But Abs doesn’t leave us at 3020. He keeps walking us down the corridor despite my Cornish friend’s many protestations of “I got it” and “Don’t worry, mate.”
“Make sure he sleeps on his side,” I hear Abs say from the doorway as I pretend to collapse on the bed. “Also, you both owe me four pounds each for the taxi.”
“Who’s next door to us?” Eggo asks.
After a few seconds Abs says, “Gadget?” My heart trills. I’d forgotten Gadget is our neighbour. He’ll most likely be tucked up in bed and asleep already, meaning we don’t have to worry too much about being overheard.
“Hey, what time does Snatch usually get back?” Abs says.
“Oh, he’ll be one of the last to leave the bar, so you’ll have that room to yourself for a while.” It’s such a sneaky move on Eggo’s part because he knows as well as I do Abs would rather video call Orlando than rub my shoulders as I spew into the night. “Don’t worry, pard, I’ll look after your bestie.”
“Good night, prick,” Abs calls out to me, unable to resist the lure of an empty hotel room.
“See ya tomorrow, cunt,” I reply affectionately.
The door clicks closed and Eggo walks over. I’m sitting on the edge of the bed watching him, not quite sure what I’m supposed to be doing with any of my limbs.
“I’ve been waiting all day for this,” he says, taking my face between his hands and bringing his lips down to meet mine. He pushes me backwards, climbing over me until his full weight presses me down into the mattress. He whines into the back of my throat as he kisses me. My stomach is a solid knot of nervous energy, but I’m so fucking happy right now.
We roll onto our sides, and then roll again so I’m on top of him. It’s desperate and messy. Our teeth clash, fingers get stuck in buttonholes, involuntary moans escape into the dark, lamp-lit room.
“What do you want to do?” he asks. “How far do you want to . . .”
“Uh . . . hand stuff?” I reply.
Eggo laughs, then wets his bottom lip. “Hand stuff is good. I like hand stuff.” He laughs again. He’s grinning his head off, and I’m half wondering if it’s because he’s taking the piss out of me or if he’s just nervous. Or excited. A mix of all three? “I can’t believe this is happening.”
He’s right, it doesn’t feel quite real. I’m not drunk like I was at Halloween, and I’m not in some weird four-hour coach journey fuelled haze like yesterday when we arrived, but I feel as though I’m dreaming. Like I could wake up any second, alone, cold, and naked, with my dick in my hand.
“Are you hard?” he asks.
“Yes. Are you?” I say, even though I know he is. I feel it pressing into my hip.
“Can I see?” That question is hotter than it should be. “Undress for me.”
“Yes, boss.” I stand beside him, pull my tie over my head, and begin unbuttoning my shirt. I undo the button on my pants, unzip them, let them drop to the ground.
“Just FYI, you’re fucking stunning,” Eggo says, still fully clothed on the bed.
I am such a slut for compliments even though I never believe them and always second-guess the motivation behind them—the complimenter’s lying to sweeten me up, they’re making fun of me, they want to see how gullible or stupid or desperate I am. Nevertheless, my heart flutters every time someone directs something nice towards me.
With Eggo it’s different. I actually believe his words, without question, without the internal barter of how deserving I am of them. If he tells me I’m stunning, I must be.
A smile cracks my face while I hook my fingers either side of my undies and slowly pull them down until I’m standing in front of him in only my socks.
He says nothing, only stares at me for a few moments, his eyes travelling down my body and up again. Then he gets to his feet and kisses me. Gently, like he’s savouring it. He’s long since lost his tie, so he unbuttons his shirt and throws it on top of my clothing pile.
Still kissing me, he drops his pants and undies, and pauses to pull off his socks. When he straightens himself back to his full height our cocks brush together.
“Well, this is very rude,” I say.
Eggo laughs. “So rude.” He kisses me again, and I try to memorise the sensation of his body against mine. Firm, and hairy, and damp from being too warm in our suits all evening. He smells of his spiced cologne and a little of Deep Heat.
His hands smooth down my bare back, pausing above my ass. “Can I?”
“Yes.”
Consent granted, he grabs my flesh, pulling me towards him and rocking his hips at the same time. He has goosebumps all over his skin, and before I realise what I’m doing, I reach forward to trace them with my fingertips. Over his shoulders, down his chest, over his hairy belly, and along his pelvic lines. I pause before I get to his cock.
