(14) Kept My Promise and More

NOTE: There is explicit SMUT in this chapter.

Jaron lies on his back and I sit on his legs. I pull down the collar of his t-shirt to look at the hickeys I’ve given him. The shirt’s all stretched out anyway. He’s giggling like he’s swallowed laughing gas. He’s also bright red. I press my fingers into the marks at the base of his throat. “You bruise so easily,” I tell him.

“I’m pale.”

He is. He’s a vampire, like I’ve theorized before. “Do you think vampires are racist?” I ask. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while.”

He laughs. “What?”

“I mean I only ever hear of pale vampires. Do they only bite other pale people or is that just a side effect of being undead?”

He doesn’t answer for a long moment. “I…don’t know.” He clears his throat. “You should watch ‘Interview with a vampire.’ It’s a show about gay vampires.”

“I think you’re online too much.”

“It’s a popular show,” Jaron says defensively. “What do you do in your spare time.”

“I paint.”

“Right, you’re an artist.” His eyes sparkle. “Can you draw my OC’s?”

“What, for DnD? I’m busy. I also have to finish that painting your dad gave to me. Remember? Took it home and I haven’t even touched it. And I’ve been waiting on new marker paper for a new drawing I want to blow up.”

“After all that,” he concedes.

“Sure, cause you’re my last priority,” I tell him. It’s a joke. Obviously. Before he has a chance to get upset, I quickly add: “Uh…so my dad’s company is having a Christamas party on Friday. I have to go. Do you…wanna come?” The party was about a week and a half before the actual Christamas day so that people would actually attend the dumb work party beofre taking their holidays.

As the son of the CEO, I have to go to these dull events every year. And I’m too old now to sulk in a corner drawing. I have to pretend to be interested, but maybe it’ll be more bearable with Jaron there.

“Like I’m your date?” He looks delighted.

I shrugs. “Starts at 6 but if you come early we can make out in a conference room and I’ll get out of helping set up.”

He bites my arm.

Great. Now I have to tell my dad I’m bringing a plus one. I mean I think it would be nice to have Jaron there, but I’m supposed to help my dad work the room, or at the very least hover awkwardly behind my dad as he works the room. I hadn’t thought this through.

I think all my problems would be fixed if I shut my mouth. But it just doesn’t seem to work.

He gives my forehead a kiss and then gets up to move around the room, dimming the lights, checking that the door is locked, closing the windows. I go over to his bookshelf again and pretend to ignore him. I flip through his DnD player’s book. I guess if I’m going to draw something for him, I should familiarize myself with the art style.

Then he flops on his bed. “Are you coming?” he asks.

“No.” I lean against the bookshelf and trace my finger down a goblin on one page. I’ve never drawn fantasy creatures. This one has glowing yellow eyes, sharp teeth, and 6 earrings in one ear. Could be fun to recreate.

I find myself swept off the ground and hauled over Jaron’s shoulder. “W-What are you—!?” The book falls from my grasp.

“Shh,” he coos. “My parents will hear if you’re so loud.”

“I’m not loud! Put me down!”

He dumps me on his bed and then lies down on top of me. “I put you down,” he says smugly.

“Get off me! Y-You oaf! I can’t breathe!”

“Don’t be dramatic,” he murmurs, his hot breath flicking against my ear. “I’m not that heavy.”

He isn’t, but it’s about the principle. I won’t let him get away with being cute without giving him a hard time. I wriggle against him and press a hand against his shoulder. “Ugh! I’m suffocating!”

“You’re not.” He brushes my hair back. “Besides, what’s the point of these sleepovers if we’re not sharing a bed?”

I turn my head away from him. “Whatever,” I mutter.

He smiles contendetly—which is irritating—and presses his face into neck (also irritating). He falls asleep like that. As usual, I cannot sleep, so I just try to stay still for him instead of fidgeting all night like I did the last time we fell asleep together.

———

I nurse a diet coke in the lobby of the Marriot. My dad’s decoraters are just about finished bringing everything inside and into the ballroom. I haven’t seen it yet. I’m not allowed inside.

Last year the christmas backdrop was green on green on green. It looked terrible. I just had to intervene and string up my own red ribbons. I’d taken the mount apart and fixed it. My dad claims I “nearly collapsed the mount on everyone.” I think I made everyone look less washed out against the backdrop. Either way, I’m not allowed to see or touch it this year until the party actually starts. It was a direct reference to last year, when I "ruined" the backdrop by making it look less like an elementary school holiday special.

