THE SUITE

CHAPTER SEVEN: THE SUITE

 Aaron’s POV

The penthouse suite felt too quiet for what we were doing.

Leon was on his knees in front of me, lips stretched wide around my cock, making these soft, desperate little sounds every time he tried to take me deeper. His cheeks were flushed bright red… not just from the effort, but from the fever still burning through him. I could feel the heat radiating off his skin when I cupped his face. His pink nipples stood tight and peaked because I hadn’t been able to stop touching them.

“So big…” he whispered hoarsely when he popped off for a second, a thin string of saliva connecting his swollen lower lip to my throbbing length.

“Leon,” I groaned, threading my fingers through his soft, messy hair. “You’re such a little slut.”

This was my first time with a guy, but nothing about it felt strange. It felt inevitable. Like I’d been waiting for this exact moment since the day I realized the quiet priest’s son had been secretly watching me for months.

I’d known about him for longer than he could imagine. I’d caught him watching me more than once. Instead of disgust, it had thrilled me. Knowing those innocent eyes were drinking in every thrust, every moan… it made me put on a better show. 

Eventually, curiosity turned into obsession. I hacked his laptop one bored night and fell down the rabbit hole of his stories.

 He’d written me into them. Not as Aaron… but as Damian. It should’ve pissed me off. Instead of walking away, I kept watching over him. I’d even covered for him once when his dad nearly caught him with his laptop open. But I’m not a saint. I wanted payment. Tonight was supposed to be the payment.

I’d lured him here to the penthouse suite above the city’s most exclusive gay club. He’d shown up without underwear, just like I’d teasingly demanded in my last message. 

The little brat actually listened.

But then he’d fainted right outside the door. Damian was there, looking confused as hell. I ended up carrying Leon’s burning body inside like some kind of hero. I gave him fever reducers, wiped his face with a cool cloth, and told myself I’d be a decent human for once and let him sleep it off.

That plan died the second he woke up.

He’d grabbed my shirt, pulled me down, and kissed me. His hand had fumbled at my belt like he was starving. When I asked what the hell he was doing, he looked up at me with those glazed, hooded eyes and said, “I want you to fuck me.”

That was it. Everything inside me snapped.

Now he was on his back, legs spread wide, pale thighs trembling as I knelt between them. He was so wet already, slick and open, his entrance fluttering around my fingers.

I lined myself up, pressing the head of my cock against him. When I didn’t push in right away, his hips bucked desperately.

“Greedy little thing,” I whispered, a small smile tugging at my lips despite everything.

I slammed home in one smooth thrust.

The sound he made… half moan, half sob… went straight to my balls. He was burning hot inside, fever making everything tighter, wetter, almost too intense. I groaned, forehead dropping to his shoulder as I gave him a moment to adjust. His walls clenched around me like a vice, pulsing with every ragged breath.

“Fuck… Leon…”

I started moving… slow at first. Every thrust drew wet, filthy sounds that filled the dim room. His hands scrabbled at my back, nails digging in just enough to sting.

“Faster…” he whimpered.

I brought my palm down sharply on his perky ass. A perfect red handprint bloomed on his pale skin. He gasped, arching beautifully.

“Such a slut,” I murmured. But there was affection underneath the filth. I picked up the pace, angling my hips until I found that spot that made his eyes roll back.

He looked wrecked… cheeks flushed crimson, lips parted, sweat-damp hair sticking to his forehead. The fever made his skin radiate heat; even the slick between us felt scalding. I watched, mesmerized, as he reached down to jerk himself off in time with my thrusts.

“Ah… so good!” His voice cracked. “I’m gonna cum!”

His body drew taut like a bowstring. I drove into him harder, chasing my own release.

“Yes! Damian!” he cried out as he came hard, stripes of white painting his chest and stomach.

The world went silent for half a second.

Damian?!

Ice flooded my veins even as my orgasm crashed over me. I kept moving through it, riding out the aftershocks, but my mind was reeling.

I pulled out slowly, watching my cum leak down his thighs. Leon’s eyes had already closed again.

“Fuck!” I hissed, shoving a hand through my hair as I sat back on my heels.

The room felt too quiet now. The distant bass from the club below vibrated faintly through the floor, but up here it was just the sound of my ragged breathing and the wet drip of my release slipping out of him.

I’d wanted him to see me. To want me. Not some fantasy version of Damian I could never compete with because I wasn’t him.

Beneath the anger, something else flickered. Regret. Tenderness, maybe. He looked so small like this—vulnerable, flushed, marked by my hands and my body.

I reached out before I could stop myself, brushing damp strands of hair off his forehead. His skin was still too hot. Gently, I pulled the sheet up over his spent body, tucking it around him with more care than I’d shown anyone in years.

“You stupid little mouse,” I whispered. “When are you going to stop writing stories and start seeing what’s right in front of you?”