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If this was what happened when he was annoying, Rafayel was going to become the most annoying man on earth. One minute he had been flirting with you out at the reception for his latest showing, really playing it up, pretending to be a stranger trying to pick you up and teasing you when you got flustered; the next, you were crowding him into a storage closet down the hall, the laughter and chatter of the party still echoing, far too close for any real privacy.
He laughed, breathless, watching your irritated expression as you slammed the door shut behind you, spun the two of you around, and pressed his back up against it, leaning into his space. Oh, his Miss Bodyguard was strong, and he did love to be reminded of it.
You leaned up into his face, and practically hissed, "Thomas said you weren't allowed to disappear from your receptions anymore, and you weren't allowed to ignore everybody to follow me around the whole night. You said you were going to be good!"
He slid his hands admiringly over your hips, your waist, up to your shoulders, your arms where they bracketed his head. "Oh, I'm planning to be good if you just give me the chance, cutie," he drawled.
You scoffed and rolled your eyes, but he could see the twitch of genuine amusement at the edges of your mouth. Success. "You know that's not what I meant. Now, can you keep your hands to yourself so we can go back out there, or do I need to teach you a lesson?"
He grinned at you, delighted, and he could see you fight to not return it. He let his hands trail back down your arms, your sides, relishing the way you tried to hide a shiver. "Oh, please, teach me a lesson. I'll never learn it on my own." He was batting his eyes at you, slouching down against the door so he could look up into your face (and so his hips and stomach could brush against yours, even a little, why were you standing so far away?).
A hint of your smile peaked through, and he thrilled, breath coming short when you leaned in closer, your hand coming up to his chin to hold him in place. You looked at him, close and dark, and then dropped your eyes down to his mouth, seeing his lips still smiling, but now also open and huffing out shallow breaths. You leaned in, and he stopped breathing, and then you pulled his bottom lip between your teeth and tugged. A weak moan forced its way out of his throat. His slouch against the door wasn't a cutesy act anymore; he could feel his legs going weak.
The truth is, he hadn't been trying to be annoying out in the party. But he'd seen you come out of the bedroom in your formal wear, and watched you slip into your bodyguard persona, ushering him here and there and scaring off all the paparazzi, staring down anyone who approached him in a way that was downright possessive, and he'd thought he was going to go crazy if he couldn't find an excuse to touch you before the night was over. So he'd been trying anything he could think of, and eventually that turned into using every over-the-top pick-up line he could think of on you.
And thank god he had, because now you were pressing up close against him, body flush with his, kissing him hot and heavy. His hands were tugging at you, needing you closer, closer, always closer, his mouth moving frenzied against yours, his breath coming fast, but you stayed your pace, keeping him right where you wanted him. When you slid a leg between his, pressing your thigh against him where he'd been hard and needy since before the party even began, he practically whimpered, head falling forward onto your shoulder with a shivery sigh. He felt you laugh at him, and felt himself twitch, hard, in response. You set to kissing his neck, grinding your leg against him, and he was clutching at your back, your shoulders, anything he could reach. Then you slid a hand down his side, over his hips, and around to his belt.
Before he could think, you went from all over him, warm and soft and pressing him against the door, overwhelming all of his senses, to being gone. In his addled state, it took him a bewildering second to realize that you hadn't backed off - you were sinking down to your knees, trailing one hand down his chest while the other was at work undoing his belt. You stared up at him, smug and deceptively calm despite the heat high in your cheeks, and he was completely powerless against you. He couldn't look away.
You pulled his pants down around his hips, never breaking eye contact, and wrapped a warm, soft hand around his cock. He realized with a start that he wasn't just achingly hard; he was leaking, shiny and red and oh good god you were leaning in and your tongue was out and your mouth was open and-
You pressed a kiss to his hip bone. You tucked him back into his underwear. You were setting about tugging back up his pants. He was staring at you, panting raggedly, mouth hanging open.
"C-cutie?" His voice was a broken rasp.
You smiled up at him innocently.
