The Meridian Grand Hotel bar was the kind of place that pretended to be intimate despite seating two hundred people. Dark wood, Edison bulbs, and enough ambient noise to make every conversation feel private even when it wasn’t. Declan Frost had been coming to Vanguard Logistics’ annual operations conference for three years now, and the bar had become as predictable as the keynote speeches: crowded, loud, and full of middle managers trying to network their way up the ladder.
This year, though, something was different.
Someone was different.
Declan noticed him the first night—Tuesday—almost immediately. It was hard not to. The man sat at a corner table with two other men, both broad-shouldered and watchful in a way that suggested security more than friendship. But it wasn’t the companions that caught Declan’s attention. It was him.
Mid-to-late thirties, Declan guessed. Impeccably dressed in a charcoal suit that fit like it had been tailored on his body. Dark hair, perfectly styled. A jawline that could cut glass. And a smile—God, that smile—that seemed to light up the entire corner of the bar when he laughed at something one of his companions said.
Declan was nursing a gin and tonic at the bar itself, half-listening to a regional manager drone on about supply chain optimization, when he felt it: the weight of a gaze. He glanced up, and his breath caught.
The man was looking directly at him.
Not a casual glance. Not a polite acknowledgment. A look—deliberate, assessing, and unmistakably interested. Their eyes met across the crowded room, and for a moment, everything else fell away. The noise. The people. The exhaustion of a twelve-hour conference day.
Just those eyes. Dark, intense, and locked on his.
Declan felt heat crawl up his neck. He managed a small smile—tentative, testing—and the man’s lips curved in response. Slow. Confident. Devastating.
Then the man’s companion said something, and the spell broke. The stranger turned his attention back to his table, and Declan was left staring at his gin and tonic, heart pounding like he’d just run a mile.
Who the hell is that?
Wednesday night, Declan told himself he wasn’t looking for the man. He told himself he was just grabbing a drink before heading up to his room. He told himself a lot of things that were blatant lies.
The truth was, he’d thought about those eyes all day. Through every panel discussion, every breakout session, every forced networking lunch. He’d replayed that moment—that look—over and over until it felt burned into his brain.
And when he walked into the bar at eight-thirty and saw the man sitting at the same corner table, wearing a navy suit this time and looking even more impossibly handsome, Declan’s stomach did a slow, dangerous flip.
He ordered a drink. Found a spot at the bar with a clear sightline to the corner table. Tried to look casual.
It took less than five minutes.
Declan glanced over, and the man was already watching him. This time, the smile came faster—knowing, almost playful. Declan smiled back, emboldened by the gin and the anonymity of a crowded bar in a city where no one knew him.
The man raised his glass in a silent toast. Declan mirrored the gesture, his pulse thrumming.
They didn’t approach each other. Didn’t speak. But for the next hour, it was a game—stolen glances, lingering eye contact, smiles that promised things Declan didn’t dare put into words. Every time Declan looked over, the man was either already watching him or would meet his gaze within seconds, as if he’d been waiting for it.
It was intoxicating. Maddening. By the time Declan finally left the bar, his skin felt too tight and his thoughts were a chaotic mess of want and curiosity and what the hell is happening?
Thursday night—the last night of the conference—Declan walked into the bar with a knot of anticipation coiled tight in his chest. This was it. The final night. If something was going to happen, it had to be tonight.
He ordered his drink and scanned the room. The corner table was occupied, but not by the mystery man. Declan’s heart sank.
Maybe he left early. Maybe he was never really interested. Maybe I imagined the whole thing.
He was halfway through his gin and tonic, resigned to disappointment, when he felt it again—that electric awareness that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.
He turned, and there he was.
The man had just walked in, and tonight he looked like sin personified. Black suit, crisp white shirt open at the collar, no tie. His hair was slightly mussed, as if he’d run his fingers through it, and there was a faint shadow of stubble along his jaw. He looked like he’d stepped out of a magazine spread titled Men You’ll Never Have But Will Fantasize About Forever.
Their eyes met, and this time, the man didn’t just smile. He held Declan’s gaze as he walked to the bar—not to the corner table, but to the bar itself, just a few feet away. Close enough that Declan could smell his cologne: something dark and woody and expensive.
The man ordered a bourbon, neat. His voice was low, smooth, and did absolutely obscene things to Declan’s nervous system.
For the next twenty minutes, they existed in this maddening liminal space—close but not touching, aware of each other but not speaking. Declan could feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter, a live wire humming between them.
And then, the man glanced at his watch, drained the last of his bourbon, and stood.
Declan’s heart plummeted. He’s leaving.
But as the man walked past him—close enough that their shoulders nearly brushed—he slowed. Stopped. Turned his head just slightly, and their eyes locked.
The man’s smile was pure sin. Slow. Deliberate. Promising.
And then he pressed something into Declan’s hand.
Before Declan could react, the man was walking away, weaving through the crowd toward the elevators. Declan looked down at his palm.
A keycard. A hotel room keycard.
And written on it in bold, confident handwriting: Give me 15 minutes, and then come up.
Declan’s breath left him in a rush. His hands were shaking. His mind was racing.
Holy shit.