When Jaron’s silver car shows up, I straighten instinctively. Then I frown and slouch again. He walks over to me with his dumb smile. He’s in a crisp button down and a dark blue blazer that curve over his lean arms in way that make my heart stumble . And dress pants that hug him a little bit too well. He even has a tie. It’s red. I scowl. “You look like a Wall Street intern.”

He doesn’t even dignify that with a response. He looks me over once and lets out a low, long whistle. I don’t know how he’s able to whistle without breaking that long.

“Stop it perv!” I hiss. “Stop! Someone will hear!”

He pulls my suit jacket together. “Who knew you were this fit! Broad shoulders and an itty bitty waist, and—”

“I’m not!” I have to set my drink on a bench so I can swat his relentless hands away. “Stop!”

He smirks, looks around, and kisses my lip. “You said we could make out if I’m early?”

I shove him. “Hmph.” I turn on my heel and stalk inside the hotel. Instead of turning towards the ballroom that’s still being set up, I turn the other way.

“Where are we going?” he asks.

“I dunno.”

“You didn’t plan this very well,” he says.

True. I cross my arms. “Then were do you want to go?” I snap.

“My car,” he decides. “I parked it far. Private.”

So now I follow him instead back out of the lobby we just walked through, into the parking lot, past cars that grow sparser and sparser until we reach his silver sedan. We get into the backseat and he immediately climbs on top of me.

“Tinted windows,” he promises, even though it hadn’t even crossed my mind to be worried about being seen.

He doesn't wait for permission, just closes the space between us. The way he kisses is eager and warm, like he's finally sinking into the couch after a long day. He tastes faintly of the mint gum he must have chewed before leaving his house, which is good, because I hadn't had time to chew any myself.

He pushes me back gently against the door, the cool leather a stark contrast to the heat of his body pressed against mine. He's all broad shoulders and clean linen, and I forget about the Wall Street intern comment entirely. My hands fly up, sliding around his neck and pulling him closer still.

He pulls away, breathless, and his eyes are dark and wide. He runs his thumb along my lower lip, his gaze dropping to my mouth.

"Too much?" he murmurs, his voice rough.

I shake my head, feeling dizzy. I have to remind myself to breathe. "No. Just—" I swallow, trying to find my voice. "You're supposed to be my date. Not my distraction."

He grins, that smug, dorky smile I hate and adore in equal measure, and drops another quick kiss on my jaw. "Same difference." He smooths his hands down my suit jacket, fixing where I’d pulled on the fabric.

Then his hands move lower, his thumb tucking into my waistband while he watches my face for a reaction. My heart thuds in my chest like a drumbeat. When I don’t do anything, he leans over and smiles against my chest, pulling my zipper down. I tense, a sharp intake of breath the only sound I can make. The audacity of him, in a hotel parking lot, ten minutes before a corporate Christmas party, and dressed like an accountant. “W-What are you doing?” I ask. “I mean I’m not—I haven’t, you know. Like, prepped. There. Back there. I didn’t think—”

“Not that,” he murmurs. He pushes my dress shirt up out of my pants and trails languid kisses down my stomach, his teeth gently biting their way down. I’m already hard. Slowly, maddenlingly slowly, his chin perched just below my navel as he smiles up at me, he pulls down my underwear too.

I swalllow and clench my fists. I don’t know what to say. Or even what to do. I’ve never done this before. Or, more accurately, had this done to me. The cool air that hits my bare skin mixed with the heat of his breath and his kisses on…that part of me. is a shocking contrast. I slide my fingers into his hair. I grip his hair, my knuckles white against his soft, blonde strands.

His lips close around the head of my cock, and I jerk like I’ve been shocked. My breath stutters. He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t fumble or pause or laugh. He takes me in with slow, deliberate care, sinking down inch by inch, until the warmth of his mouth is wrapped fully around me.

“Shit,” I breathe, barely audible. My hips twitch upward. I don’t mean to do it, but my body isn’t listening to me anymore. His mouth is wet, and hot, and tight, and I’m suddenly, horribly aware of just how sensitive I am. Every nerve feels exposed. My thighs tense and shake.