"Yes?"
"Cutie, what are you-"
"Oh, I thought I said!" You sounded cheerful. You tilted your head to the side, staring him down while you effortlessly redid his belt. "I'm teaching you a lesson!"
He had a split second to process what you'd said, and then he was on his knees beside you, clinging to you, desperate and still struggling to breathe and oh god he was so hard that every brush of fabric against his cock was torture.
"Cutie, please, I'll die out there, I'll die."
You patted the top of his head, mocking. "There, there. Poor baby."
He laughed despite himself, clutching at your hands, and gave you the best puppy dog eyes he'd ever managed in his life.
"Please, cutie, I'll never do it again, I'll go to every showing, I'll go to every party, I'll even let Thomas schedule me an interview, please-"
The grin spread back across your face, and he heard the beep of a recording ending. His eyes blew wide as you held up your phone. Somewhere in his litany of pleas, you'd started recording, and now you had hard proof of him promising to - oh, no, what had he promised - and he was opening his mouth to complain, to cry dramatically about betrayal from the one he loves most, to honest-to-god say "woe is me" - and then you leaned back in and kissed him again, and every thought fled his mind.
You whispered against his lips, "Stand back up, fish boy; this closet is too small for both of us to be down here and I still need to make you come."
He felt the air leave his lungs in a rush, and scrambled back up to standing on weak, wobbly legs. You laughed at him again, and, again, he felt himself twitch, and then you were unbuckling his belt once more, tsking at the mess he'd made leaking into his pants when you put him away, and he was threading his fingers into your hair, and you were pressing open, messy kisses to the head of his cock.
He jolted, head slamming back against the door behind him, and you pulled back to ask if he was okay, a sliver of concern shining through even as you fought back a smile, and oh god your lips were shiny and slick with your spit and his precum. He garbled out something along the lines of, "I'll never be okay again, please, cutie, please, plea-" before you stopped teasing and let his cock sink into your mouth, sliding along your tongue, velvety and so hot he thought he was going to melt.
He practically doubled over you, and when you started moving he knew he was babbling, whimpering, being altogether embarrassing and far too loud, but he couldn't be bothered to care. Your tongue, god, your tongue, and your lips, and your soft mouth, and the way your hands wrapped around his legs and pulled him closer to you, pulled him further down your throat. His hands were buried in your hair now, not pulling, but just desperate for something to hold on to, and you were bobbing your head along his length, and he could barely pull down a breath.
You, in your formal attire, with your beautiful face, your capable hands, your clever mouth, you were the only thing he could focus on, and he was about to spill down your throat. He tried to tell you, tried to tap your arm, to gasp out a warning, but you just hummed, the vibration of your voice sending a shiver up his spine, and took him deeper.
You pressed forward and buried his cock down your throat, let him feel all the burning hot softness of you, and you hollowed out your cheeks and swallowed around him, and he was a goner.
He cried out, a broken, desperate moan, and he was sure the whole reception would have heard him, and he bucked into your mouth, just barely, heard you gag around him but he hadn't been able to stop himself while he was spilling cum across your tongue. He felt, heard, saw you swallow it down, and his cock give one more sensitive, exhausted twitch.
He shuddered and shook and could barely keep himself upright as you tucked his still-sensitive cock away and straightened up his suit. He was dimly aware of you wiping your mouth on your sleeve - fuck - and fixing your hair, getting back to your feet, and then you were running your hands soothingly over his shoulders, his arms, his back while he tried to get his legs to hold his weight properly again. He thought he should be taking care of you, checking you over, but you, despite taking his cock down your throat just minutes ago, looked effortlessly put-together. Your hair was a little messy still, your makeup a little smudged, but you were beautiful, and you were smiling at him, and you were leaning forwards to kiss him gently as he got his breath back.
"Ready to go back to the party?" you murmured against his lips.
"Give me just... 10 more minutes," he breathed, and spun the two of you around, this time with you crowded up against the closet door. You laughed, and he leaned in to kiss you.