Green Enterprise Summit Pt. 1

Your head bobbed rhythmically in Vincent’s lap, his shallow breaths and quiet groans filling the confined space of the car. The summit venue loomed ahead, just beyond the parking lot, its sleek, modern architecture a sharp contrast to the debasing act unfolding in the passenger seat.

You closed your eyes, focusing on the task, and tried not to think about where you were or what you were doing. The faint peppermint flavor of the Forget-Me-Mint lingered on your tongue, its promise of erasure your only solace. How did it come to this?

You’d spent over an hour getting ready, carefully curating every detail. This summit wasn’t just another event; it was your next move, your chance to see Richard Solano again and, if luck was on your side, advance Aphrodite’s damn trial.

You chose the rich burgundy gown, one of your most elegant yet understated pieces, with a plunging neckline and a floor-length skirt that subtly hugged your feminine curves. The color complemented your soft complexion, while the fabric’s smooth flow gave you an air of effortless sophistication. Underneath, you wore a black strapless bra that provided just enough lift to enhance your shape and matching panties that hugged your hips comfortably. You slipped on your gold metallic heels, their shine catching the light in a way that promised just the right amount of attention.

Your makeup struck a perfect balance—sexy, but not overwhelming. You’d opted for a warm smoky eye with hints of bronze and gold to accentuate your hazel eyes, a soft contour that defined your cheekbones, and a bold red lip that tied the whole look together. A spritz of jasmine-scented perfume completed the ensemble, subtle yet alluring.

The black satin clutch you carried held the essentials: your phone, a tube of lipstick for touch-ups, and, of course, the tin of Forget-Me-Mints.

When Vincent arrived outside your dorm in his sleek, dark car, he greeted you with his usual cocky grin, his eyes roving over your form appreciatively.

“Damn, Luna. You really know how to make a guy feel underdressed,” he teased as you slid into the passenger seat.

You rolled your eyes but allowed a small smile to grace your lips. “Someone’s got to look good tonight.”

The car pulled away, and the conversation started light—compliments about your outfit, questions about the summit—but it wasn’t long before Vincent’s tone turned suggestive.

“So,” he said, one hand on the wheel, the other drumming lightly on the center console, “you planning to make all the guys at this summit drool over you, or is this show just for me?”

You laughed softly, leaning back in your seat. “Let’s just say I like to keep my options open.”

Vincent chuckled, his eyes flicking to you briefly before returning to the road. “Well, if you’re offering, I wouldn’t mind a private performance.”

The suggestive comment hung in the air, and you felt the familiar mix of annoyance and resignation settle over you. You reached into your clutch, pulling out the tin of Forget-Me-Mints and popping one into your mouth.

“Mint?” you offered, your tone light.

“Nah, I’m good,” Vincent replied, his smirk deepening. “You’re sweet enough.”

You **** a chuckle, tucking the tin away. The peppermint taste spread across your tongue, a reminder that whatever happened next, you wouldn’t have to carry the memory.

Vincent’s hand rested on the back of your head, his fingers threading gently through your hair. “God, you’re good at this,” he muttered, his voice heavy with pleasure.

You **** yourself to hum in response, knowing it would send vibrations through him, and felt him shudder beneath you.

Your mind drifted to the summit ahead, to Richard Solano. Would he even remember you from the last gala? Would all this effort, this humiliation, pay off?

As Vincent’s breaths quickened, you focused on the tin’s promise: an hour from now, this would be gone.

The air inside Vincent’s car grew thick, heavy with the heat of your movements and the scent of his cologne. The quiet hum of the idling engine was a dull backdrop to the soft, rhythmic sounds of your lips sliding along him, each motion accompanied by faint, wet noises.

Your head bobbed steadily, each downward motion punctuated by the soft, sticky sound of saliva coating him. The taste lingered on your tongue—a mix of salt and musk—overpowering the faint minty aftertaste that had initially lingered from the Forget-Me-Mint.

