The Secret Game

Eli had just stepped out of the shower when there was a knock at the bathroom door. He froze, towel clutched tight around his waist.

“Yeah?” he called, voice uneven.

The door opened a crack. Damian’s voice slid through, low and smooth. “Relax. It’s only me.”

Eli’s pulse jumped. He backed up instinctively, the steam curling around him like a fog. Damian slipped inside and shut the door, locking it with a quiet click.

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“What are you—”

“Shh.” Damian’s gaze swept over him, steady and deliberate. He leaned against the counter, folding his arms. “I’m not here to talk long. Just to give you something.”

Eli’s throat worked. “Something?”

“A task.”

The word hung in the air, heavy and certain. Eli’s stomach knotted, but his body betrayed him—heat flaring low, breath catching.

Damian smirked at the reaction. “Tonight, while we’re at dinner, you’ll keep your left hand on your thigh the entire time. No exceptions. No moving it unless I give permission. Understood?”

Eli blinked, stunned. That was it? Just… keep his hand still?

It sounded absurd. Silly, even. But the way Damian said it—the calm authority, the weight behind every syllable—made it anything but trivial.

“What if she notices?” Eli whispered.

“Then you’ll find a way not to let her,” Damian murmured. He stepped closer, close enough that Eli could feel the heat radiating off him. “That’s the game, Eli. My game. And you’ll play it.”

Eli’s chest rose and fell, panic and desire warring in equal measure. “I…”

Damian’s fingers brushed lightly over his wrist, a fleeting touch that burned hotter than the shower’s steam. “You’ll say it,” he murmured.

The word slipped out before Eli could stop it, quiet and trembling.

“Yes, sir.”

Damian’s smirk deepened. He stepped back, unlocking the door with a quiet click. “Good boy. See you at dinner.”

And then he was gone, leaving Eli staring at the fogged mirror, towel still clutched tight, his body trembling.

The first task had been given.

The game had begun.

The smell of roasted chicken filled the dining room, mingling with the faint citrus of Lily’s candle centerpiece. Eli slid into his chair, careful, controlled, his heart already hammering as he tucked his left hand firmly onto his thigh beneath the table.

He could feel it there—awkward, heavy, unnatural. A constant reminder of the leash around his throat.

Lily sat across from him, her eyes bright, talking animatedly about a professor who’d embarrassed himself in class. Eli forced a laugh at the right moment, nodding, but his thoughts weren’t on her words.

They were on the heat of Damian’s gaze.

He could feel it, even before he dared to glance. Damian sat at the head of the table, eating slowly, silently, like a king watching his subjects. Every so often, his eyes flicked toward Eli’s lap, as though to remind him: I know where your hand is. Don’t move it.

Eli’s fingers twitched against his thigh. He wanted to reach for his fork with both hands, to gesture naturally as Lily told her story. But the rule burned in his head.

No exceptions.

So he clutched the fork in his right hand, awkward and clumsy, trying to cut his chicken without looking ridiculous.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Lily said suddenly, tilting her head at him. “Something wrong?”

Eli’s throat tightened. He forced a smile, shifting in his seat. “Just tired. Long day.”

She frowned a little but seemed to accept it, turning back to her plate.

Damian, though—Damian didn’t look away. His lips curved in the faintest smirk, and he tapped his own thigh beneath the table. A silent signal. Stay.

Eli’s chest ached. He wanted to scream, to shove the chair back, to demand an explanation. But instead he sat there, one hand gripping the fork, the other plastered against his thigh, his body humming with nerves and shame and heat.

Every minute stretched longer. Every bite felt like a test.

And every time he managed not to break, not to move, he felt Damian’s approval in that smirk, in the weight of his stare.

When the meal finally ended, Lily jumped up to clear the plates. “I’ll grab dessert,” she chirped, disappearing into the kitchen.

The moment she was gone, Eli let out a shaky breath. His left hand jerked up, rubbing his face, desperate to move again.

“Don’t look so relieved,” Damian murmured from the head of the table, his voice low, just for Eli. “You did well.”

Eli’s pulse thudded in his ears. His cheeks burned.

Damian leaned back, smirking wider. “You’ll learn soon enough. Obedience can feel… satisfying.”

Eli’s stomach twisted, but deep down, he already knew Damian was right.

Eli sat stiffly on the couch, his left hand once again locked to his thigh. The second course of the “game” hadn’t ended with dinner. Damian hadn’t dismissed him, hadn’t said the words. Which meant the order still stood.

Lily curled up beside him, remote in hand, flipping through movie options. She leaned against him, her warmth pressing into his side, but Eli could barely focus on her. His body was tense, every nerve buzzing with the knowledge that Damian was only a few feet away in the armchair, watching.

He could feel it—those eyes drilling into him, waiting for him to falter.

thriller?” Lily asked, scrolling.

“Uh—thriller’s fine,” Eli muttered, his voice too quick, too tight.

Her brows knit. She turned her head, looking at him closely. “You sure you’re okay? You’ve been… off all night.”

Eli’s heart kicked up. His left hand twitched, aching to move, to reach for her, to make it look natural. But the leash in his mind yanked him still. No exceptions.

He forced a smile, his lips dry. “I’m fine. Just… distracted.”

“Distracted by what?” she pressed, searching his face.

