Chapter 10
The birthday party is bullshit, Peter decides, unsure if he’s ever felt more pissed off in his entire life. And he’s got a hell of a lot of pissed-off moments to choose from. And yet, this really might be it.
It was only last night when he and Sebastian were lying in bed together, Peter utterly worn out, with his hole sore and aching and an absolutely ridiculous number of bite marks down his back.
Both he and his gorgeous boyfriend reeked of sex and sweat, sated and warm, and Peter had been certain it was the happiest moment in his entire goddamned life.
He’d been tempted to turn his head and say, marry me, and see what happened. See if somehow his ridiculously gorgeous and too young boyfriend would say yes.
Sebastian had shifted, half-hard cock against Peter’s ass as he licked at Peter’s ear and started talking to him. “I want you to promise me something,” Sebastian said.
The whole evening was so sweet Peter had agreed without thinking, wanting to be good and agreeable and make Sebastian happy. “Anything,” Peter said.
Sebastian had chuckled. “I’ve gone to great effort and expense to make this party perfect for you, Peter. And all I want in return is for you to give it a chance. To just go with it.”
“What if I don’t like it?”
“If I am wrong and you don't like the party, then we will have another one and you will get to plan it. I’ll take out a loan if I have to—“
Peter turned over because that was the issue. “I don’t want anything expensive. This is why I’m worried. The money is irrelevant. I don’t want a thing or an event or—I just want you,” Peter said. He buried his face back in the bed because he was so sick with love that he might start crying.
“Oh, honey. I know. I promise you that I know. I’ve paid attention, Peter. Not just as your lover or your Dominant but as your friend and someone who cherishes you, fucking adores you, and I know I’ve got it right. But what I want from you is almost like scene negotiation.”
That got Peter’s attention. He tried to look over his shoulder. “Go on.”
“I want you to promise me that you’ll stay in character the whole time. No matter what. Remind me who you are.”
Peter took a breath and forced the words out. He hated his character. “I’m a land baron notorious for making shady deals and having more than one business partner wind up dead. Ladies love me and I’m unscrupulous.”
“Exactly. And who am I?” Sebastian asked.
Peter hesitated because shouldn’t Sebastian tell him?
Two fingers sank gently into his loose hole, which was distracting and prompted Peter to answer.
“You’re a poor… um, day laborer looking for a job, desperate for money, maybe desperate enough to kill… oh.” Peter sighed and slid his thigh up the bed, grinding his hardening cock into the damp sheet beneath him.
“Good,” Sebastian agreed and his fingers slid out. He rubbed gently at Peter’s hole. “I love how soft you are, Peter. I love that my come is inside you,” Sebastian said, and Peter nodded in agreement.
“I love it, too,” he said and offered his mouth for a kiss.
“I know you do. And that’s why we’re going to make a deal.
If you’re good for me at this party, if you stay in character the whole time, go along with each bit of additional information and clues, then I’m going to reward you.
But if you don’t go along with your character and show up at this party in the outfit you’re given, then I won’t come in you for a month. We’ll go back to condoms.”
“You’re kidding. That doesn’t even make sense. You can’t hold out for a month!” Peter said confidently.
Sebastian groaned. “God, I probably can’t. Not breeding your hole. Not knowing you’re dripping with my come, feeling how slick and soft you are when I have you bare? I might not be able to do it. Okay, fine. A week.”
“That’s still too long.”
“Just go along with your party and we won’t even have to worry about it. Promise me.”
Peter sighed. “Fine. I promise.”
And now here he is.
Peter is going to break his promise because this is not the fucking plan.
He’s going to get to this fucking party and he is going to shut the whole thing down, hope there is enough alcohol so he can get stupid drunk, and then he’s going to cause a massive scene and get Sebastian to spank him and then fuck him.
This fucking murder mystery party is at a house outside the city. He’s had to leave his car at the gate. No one else is parked at the gate but there was a padlocked fence and no other option. Also there is no goddamn cell reception.
So he can’t call Sebastian and ask him if he’s in the right place. Plus it’s almost dark. And it’s quite cold out and likely to rain.
Where is everyone? He’s been dreading it so much he hasn’t even asked any of his friends if they’re going.
How can there be all these people turning up to his party and not a single one of them is parked outside the gate like he is?
He kicks a rock, which draws his attention back to his absolutely insane shoes.
They’re horrendous. They look like something a clown would’ve worn during the Depression. Scuffed and poorly made.
And his suit, the expensive and custom suit Sebastian had made for Peter so he could be in character has somehow been switched with Sebastian’s outfit, so now he’s in this dumb outfit looking like a dirt-poor day laborer.
As if the person who wore this outfit couldn’t hold down a job and likely had a drinking problem.
The material is unbearably cheap and shiny and it itches.
He only put it on because there’d been a note stuck to the bag that said you promised. Peter is basically wearing the wrong outfit out of spite.
Peter contemplates just sitting down on the road, maybe even screaming, but through the trees he can just make out what might be the house. Thank fucking god, he thinks, and continues to walk.
It starts to rain hard and he wipes at his face.
His arms and shoulders are damp. Water is dripping down the back of his neck by the time the house comes into view.
Well, mansion. Gothic and at least a hundred years old, the house must have ten or fifteen bedrooms. How much did Peter (via Sebastian) pay for this?
It’s quiet and there are only a few lights on.
Is this the right place? It has to be the right place.
Peter walks up to the door and tries to open it but it’s locked.
He’d hoped to sneak in and find a bathroom, get freshened up before he has to be polite and happy.
Maybe pull Sebastian into a bedroom and get sorted out before joining the party.
But he can’t sneak in if the door is locked.
Oh god. Is this supposed to be a surprise party? Wouldn’t he not know if it was?
Is it possible he’s in the wrong place? There still isn’t a car in sight.
He presses his ear to the door, unable to hear anything that sounds like a party.
Fuck. He knocks on the door and it takes a full thirty seconds before someone unlocks and opens the door.
A man who can’t be younger than seventy-five peers out at him with rheumy eyes, holding an honest-to-god fucking candle.
“Can I help you?”
“I’m Peter. I’m here for a party? My party? I think my boyfriend rented this place? Sebastian Craft?”
The man blinks at him. “There is no one here by that name.”
“Fine. Can I use your phone? I have no cell reception. Please.” He manages the word through gritted teeth.
“Let me go and ask the master.”
He closes the door, locks it, and walks away.
What the fuck! Master? Has he time traveled to the eighteen hundreds?
Peter is so beside himself with rage he yanks his tie off. A button pops off, too. Figures.
The door unlocks and cracks open.
“My master is currently engaged, but if you would like to come in and wait, you may.”
“Is this a joke?” Peter asks. “I just need to use the phone. It’s local and it won’t take more than thirty seconds.”
“If you cannot obey the rules, then I cannot invite you inside,” the man says. “You may come in and wait for the master and ask him if you wish to use the phone.”
Peter opens his mouth to protest and then closes it again. “Fine. Whatever you say,” he says and follows him inside. The place is a mansion, dark wood paneling, pictures of long dead people on the walls, the smell of wood polish and dusty books. It’s very, very dark.
He leads Peter through the house into the library. He opens the door and gestures for Peter to go inside. There’s a roaring fire in a stupidly large fireplace and an endless number of books that go from floor to ceiling.
Peter shivers from the wet. “Where is the phone?”
“You must wait for the master,” the man repeats.
“I have somewhere to be. Won’t take more than a moment.”
The man turns and walks out of the room, closing the door behind him.
Bullshit. This whole thing is complete and utter bullshit.