“You’re not going to take no for an answer, are you?” I sigh.
“No,” he says with a smug self-assured smile that I don’t even have the energy to be annoyed about. I flop back down onto the bed and crawl my way up until my head’s on the pillow. The last thing I remember is him tucking the duvet around me.
I jump as my alarm rings loudly, pulling me out of my deep sleep. It takes me a second to orient myself. I’m not in my room and my phone isn’t on the dresser beside me. The memory of last night comes back to me, and I smile when I think that I actually stayed, though the reality of having to sneak out unnoticed this morning hits me a second later. I sigh, pulling myself out of bed and padding over to the chair where I left my clothes. I shut off the alarm and stare bleary-eyed at the time. I didn’t set my alarm last night, so it’s not four-thirty, but it is five. I have a first alarm at five, and then one at five fifteen that I usually get up for. For the breakfast shift I’m usually in the kitchen before six, which doesn’t give me a lot of time to get over to my room for clean clothes. I consider getting dressed and leaving straight away, but I still need to shower, and I’ll bet the one here is better than the one I have. First I walk over to the bed. Andrés is still asleep, his breaths deep and even. I drink in the sight of him for a few seconds, his dark lashes against his cheek showing his beauty.
I turn on the shower and once it’s steaming nicely I step under the hot spray, luxuriating in the warm water running over my skin. I hear the door of the shower open and Andrés steps in.
“Did you think you were going to slip out without saying goodbye?” he asks, squirting some shower gel into his hand. He works it into a lather and runs his hand over my chest. I take his cue and lather my hands, washing him too.
“You were asleep. I didn’t want to disturb you.”
“I told you, I’m usually up early. But it’s not four thirty, so someone was lying.”
“I’m going to be late.” I shrug but give him a grin, and he shakes his head, chuckling. He runs his hand over my arse, down my crease, and I wince.
“Sorry,” he says softly.
“It’s fine. It’s just had more action in the last two nights than it’s had for a long time. But I’m not regretting it.”
“It seems I’ve been hurting you even more. Sorry again.” He runs his fingers lightly over the marks still on my hips from the night before.
“Again, not regretting it,” I say, and I don’t. I can barely feel them and they were certainly worth it.
“What’s this?” He traces the tattoo on my hip.
It’s a chef’s knife with lacing coming from the handle, like ribbon, that circles the blade intertwined with a few leaves of different herbs.
“I had it done when I won my first competition at college. A reminder of what I can achieve.”
“I like it, and I’m sure you can achieve anything you want,” he says as he continues to lather my chest. I run my hands down his body and spread soap suds along his half-mast dick. It hardens in my hand and he leans back against the wall as I give it a few long lazy strokes. My own cock perks up and I step closer to him. I wrap my hand around us both and he hums contentedly as I shuttle my hand faster, tightening my grip. He tips his head back, his eyes closed as I bring us both closer to the edge, then his hips jerk violently as he comes, painting my chest with cum.I follow a second later, adding to the mess. As I release us both he opens his eyes and takes in the sight of me covered in our combined jizz.
“Good with a piping bag, eh?” he laughs.
“I don’t hear any complaints,” I quip back.
“Nope, none at all,” he says softly, and he reaches for more shower gel and helps me clean up.
Once out of the shower, I dry myself quickly and pull my clothes on. I have just enough time to get back to my room and pull on something clean before making it to the kitchens. Andrés walks round his suite tidying up, his towel slung low on his hips—a delectable sight.
“Thank you again,” I say, poised by the door and ready to leave.
“Yes, thank you too, Simon,” he says coming over. It seems a bit strange to say thank you the morning after a hookup, which is why leaving the night before is less awkward. His dark beauty fuels something in me and I want to kiss him; I might not get the chance again. I lean in, wanting to capture a taste of his lips, and I see his eyes lower. Then suddenly he pulls back and turns his head away.
“What did I do wrong?” I demand, the frustration at being rejected stinging me.
“Nothing.” His voice is dark. “I never kiss hookups; that’s rule number one. I’ve already broken my other rule for you, of never returning for more.”
“Oh, well. Bye, then,” I say bitterly and wrench the door open.
“Simon,” he says, but I ignore him, and shut the door behind me. I walk quickly down the corridor to the elevator, the rejection still hurting like a knife to the chest. It fades as I exit on the ground floor and head to my room; an idea is already forming. He’s already broken one rule for me, so I’m going to do everything I can to make him break the other one.
CHAPTER SIX
ANDRÉS’
“Che boludo, más ayuda el que no estorba.”
Jorge’s sarcasm, telling me I’d be more helpful if I didn’t stand in his way, jolts me into movement. I laugh and step aside, letting him continue sweeping out the stall. It’s not the first time I’ve drifted off this morning either, but the look in Simon’s eyes as he left my room keeps haunting me. I’d stood staring at the door for several minutes, then, deciding I couldn’t go back to bed as I’d have to get up in an hour anyway, I thought I’d come early to help Jorge out instead. It’s not unusual for me to clean the stalls, I’ve spent my whole life looking after horses, and with only Jorge here with me in Aspen, it’s a lot of work for one. But I’m not usually so useless. Never, in fact. Well, except for that one time when the after-tournament party went on all night and I thought I’d help. I’d had no sleep, was still in my tuxedo, and was much the worse for drink. But that was when I was eighteen and it was my first major tournament; I’ve learned a lot since then. Jorge was pretty sarcastic to me then as well, and he gaveme a thorough telling off for being drunk around the horses. But he did also make sure I got back to my room safely to sleep it off. We get on well together and I can take his jibes. Some people don’t like his caustic manner, but I do. Plus, he’s taught me a lot over the years and has never brought that night up again. He keeps giving me concerned glances as he works, though, and that disturbs me more. I sigh and give up trying to help. Instead, I go in search of some breakfast.
