glass. But Kyle was right. It had to be one-way. In all of his visits to Vegas, Bryce had never been able to look into a hotel window, had he? Not on the strip, he hadn't. Not after he'd come into money.
There was a discreet chime. The champagne and caviar. Bryce found a black hundred-dollar chip in his pocket and went to the front door. "I'll roll the cart inside myself," he said as he thrust the chip into the butler's hands.
"Very good, sir. Thank you, sir. Please feel free to call me at any time day or night if you need something else, sir. Anything else, sir."
If that was the man's way of suggesting he could fetch safe sex supplies, it wasn't necessary. Bryce had been single a long time. Rubbers and lube were always the first items packed in his traveling bag. He shut the door, double-checked the deadbolt, and then rolled the cart into the great room.
"Champagne," Kyle said.
"I'm going to lick it off your body," Bryce said.
"If it's a good enough vintage, I'll lick it off yours."
"High-maintenance, are we?"
"Fuck yeah, mate. No cheap plonk for me. You wouldn't respect me in the morning, innit?" Kyle hefted the bottle to inspect the label.
But they didn't drink right away. Experienced Vegas drink hustler or not, Kyle knew how to set his priorities. He put the bottle back in the silver bucket so he could press Bryce roughly against the window glass.
Bryce wasn't used to being handled so casually. Not since he'd come into money. Fuck. Maybe not since... ever.
But Kyle had a careless confidence in the way he positioned him against the long expanse of sky. Forty-six stories was a long way down. Bryce told himself he shouldn't be aroused by the fantasy of danger-fucking in the window but he couldn't help it.
Taking off Kyle's painted-on jeans was even tougher than tugging off Bryce's cowboy boots. Bryce hooked his thumbs into the fabric and jerked, but they seemed to slide down only a teasing inch at a time.
"I can't get out of these standing up," Kyle said. With a naughty grin, he lay down flat on his back on the plush carpet to perform what could only be described as a horizontal striptease.
Then, suddenly, the jeans were over the bulge of his cock and halfway down his thighs. A jerk and a twist and another jerk, and they were a tangle around his ankles. Kyle laughed as he kicked them away and stood up wearing nothing except aquamarine-colored silk briefs.
Bryce didn't even notice where his own clothes had gone. His cock stretched and spit, the veins knotted from the rush of need. "Come here," he said, pulling Kyle back against the glass.
Electric sparks went up from the spot where Kyle's silk-covered dick rubbed up against Bryce's naked one. The long hands hadn't lied. The slippery fabric couldn't conceal Kyle's impressive length. Bryce growled, literally growled, as he knelt to use his own mouth to yank away Kyle's briefs.
And then Kyle took two steps out of Bryce's reach, as if neither of them had noticed that his cock pointed straight for the ceiling. "You did say champagne."
"You fucking tease."
Kyle thrust a finger into the caviar and licked it off. Slowly. Dear God.
Bryce should have asked the butler to pop the cork. His hands were trembling. For a moment he thought he couldn't do it. Then the cork went flying across the carpet along with a disgracefully wasteful splash of Dom Pérignon.
"Pour it on me, not the Persian rug," Kyle said. He posed against the window once more, hips cocked to tilt his navel slightly upwards. Bryce obligingly drizzled a few drops into Kyle's temptacious belly button and then licked them out. Delicious.
He splashed a little more wherever he saw skin and then licked where the rivulets ran. Again and again, his face collided with Kyle's hard cock.
Two could play the teasing game, couldn't they?
"You want to make me beg, don't you, mate? Well, this is me. Begging. Suck me. Suck me against this window where everybody can see."
An exhibitionist fantasy. Bryce didn't mind.