6. Chapter Six
Chapter Six
Aaron
The room feels colder without the sound of his voice in my ear, and I hate it. I look around the room—it’s the penthouse, of course, because why would the sole son of Tony Everett not have the best digs anywhere he goes— even if that hotel is our rival company, Tempest .
Though, despite the name, everything is beige and white and boring, and even the fireplace itself looks plain. Unassuming. Modern, my father would say.
I think it just looks like some woman on the Tempest design team was having her sad beige phase, but I digress.
I could have stayed at one of my family’s countless Evermore properties—the hotels or the villas, even—but until I can get things on track with this whole date thing and my dad’s retirement, I don’t want to press my luck.
Besides, I like my privacy and alone time, and when you’re the son of the guy who owns the hotel, especially the son who people love to gossip about, it’s best sometimes to keep your distance if you don’t want unsavory rumors spread.
And despite the Tempest being the property of Robert Tempest—my dad’s arch nemesis—I feel like I’m less likely to be judged here because Garrett is enough of a shield where gossip is concerned. No one dares to say a word about him and his fucked up bullshit love life.
Seriously, the man’s been married like three times already and he’s only forty-two.
Though, to be fair, I've never understood the rivalry between my dad and Robert Tempest, to tell the truth. I’m not sure if it’s a personal vendetta or if it’s just pure jealousy because the Tempest chain of hotels is so wildly popular, but then again, comparing Tempest to Evermore is like comparing apples to oranges.
Tempest caters to a more… niche audience than Evermore does.
The kind of niche audience that requires secrecy and discretion.
Which also makes it a good place to hide out when I’m in town.
There’s a reason their tagline is awakening the storm inside you.
But I know my dad would also have a coronary if he knew Garrett—Rob’s son— and I have been rivals-with-benefits since college.
When he’s in town, or when we’re both in the same place—because we both work in the same industry—we meet up for drinks and fuck.
Sometimes, it’s nice, just because it breaks up the monotony of me having to take care of my needs myself, but it’s also nice to just be with someone who doesn’t expect anything in return and who’s familiar with the business.
Garrett’s got his own money, he doesn’t need mine, and therefore he might be the only person on the planet who actually doesn’t want it.
What he wants is something money can’t buy.
Well, it can, but Garrett isn’t the kind of guy you’re going to find picking up someone in a club somewhere, if only because he’s paranoid as fuck about that sort of thing.
No, instead, Garrett is much more selective of the men he brings back to his bed.
Like me, he’s got a type, and that type is young, submissive, and easy to manipulate.
Which is why our arrangement works the way it does.
I don’t have a submissive bone in my body, and Garrett knows it.
Even doms need someone to take control sometimes.
But that doesn’t mean he wants me, and while the guy is a kinky bastard sometimes, he’s pretty annoying and pissy as a person and I swear I can only handle him when we’re drunk and I’m making him beg for my cock.
Still, disdain aside for my fucked up fuck buddy, I know he’s always good for a favor. Like letting me stay in one of the many Tempest hotels, under a pseudonym so my dad doesn’t find out.
And just as if the thought of him could somehow summon him, that’s when I hear the chime of his text.
Stormy Bitch: You up?
I roll my eyes, debating if I should answer him. I could just ignore him, go to bed. I do have an early day tomorrow, but I also know what he’s going to ask, and I’m already feeling a little too drunk to be smart, and my cock is still semi-hard from my discussion with Prince Charming.
Seriously, who gets turned on by someone’s voice? Someone desperate for human interaction, that’s who.
I tap out my response quickly.
Me: You know it.
Stormy Bitch: Just got in and was going to head to my room, but if you’re up I could come to yours.
Me: Fine.
I toss the phone on the table, pouring myself another drink, if only because I know I am going to feel this tomorrow. The drink and the guilt. But it’s been a long day, and the prospect of some company—even if it’s company that pisses me off most of the time—is too good to pass up.
It’s better than being alone. Especially right now, when I feel the loneliness that is my fucking life.