His tongue presses flat under the shaft, teasing as he starts to move, slow, steady, unhurried strokes that drag slick heat over every inch of me. He bobs his head, keeps one hand braced on my hip while the other strokes the base where his mouth doesn’t reach. I feel everything. The glide, the pressure, the suction. The sound of it, soft and wet and honesty kind of gross but the thought leaves me quickly.

My head falls back against the window with a dull thud. I can’t stop shaking. My stomach is drawn tight, breath caught in my throat. His name slips out of me, strangled like I forgot how to speak. “Jaron—”

He hums, and the vibration makes my whole body arch. My spine curls involuntarily off the leather seat as my hands twist in his hair, clinging to something, anything, before I fly apart. My legs are trembling. My eyes blur.

He pulls back just enough to suck on the tip, tongue flicking lightly over the slit, and I nearly sob. “Wait—wait, I’m—” I gasp, but it’s already happening.

The climax hits me embarassingly fast. My body locks, then shakes, waves rolling through me so strong I can’t even make a sound at first. Just my mouth hanging open, breath caught. My hips twitch again as he swallows around me, his hand still stroking me through it, until I finally sag back against the door, drenched in heat.

I let go of his hair. I have to. My whole body feels like it’s made of glass.

Jaron pulls back slowly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His lips are swollen and shiny, and he’s looking up at me like I’m his favorite thing in the world.

“I hate you,” I say hoarsely. My voice is shredded. I sound like I’ve been crying, even though I haven’t.

He leans in and presses a kiss to the inside of my knee. “You’re loud you know,” he murmurs. “Good thing the windows are up.”

“I mean it,” I rasp. “You’re the devil. You’re vile. You’re going to hell, and I’m taking you there myself.”

He laughs, the smug little bastard, and buttons my jacket back up like this was nothing. Like we didn’t just commit a crime in the back of a car ten minutes before a corporate Christmas party.

“Was it good?” he asks, almost too earnestly.

It was good. So good in fact that I still feel the pleasant buzzing warmth in my gut. I was always told my first time would be average or downright bad. That I’d have to learn my own body and the other person’s before anything like this felt good. I’d been prepared for teeth and discomfort, not one of the top 5 orgasms of my life. But then, Jaron is more experienced than me anyway.

Instead of answering: "You're a pervert," I gasp, shoving him gently onto his side. I desperately try to straighten my clothes, feeling the overwhelming need to check myself. I push his hands away as I sit up, my face burning.

He helps me smooth down my suit, but I keep smacking his hands away. I can’t let him touch me right now. I’m fragile. I might start glowing or crying or kissing him or something worse.

And then this is the unsexy part. He gargles water and spits it out into the dirt. Then chews on a mint. Before I pull my pants back up, he pours water on a cloth and wipes me. That I let him do, and then I shove him away again and fix my own clothes.

We stay in the backseat of the car for a bit, mostly quiet, him pressing my head onto his chest.

Now I wonder if I should return the favor. It was only fair right? But I know I wouldn’t be as good as him, and we didn’t have much time anyway before the party started and my dad would want me there. So I don’t offer. He doens’t ask either.

“So what’s post-nut clarity telling you?” he teases eventually. “That you should date me?”

He’s not even pretending to be cool. He’s just pushing his luck. “That I should make you shut up.” I raise my hand.

He flinches, still grinning, but I kiss him instead. He can barely kiss me back cause he’s got his big stupid grin on his face. He bites my bottom lip, sucks it for a second, then lets me go. “Should go inside now maybe,” he murmurs.

“Hm.”

He opens the car door and steps out. Adjusts his tie like he’s going to brunch with someone’s mom, and runs a hand through his hair, transforming in an instant from my clingy, breathless, infuriating almost-boyfriend back into a perfectly groomed, respectable Wall Street intern. Like he didn’t just suck me off in a parking lot.

I follow him out of the car, adjusting my own jacket and trying to suppress the lingering feeling of his touch. The short walk back to the hotel is just enough time for me to lock all my inappropriate thoughts away.

When we reach the ballroom, the scent of pine and expensive food hits me first. The room is filled with Dad's employees, people who see me as the future of the company. I force a polite, empty smile onto my face, the one I save for these events.

Maybe I can hide in a corner until my dad finds me and forces me to mingle.