Eli’s pulse thundered. He was seconds away from breaking—shifting his hand, ruining the game, betraying the command. Shame and panic burned in his chest.

And then Damian spoke.

“School,” he said smoothly, his deep voice cutting in like silk. “He’s probably worried about finals coming up. I remember you mentioned how much pressure the program puts on you, Eli.”

Lily blinked, then nodded slowly, her frown easing. “Oh. Yeah, that makes sense.” She nestled back against him, satisfied with the explanation.

Eli’s lungs filled in a shaky breath. Damian had saved him. Covered for him.

But not out of kindness.

When Eli dared glance up, Damian was watching him with that same quiet smirk, his fingers idly tapping the armrest. The message was clear: I own your secrets now. Even the ones you almost spill.

Eli swallowed hard, heat crawling up his neck. His hand stayed glued to his thigh, even as the opening credits rolled on the screen.

And for the first time, the leash didn’t just feel like restraint.

It felt like safety.

The movie was still playing when Lily’s head drooped against Eli’s shoulder, her breathing soft and even. She’d fallen asleep halfway through, worn out from the day.

Eli sat rigid, staring at the screen but not seeing it. His thigh throbbed from the tension of holding still so long, his hand stiff and aching. But he didn’t dare move—not until Damian released him.

Finally, the TV clicked off. The room sank into darkness, lit only by the faint lamp in the corner.

“Take her upstairs,” Damian said quietly, his tone casual but edged with command.

Eli hesitated only a second before slipping his right arm under Lily’s shoulders, guiding her gently as she stirred. She murmured something unintelligible but didn’t wake. He half-carried, half-led her up the stairs, tucked her into bed, and lingered for a moment to be sure she was comfortable.

When he returned downstairs, Damian was waiting. The older man leaned against the counter in the dim kitchen, a glass of whiskey in hand, his gaze sharp and unreadable.

Eli froze in the doorway. His left hand twitched at his side, still stuck to his thigh out of instinct.

Damian’s lips curved. “You lasted.”

Eli swallowed hard. “I—yeah.”

“Not bad,” Damian said softly. He swirled the amber liquid in his glass. “You wanted to move. I saw it. She almost caught you. And yet…” His eyes narrowed, pinning Eli in place. “You didn’t break.”

Heat crawled up Eli’s neck. His pulse thudded. “I… I didn’t want to.”

The smirk widened, slow and deliberate. Damian set the glass down and stepped closer, his presence filling the space until Eli’s back brushed the wall.

“Good boy,” Damian murmured. The words rolled like velvet, warm and devastating. “You pleased me tonight.”

Eli’s knees nearly buckled. His breath hitched, shame and desire twisting inside him like wildfire.

Damian reached out, brushing a finger along Eli’s jaw—light, fleeting, enough to make him shiver. “That’s your reward. My approval. You’ll learn it’s more addictive than anything else.”

Eli’s lips parted, a shaky breath slipping free. “And if I’d failed?”

Damian’s eyes darkened. “Then you’d know what it feels like to disappoint me.”

The words weren’t loud, but they landed like a blow, sharp and heavy. Eli’s chest tightened at the thought, his skin prickling with fear—and something else, something dangerously close to want.

Damian’s hand fell away. He picked up his glass again, taking a slow sip. “Go to bed, Eli. You’ve earned rest. For now.”

Eli nodded quickly, too quickly. “Yes, sir.”

He slipped upstairs, his legs unsteady, his mind a storm.

Damian had been right. The approval was intoxicating. Terrifying.

And Eli wanted more.

Eli lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, the faint moonlight spilling through the blinds. Lily slept soundly beside him, her breathing steady, her face soft with dreams.

But he wasn’t sleeping. Couldn’t.

Every nerve in his body still buzzed with the memory of dinner, of the weight of his hand pressed against his thigh, of Damian’s eyes watching. Watching, always watching.

The absurdity of it gnawed at him. One simple rule. One tiny, meaningless restriction. Keep your hand still. That was it. And yet it had unraveled him completely.

Worse—it had thrilled him.

He’d felt powerless, exposed, on the edge of discovery. The fear of Lily noticing, the shame of being caught, the helplessness of obeying without question—it should have disgusted him.

Instead, it left him hard, restless, aching.

His mind replayed Damian’s voice, low and steady: Good boy.

Two words. That was all it had taken.

Eli squeezed his eyes shut, heat rushing through him. He hated himself for wanting it. For craving more.

Because that’s what this was now. Craving.

Damian had planted something inside him, and it was growing fast—this hunger to be controlled, to be tested, to be seen. Not by Lily. By her father.

The thought made Eli’s stomach knot, shame pressing heavy on his chest. But beneath the shame was fire, undeniable and consuming.

He turned his head, glancing at Lily, who stirred slightly but didn’t wake. A pang of guilt cut through him. She deserved better than this mess, better than the secret heat twisting inside him.

And yet… he knew the truth.

If Damian called him tomorrow, gave him another task, another leash to hold—he’d obey.

Not because he had to.

Because he wanted to.

Eli lay awake long into the night, his body aching with a need he didn’t dare name.

The game had only just begun.

And already, he was hooked.

Your feedback is everything ✨ Leave a comment if you’re enjoying the story, or share your theories for what might happen next. I read them all, and they really motivate me to keep going!