This company— Evermore —it’s all I really have. Because clearly an actual relationship—the kind my parents seem to think will make me suitable in their eyes—doesn’t exist for a guy like me.
I’m halfway through my refill when there’s a click at the door and I know Garrett’s arrived. He doesn’t bother to knock, since there’s no point. He’s got access to every room here, so why bother?
My glance turns to where he stands, looking more put together than I feel at the moment.
Garrett’s not a bad looking guy. He is always well-dressed, not a hair out of place on his head, his suits expertly tailored.
His attention to detail is tantamount to his skills as the CFO of Tempest , and his kinks.
Garrett loves to control the situation, which is why he’s a natural dom.
“Hey,” he says as he drops his keycard on the coffee table. He doesn’t waste any time unbuttoning his shirt.
“Hey,” I say, draining the last bit of my drink. I don’t make a move to undress myself, instead, I just watch him slowly take his shirt off. Watch as he slowly unbuckles his belt. I don’t feel anything when I look at him. Not the way I used to, anyway. I guess it’s been that way for a while.
Honestly, I don’t know why I agreed to let him come here tonight—why I answer his calls at all. I should just tell him I don’t want to do this anymore. But a part of me feels bad because he is the closest thing I have to a friend.
How sad is that? That the closest thing I have to a friend is fucking Garrett Tempest?
“How was your flight?” I ask, making small talk.
I’m stalling and I know it, but I can’t help it.
I feel weird. Maybe it’s the alcohol. Or maybe it’s this dinner and my plan to win my dad over and finally seat myself at the head of this company like I deserve.
Maybe I’m worried something will happen and this whole damn thing will blow up in my face.
Or maybe it’s the fact I can’t stop thinking about Jacob.
Prince Charming. My date for tomorrow.
“Shitty. They ran out of champagne in first class. How do you even do that?” he complains.
He stops when he’s in his underwear, looking at me where I sit.
Standing there in his boxers, underneath the light, he doesn’t look all that different than usual—his dark hair expertly swept back, his broad shoulders hunched over.
The rough facial hair that looks like he hasn’t shaved in a few days and he needs to get on it.
His gaze roves over me, and I don’t miss the way he grabs himself while he takes in the sight.
I look away, sipping my drink. My cock barely twitches, not because Garrett isn’t attractive, but because I’m just not myself tonight.
Coming home always fucks me up. It always puts me in a weird headspace, and this trip being as important as it is, well, I guess it’s not helping matters.
“How about you?” he asks, sauntering over to where I sit. He stands between my legs, gazing down at me with a sour expression. I don’t look at him, and I can hear the bitterness in his voice.
“Aaron,” he bites. I grunt in disdain. “I’m talking to you, asshole.”
I turn to glare at him, meeting his heated gaze. This song and dance is so familiar, I could do it in my sleep. But it’s just white noise. Static. There’s no reaction here like there used to be.
I guess fucking around for twenty years on and off takes its toll.
“I’ve had better,” I murmur, but I make no move to touch him. Instead, he nudges my legs apart and drops between them. I let out a sigh as his hands find my belt, quickly working to unlatch it. I don’t stop him, but it doesn’t mean I feel good about it.
You’ll feel good soon enough. For a little while anyway.
I glance at my phone, noting the time.
“You look like you’re fucking beat,” he says as he unzips my zipper, leaning forward, tugging at my pants to pull them down with my briefs.
“I am. And I have an early meeting, so maybe less small talk, okay?”
“So fucking bossy,” he bites, grabbing my cock in his hand. He squeezes hard.
“What’s the matter, Daddy? Too drunk to get it up tonight?” he taunts me. I shake my head and move to push him off of me, because I’m just not in the mood for his mouth. At least not in this capacity. I was at least entertaining the idea of him sucking my cock, but now…
This was a bad idea, this—
But the minute I move, he takes my semi-hard cock into his mouth and starts going to town on me like this is a business deal that can only be sealed with his tongue.
Fucking hell.
I tense, my eyes falling shut because as much as it pisses me off, it does feel good. His mouth is warm. Wet. And it’s been too long since anyone’s serviced my cock but myself.
Maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s just this event tomorrow, or maybe it’s even Garrett and his whole fucking attitude, but whatever it is, I don’t question it for the moment. I let my mind wander in my scotch haze, and when Jacob’s pretty picture comes up in my thoughts, I groan.
I imagine it’s his perfect mouth wrapped around me, imagine it’s his warm, wet mouth I’m thrusting into, and before I know it, I’m fully erect again.
Garrett’s tongue slides underneath my shaft as he cradles my balls and I thrust into the back of his throat, imagining Jacob’s bright blue eyes staring up at me from between my legs.
Imagine his tongue rolling around my shaft.
I reach for Garrett’s hair with my free hand, sliding my fingers in the locks and gripping them hard.
I hold his head with force as I thrust up into his mouth with one hard motion and my orgasm hits me without warning.
Garrett bristles as I come, clearly not ready for me, judging by the choking sound he’s making, and I let him go. My hand in his hair loosens as my body unravels, as I empty myself in his mouth, and then the guilt hits me like a brick.
Fuck.
I open my eyes, pulling out of his mouth quickly, though I’m not done yet. Garrett brings the back of his hand to his mouth, his heated gaze catching mine and I don’t miss the sizable tent he’s pitching in his boxers.
“Get out,” I say, as stern as I can. If there’s one thing Garrett understands, it’s dominance, for better or worse. At least there we can agree on something.
“But I haven’t had my desserts yet,” he says with a smirk.
I shake my head, growling out, “I said get the fuck out, Garrett.”
He looks up at me from between my legs, then back at my cock, ignoring my command.
“No,” he says, grabbing my cock as he starts to stroke me again.
Normally, I wouldn’t balk at going another round, even after a few drinks—my cock clearly has a mind of its own most days—but tonight, given how I feel, I’m not in the mood.
I could use my safeword, but I’ve never had to use one with Garrett.
Usually the guy responds to my dom tone like butter melts on a hot skillet.
So why is he acting this way now, tonight? It’s not like him.
Usually when I bust out my dom voice, he has no problem picking up what I throw down. Drunk or not.
But tonight, it’s like he’s decided to be someone else and I don’t like it. This isn’t how we operate.
I grab him by the hair and shove him off me, so hard he rolls over onto the floor with a thud.
He should understand that.
I stand, bending to grasp my pants and underwear and shove my soft, wet cock back into my pants as he growls. He looks up at me from his spot on the floor, his eyes glaring at me with disdain. He’s pissed.
Good, be pissed. Get the fuck out of here.
“Go. Now,” I say, looming over him. He scowls as he gets up, looking up at me. I’ve got a few inches on the guy, but he’s not small by any means. And though he’s not as toned or defined as I am, he’s still a big guy who’s more than capable of throwing me around, and he could if he really wanted to.
For a moment, the brutal tension can be felt between us like a living, breathing thing.
“Greedy fucking asshole,” he bites.
“I said get out. Don’t make me make you, ” I growl.
Not that I couldn’t take Garrett on, drunk or not, but I really don’t want to get into a brawl with him right now because he’s being an asshole.
No means no, but I also know Garrett has a bit of a thing for being told no, so there is a chance that he’s reading my resistance all wrong, but he should know me better than that.
He knows if I wanted to start a scene, I’d tell him green.
I haven’t said that word, and he’s not fucking deaf, so I implore his gaze with mine.
“I mean it, Garrett.” I hold his gaze steady, like a challenge. I won’t back down. Not now, not ever.
He rolls his eyes and scoffs before turning away.
“Fuck off, Aaron,” he grunts, giving me a hard shove. I stumble more than I should as he saunters to his clothes and dresses with haste, throwing open the door and slamming it in my face so hard, it echoes through the space. My heart is racing in my chest, my mind a mess.
What just happened?
I make my way to the bed, slowly undressing myself as I go, trying to move on from this fucked up night. I set my alarm for six-thirty before plugging my phone in and tossing it on the nightstand.
When I crash in bed, the darkness welcomes me, and I don’t fight it.