch of Damian’s fingers brushing his when he’d passed the salt. A touch so small, so innocent, yet it burned hotter than anything Lily had done to him in weeks.

He pressed his hands together, squeezing tight, as if he could crush the memory out of his skin. But it lingered, curling through him like smoke, impossible to hold, impossible to erase.

“You were weird tonight,” Lily said lightly, tossing her hair up into a messy bun as she padded around the room.

Eli’s head snapped up. “Weird?”

“Yeah.” She grinned, pulling on her pajama top. “All stiff and nervous. I mean, I get it—you want my dad to like you. But you don’t have to try so hard. He’s not that scary.”

Her words were casual, teasing, but Eli’s chest clenched. If only she knew. If only she could feel what he felt every time Damian looked at him—how small, how exposed, how utterly owned he already was without a word needing to be spoken.

“I wasn’t nervous,” Eli said quickly, too quickly.

“Mm-hm.” Lily shot him a playful look before climbing into bed. “If you say so.”

She pulled the blankets up around her shoulders, yawning. Within minutes, her breathing evened, slow and steady.

Eli stayed sitting upright, staring into the dark. His heart pounded like a trapped animal in his chest. His thoughts chased themselves in frantic circles.

She noticed. She saw me react. She laughed, but what if she suspects? What if she looks closer?

He buried his face in his hands. The truth was, he didn’t know how to stop. Damian had said two words, and Eli had leapt to obey. It hadn’t been a choice. It had been instinct. Submission carved into his marrow.

And the worst part—the part that twisted his stomach in guilt and something darker—was that he’d liked it. The command, the touch, the smirk afterward. He craved more.

Eli lay back beside Lily, staring at the ceiling. She shifted in her sleep, curling toward him, warm and soft and safe. But it wasn’t her touch he longed for.

His body ached for someone else.

Someone he couldn’t have.

Someone he shouldn’t want.

Someone who already owned him without ever needing to ask.

The house was quiet. Too quiet. Every creak in the walls, every hum of the pipes made Eli tense, half expecting Damian to open the door, to step inside, to strip away the fragile barrier of Lily’s presence.

But the door stayed closed. The night dragged on.

Eli closed his eyes, but he knew sleep wouldn’t come easily. Not with the chain already around his throat. Not after the first slip.

Because he understood now, with terrifying clarity—there would be more.

And next time, he might not be able to hide it.

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Author’s Note:

Hi dear readers 💕 Thank you so much for reading today’s chapter! I really hope you’re enjoying the story so far. Please don’t forget to leave a comment and share your thoughts — even a few words mean a lot. Tell me what you loved, what shocked you, or what you’re hoping to see next. Your support and feedback keep me motivated to write more for you. 🌹✨