That brings me to now, reclining on the bed, feeling sorry for myself because I ate way too damn much.
The television is on, the volume low, as Brooks sits beside me. When he got back from brunch or whatever event they had earlier, he stripped out of his suit straight down to his boxers.
He didn’t make eye contact or lean over me again. We’ve spent a good part of the day just hanging out, conversation at a minimum, and he hasn’t once mentioned last night.
The air around us is the same as it has been back at my house, and I have to wonder if I’m the only one who feels the electrical charge floating around the room, urging me to close the distance between the two of us.
“I have to go to the bachelor party,” Brooks says with a groan as he climbs off the bed.
I watch as he stretches, the long, lean lines of his back making my mouth water.
We didn’t do nearly enough last night, but I only have myself to blame. I don’t know if it was the comedown from the adrenaline or the out-of-this-fucking-world orgasms, but I couldn’t keep my eyes open for long after he lay down beside me.
“That is a fabulous idea. Do you think I have time to have a wardrobe delivered?” I ask as I jump off the bed. I know what he’s going to say just by the look in his eyes. “You don’t want me to go?”
“I don’t think it would be fair for a rock star to show up and steal Spencer’s thunder.”
It makes sense, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.
“Wouldn’t people enjoy the memory of partying with a famous person on such a special night?”
He grabs his phone from the bedside table. “I’ll text and ask.”
“You know what? Never mind. I’m pretty tired anyway.”
“You’re sure?” he says, a little too quick to agree.
“Yeah. I think I’ll just head home.” It’s clear I’ve worn out my welcome even though Brooks hasn’t said as much.
“What? No. I want you here when I get back.”
I scoff, sure that he’s just trying to ease the sting of refusing to let me tag along with his friends.
“Archer?” He’s right in front of me now, his finger lifting my chin until I meet his eyes. “Don’t you want to know what whiskey tastes like on my lips?”
Goddamn these jeans for being in the way.
“We can order room service,” I offer. “I can lick it off every inch of your body.”
His eyes dart to my mouth as if he’s trying to determine whether I’m lying.
“I can’t miss it, but I’ll try to get back as quickly as I can. Are you sure you’re okay with waiting? I don’t want to presume—”
“I’ll be here,” I assure him, pressing a quick kiss to his lips.
He grins down at me for a second before he pulls me closer and gives me more than one reason to wait all night for him if I have to.
***
“What the fuck are you doing?” Brooks snaps when he walks into the room.
He shoves the door closed behind him as quickly as he can manage.
“Pregaming,” I tell him, my hand steadily stroking up and down my dick.
“You’re fucking crazy. You know that, right?”
I would answer, but he’s wasting no time stripping out of his clothes. I sit back and enjoy the show. It’s easy to see he’s a little buzzed, but he doesn’t fall over, even when he forgets to pull his cufflinks off before shrugging off his shirt.
He works to untangle himself, and being the gentleman that I am, I laugh at his predicament.
“A little fucking help?” he growls.
I climb off the bed, my hard cock leading the way to him.
“Eager?” I ask as I reach under the fabric and remove one cufflink before moving to the next.
“Kind of hoping you didn’t use lotion or lube on your dick. I’m not really looking forward to the taste.”
“I was dry stroking, but it wouldn’t matter if I did. I don’t want your mouth on my cock tonight.”
His face falls. “Really?”
I shake my head.
“As much as I thoroughly enjoyed watching you jack off before, I have to say I was looking forward to a little more than that tonight.”
“Me too,” I say, stepping back and dropping his cufflinks on top of the dresser. “That’s why I want you to fuck me.”
He freezes, his eyes wobbling a little before they catch up with his lack of movement.
“How much have you had to drink?”
“Not enough.”
I tilt my head. “If you need to be drunk to fuc—”
“I’m going to come in five seconds,” he counters. “Maybe three. I need to be drunker to last longer.”
“Maybe not.” I reach for his belt. “And if you do, then we can just start all over.”
“Make that two seconds,” he says on a groan when I wrap my hand around his cock.