Then, I show them my hand, covered with cum, sticky lines stretched between my splayed fingers.I lick them clean one by one, savoring the slightly salty taste of my own release.
Inside the room, the man on the bench is standing now, one hand on the taller man's chest.They kiss as if it’s not the first time.As if there’s something soft in it.Something that almost hurts to look at.I know what raw lust sounds like, looks like.But this… this isfamiliarity.The way their bodies move together, hips brushing, mouths slow, like the edge has already dulled and now they’re sinking into each other instead of just taking.
I think of what it might be like to be wanted that way.Not justused.Not justseen.But claimed.
And then I move on, leaving the hallway behind, my pulse thrumming.
The night is just getting started.
2EPISODE 2
By two a.m., the bathhouse is quieter.Not empty, but hushed, like the building itself has exhaled.The late-night regulars linger in the corners.Fewer new faces.Fewer rules.
My hands move on autopilot as I fold towels behind the counter.I can’t stop thinking about Room 6.About how that kiss looked like it meant something.
“Hey.”
The voice is low.Familiar.
I glance up.It’shim.
He’s been in before, maybe three or four times.I’ve watched him, the way I watch everyone.But he’s different.Not flashy.He doesn’t cruise much.Mostly, he stays to the steam room.Alone.
He leans on the counter, bending his head close.Still damp from the sauna, his olive skin is flushed, and his hair curls at the temples.His towel hangs loose around his hips, casual, but not careless.Just enough to hint at dark pubes and a flat stomach.
“I’ve seen you watching,” he says.
I freeze, and my stomach flips.
He doesn’t smile.Just holds my gaze.Direct.Not cruel, not mocking.Just...certain.
“I don’t mind,” he adds.“But I figured it’s my turn.”
My breath catches.“Your turn?”
“To watch.”
He lets it hang there, then glances down—at the counter, at my hands, at the slow flush creeping up my throat.My face feels hot, not with shame, but excitement.
“Come on,” he says.“No one’s using Room 9.”
He doesn’t wait for an answer.Just pushes off the counter and walks away without looking back.
But he knows I’ll follow.
And I do.How could I not?That commanding voice, his presence, the Dom in him coming forth.
Yeah, right behind you, sir.
I follow, but not fast.My steps are deliberate.Like if I walk too quickly, it means something.Like I’ve already said yes.
Which I have, but he doesn’t need to know that.
Room 9 is at the far end of the hallway, past the spa pool and the dim blue light of the shower stalls.He walks ahead of me, his gait easy, towel still clinging to his hips like it has permission.He doesn’t look back, but I’m dying to glimpse the heat in his dark eyes.
But I know he’s aware of me.He moves like someone who knows he’s being watched—and likes it.
My chest is tight.This isn’t how it goes.I watch.Idon’tget watched.
