“I was going to get a taxi home.”
He whistles. “That’ll cost a fair bit, won’t it?”
I shrug.
He checks his watch. “You might want to call one soon. The price goes up after midnight.”
I wince. He’s right. But it’ll still be cheaper than the price of a room here. Besides, having to call a taxi was supposed to give me an out so I didn’t have to stay too long. I could have used that excuse to leave an hour ago. Only I didn’t. I lingered and watched Archer from across the room. He is so sexy in that suit. The way his shirt pulls across his chest makes my mouth water. I want to grab his tie and pull him close for a kiss.
What the fuck is wrong with me? Anyone would think my drink had been spiked with Viagra.
“My room is this way.” Archer gestures with his thumb.
“Right.”
“I’ll see you around. Mum and Barry will probably insist on us spendingsometime together. But I’ll try and get out of it as often as possible.”
My stomach dips. “Me too.” Is that what I want? Is that what he wants?
I don’t move my hand so the doors can close. Archer doesn’t walk away.
“If you can’t get a taxi to come out here, you could always ask reception if they have spare rooms. Mum said they’d had several cancellations after the wedding that was supposed to take place today got called off. I know their guests have taken some of them, but one or two must be left. You might even get a hefty discount, considering the room would be empty otherwise.” Archer fiddles with his tie.
My knees go weak. “Good idea.” Is my voice breathy?
“In which case, I might see you at breakfast.” He waves the balloon sword.
My mind wanders to hisother sword, as he put it. Who the fuck came up with that ridiculous euphemism? I clear my throat, hoping to keep his attention on my face rather than my groin, and adjust my trousers to compensate for my hardening dick.
“Good night,” Archer says.
My brain tells me to let him go. My tingling body screams at me to follow him to his room, pull his trousers and pants down, bend him over the bed, or a chair, or whatever is closest, and fuck him into oblivion. God, he’d look so sexy, bent over, wearing a jacket, shirt, and tie, with his smart trousers pooling around his ankles, his pert arse on show, his pretty hole glistening with lube, ready for me to pound him. I bite my tongue to stop myself whimpering or, worse, groaning. Why can’t I stop thinking sexy thoughts about him?
It was the same the other night at the bar. I kept telling myself I couldn’t have him because he was too young. But I gave in anyway. No. This is worse. I’ve had him. I know how amazing his lips and tongue are. I know how hot and tight his arse is. I know how much his filthy mouth turns me on. All that knowledge intensifies my lust, ramping it up. I’m a tightly coiled spring, desperate for release, preferably inside him.
“Night.” My voice is halfway between gruff and squeaky.
He curls his lips into an amused smile and takes a step away from the lift.
I don’t want him to go.
I lean out of the lift, grab his tie, and drag him until our mouths collide. He grips my arm and moves his lips hungrily, caressing my tongue with his. I respond in kind, devouring him like it’s the last time I’ll get the chance. It probably is. We shouldn’t be doing this.
I let him go. His eyes are wide and wild, his lips swollen. I glance down. His cock tents his trousers. So does mine. Fuck. I tug the balloon sword from his grasp and use it to hide my erection. I release the lift door and step back, pulling my arm away. The doors slide shut.
I exhale, slump against the back wall of the lift, and raise my fingers to my damp lips. What have I done?
I’ve never whacked off in a public toilet, but fuck, do I need the release now. I stand in the stall, rubbing one out, freezing and holding my breath every time the main door whines open. How many men have to piss? It should be a total turn-off, but my cock refuses to go limp. Thoughts of fucking Archer brings me to the point of release. I clean myself with toilet paper, tuck my cock into my underpants, and ridiculous balloon sword in hand, brave returning to the reception room. I need to show my face, if only for a few minutes. I sit at a table and use an app to request a taxi. The price makes me groan, as does the twenty-minute wait time. I still hit Accept.
Dad joins me five minutes into my wait. “Molly thinks you upset Archer, which means she’s upset.”
“We had a minor disagreement. I apologised. It’s not a big deal.”
“Where is he?”
“He said he was tired and was going to his room.” I hate lying to him, but I can’t tell him the truth.
Then again, Dad must be the king of liars. How long did he lie to Mum before she caught him and Molly in the act?