“Mmm…” you let out a small, involuntary sound as your tongue glided along the underside of him, the vibration eliciting a sharp intake of breath from Vincent. His reaction was immediate; his fingers tightened slightly in your hair, not pulling but holding, as though staking a claim.

“God,” he muttered, his voice strained, “that feels so good.”

You didn’t reply, couldn’t reply. Your lips formed a tight seal as you took him in deeper, the warmth of him filling your mouth. A thin string of saliva dripped from the corner of your lips, pooling at the edge of your chin before falling onto his lap. You could feel the dampness on your skin, a sticky reminder of the degrading intimacy of the moment.

The leather seats beneath you creaked faintly as you adjusted your position, your knees protesting the hard press of the center console against them. Each movement brought another wet, sucking sound, the noise amplified in the close confines of the car.

“Mmmph,” you murmured again, the sound muffled as you moved faster, your tongue swirling around him. The soft, slick texture of saliva mingled with the natural saltiness of his skin, the taste coating your tongue and making your stomach churn. You pushed the discomfort down, focusing instead on the rhythm you had established.

Vincent let out a low groan, his hand shifting to cradle the back of your head. His touch was firm but not forceful, guiding rather than demanding. “You’ve got no idea how good you are at this,” he said, his voice heavy with satisfaction.

You wanted to scoff, to roll your eyes at his arrogance, but instead, you hummed again, the vibration sending another shiver through him. The sound was soft, a mix of feigned enthusiasm and the real physical effort of keeping the rhythm.

The saliva built up with each motion, slipping past your lips and onto him, creating a slick, glossy sheen that caught the dim light filtering through the car windows. Each time you pulled back, a thin strand of spit connected you, stretching before breaking and dripping down. The sound of it—wet and sticky—echoed in the small space, mingling with Vincent’s shallow breaths.

“Yeah… just like that,” he murmured, his free hand gripping the steering wheel as though anchoring himself.

You glanced up briefly, your eyes meeting his. His gaze was half-lidded, his lips parted in a self-satisfied smirk. You quickly looked away, focusing on the task at hand.

The faint scent of leather mixed with the musk of his cologne, an intoxicating combination that made the car feel stifling. Your breaths came in short, shallow bursts through your nose, the effort of maintaining the pace leaving you slightly winded.

“Mmmph,” you groaned softly, the sound half-frustrated and half-resigned. The weight of the situation bore down on you, each movement a reminder of what you were doing and why.

Saliva dripped down your chin again, a warm, sticky trail that you could feel against your skin. You ignored it, focusing instead on the rhythm, on the wet, sucking sounds that filled the car.

Vincent shifted slightly, spreading his legs further to give you more room. His movements jostled you slightly, forcing you to readjust your grip on his thighs. “Take your time,” he said, his tone laced with amusement. “We’re not in a rush.”

You bit back the urge to snap at him, instead letting out another soft, vibrating hum as you moved faster. The sounds grew louder, more obscene, as the saliva pooled at the back of your throat, threatening to **** you. You swallowed hard, forcing it down, the motion creating another slick, sucking noise that made Vincent groan.

“God, you’re so damn good at this,” he muttered, his voice rough with pleasure.

The words grated against your nerves, but you buried the irritation, focusing instead on the task. Each downward motion was met with a wet, smacking sound as your lips met the base of him, saliva smearing against your skin and his.

Your knees ached, the awkward position pressing uncomfortably against the hard center console, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop. This was survival, a calculated sacrifice to ensure your place at the summit and your tenuous grip on the trials.

“Mmm,” you murmured again, the sound almost instinctive now, a blend of effort and distraction. You could feel the Forget-Me-Mint taking hold, a faint numbness creeping into your mind. Soon, you hoped, this would all fade into oblivion.

Vincent let out another groan, his body tensing slightly as you continued. “Take your time,” he said again, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “I’m enjoying every second.”

You clung to the rhythm, the wet, sticky sounds and the slick texture of saliva your constant companions. The minutes stretched on, each second an eternity as you endured, hoping the mint would work and this memory would be nothing but a void.

The final moments came with a shuddered groan from Vincent, his hand tightening in your hair as his body tensed. You felt the salty, bitter warmth coat your tongue, the taste making you instinctively suppress a grimace. Without hesitation, you swallowed, the action starting to become automatic, even if every fiber of your being loathed it.

You sat back slowly, letting out a small exhale through your nose as you licked your lips clean of any lingering traces. The car was silent save for the sound of Vincent catching his breath.

“Damn,” Vincent muttered, a self-satisfied smirk spreading across his face. “You really are something else.”

You **** a flirtatious smile, reaching into a pack of tissues. Grabbing one, you leaned toward the sunshade mirror, flipping it down with a flick of your fingers. The small light illuminated your face, revealing the smudged remnants of your lipstick and the faint sheen of sweat on your forehead.

Carefully, you dabbed at the corners of your mouth and chin, removing the sticky saliva without disturbing the rest of your makeup. The foundation you’d painstakingly applied earlier remained intact, though the faintest hint of your natural skin tone peeked through. You dampened another tissue to blot away the moisture on your forehead, restoring the flawless, matte finish you’d started with.

Vincent, meanwhile, was rambling on about the summit. “It’s gonna be a great opportunity,” he said, his voice casual as he adjusted himself. “Richard’s got some big players showing up. You’ll charm the hell out of them, no doubt.”

“Of course I will,” you replied, your tone breezy yet laced with subtle allure. “I don’t think I’ve disappointed you yet, have I?”

He chuckled, glancing at you with a smug grin. “Not once.”

Satisfied with your touch-ups, you reached into your clutch and pulled out the lipstick. Its sleek tube gleamed under the dim light, the name “Seduction Red” embossed on its side. With precise strokes, you reapplied the color, starting at the center of your bottom lip and working outward, then repeating for the top. A final press of your lips together blended it perfectly, restoring the bold, seductive look that had been part of your ensemble.

“Flawless,” you murmured to yourself, giving your reflection a final glance before snapping the sunshade shut.

Vincent reached for the door handle, clearly ready to make his grand entrance. But you stopped him with a light touch on his arm. “Wait,” you said, your voice soft yet pointed, your tone walking that delicate line between flirtation and business.

He paused, raising an eyebrow. “What’s up?”

“Well,” you began, tracing a finger along the neckline of your dress, “I’m sure you’d agree that… good work deserves recognition.”

Vincent stared at you for a moment, his smirk growing wider as the meaning sank in. “Oh, I see how it is,” he said, pulling out his wallet.

You watched as he flipped it open and began counting out bills, his fingers moving with maddening slowness. One bill. Two bills. Three. Your eyes twitched as he meticulously stacked them, pausing occasionally as if unsure of his math.

It was both amusing and irritating, the entire process taking far longer than it needed to. Finally, he held the stack of twenties in his hand, rifling through them one last time for good measure.

“Two-fifty,” he declared, holding the cash out.

You reached for it, but he pulled back with a teasing grin. “Ah, ah,” he said, leaning closer. “I’ll take care of it.”

Before you could protest, he slipped the bills into your cleavage, sliding them into the snug cups of your dress with deliberate care. His fingers brushed your breast briefly, sending a shiver through you that you suppressed with practiced ease.

“There,” he said, sitting back with a satisfied expression.

You adjusted the placement subtly, shifting the money so it wasn’t glaringly obvious. “You’re such a gentleman,” you teased, your voice dripping with irony.

Vincent laughed as he opened his door and stepped out. You followed, smoothing the skirt of your burgundy dress as you adjusted to the cool evening air. The pair of you made your way toward the venue, his arm slipping around yours as he guided you up the steps.

The grand entrance of the Green Enterprise Summit loomed ahead, the polished marble steps and glittering chandeliers visible through the tall glass doors. Your heels clicked against the stone, each step resonating with a mix of confidence and dread.

This was survival. This was necessity. And you would endure.