He looked up, searching for the man, but he was already gone.
Declan stared at the keycard. At the room number printed on it: Penthouse Suite, 24th Floor.
Ten minutes.
He checked his watch. Took a long pull of his gin and tonic. Tried to steady his breathing.
This is insane. You don’t even know his name.
But God, he wanted to. He wanted to know everything.
Nine minutes.
Declan paid his tab. Walked to the elevators on legs that felt unsteady. Pressed the button for the twenty-fourth floor.
The elevator ride felt like it took an eternity.
The twenty-fourth floor was silent. Plush carpet muffled Declan’s footsteps as he stepped out of the elevator, and the hallway stretched before him—long, dimly lit, and utterly empty except for two men standing outside one of the rooms near the far end.
Declan froze.
The two men from the bar. The ones who’d been sitting with the mystery man every night. They were standing outside a door, arms crossed, looking every inch like security. Like bodyguards.
What the hell?
Declan’s mind raced. The penthouse suite was halfway down the hall—right past them. He did the mental math, counted the doors, and his stomach dropped.
That’s the room. The one they’re guarding.
He stood there, rooted to the spot, his pulse pounding in his ears. This was starting to feel less like a hookup and more like something out of a spy thriller.
One of the men glanced down the hallway and saw him. For a moment, their eyes met, and Declan’s fight-or-flight instinct screamed at him to turn around and get back in the elevator.
But then the man tapped his companion on the arm, and without a word, they both turned and walked into another room, disappearing from sight.
The hallway was empty again.
Declan stood there, heart hammering, trying to make sense of what had just happened. They’d seen him. They’d left. As if they’d been expecting him.
Who the hell is this guy?
Slowly, cautiously, Declan walked down the hallway. His footsteps sounded too loud in the silence. When he reached the penthouse suite, he paused, staring at the door.
Last chance to walk away.
But he didn’t want to walk away. He wanted answers. He wanted to know who this man was and why he’d been watching Declan for three nights and what the hell was happening.
He raised his hand and knocked. Softly.
“Come in.” The voice was muffled by the door, but unmistakable. Low. Confident. The same voice that had ordered bourbon at the bar.
Declan swiped the keycard. The lock clicked. He pushed the door open.
The suite was stunning—floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Chicago skyline, modern furniture, soft lighting. But Declan barely registered any of it.
Because the man was standing by the window, silhouetted against the city lights, a glass of bourbon in one hand. He’d taken off his jacket and shoes. No shirt. Just the black suit pants, slung low on his hips, and miles of smooth, tanned skin stretched over a body that looked like it had been carved from marble.
Broad shoulders. Defined chest. Abs that Declan wanted to trace with his tongue.
Jesus Christ.
The man turned, and that devastating smile spread across his face. “I’m glad you decided to join me.” He gestured to the bar cart near the window. “Would you like a drink?”
Declan’s mouth was dry. His brain was short-circuiting. The first words out of his mouth were not smooth or clever or seductive.
“Who are you?”
The man laughed—a rich, warm sound that made Declan’s knees weak. “I understand why you’d need an explanation.” He took a sip of his bourbon, his eyes never leaving Declan’s. “I’m sure this all looks very strange.”
“That’s one word for it,” Declan managed. His voice sounded steadier than he felt.
The man set his glass down and walked closer. Not crowding, but close enough that Declan could see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes. Close enough to smell that intoxicating cologne again.
“My name is Matthias Crane,” the man said. “And as of Monday morning, I’m the man who just purchased Vanguard Logistics.”
The floor dropped out from under Declan.
What?
His vision swam. His ears rang. He felt lightheaded, unmoored, like the entire world had just tilted sideways.
“You—” He couldn’t finish the sentence. Couldn’t form coherent thoughts.
Matthias Crane. The name had been circulating through the conference in whispers and rumors. The billionaire investor. The corporate raider. The man who’d orchestrated a hostile takeover of Vanguard in a deal that had closed just days ago.
This was Matthias Crane.
And Declan had been eye-fucking him for three nights.
His legs gave out. He sat down hard on the edge of the bed, his hands gripping the duvet like it was the only solid thing in the universe.
“I’ve changed my mind about that drink,” he said faintly.
Matthias smiled—softer this time, almost sympathetic—and walked to the bar cart. He poured two fingers of bourbon into a glass and brought it over, pressing it into Declan’s hand. Their fingers brushed, and even through the shock, Declan felt the spark of it.
Matthias sat down beside him on the bed. Not touching, but close. Close enough that Declan could feel the heat radiating off his bare skin.
“Why did you want me to come up here?” Declan asked. His voice was barely above a whisper.
Matthias turned to look at him, and the intensity in his gaze made Declan’s breath hitch.
“I thought we’d been having moments together for the last few days,” Matthias said quietly. “In that crowded bar. I’m a man with certain... appetites. And you, Declan Frost, are the most stunning creature I’ve ever laid eyes on. I couldn’t resist getting you into my bed.”
Declan’s heart stopped. “You know my name.”
“I make it my business to know things.” Matthias’s smile was wicked. “You’re a logistics coordinator in the Denver office. Twenty-eight years old. Promoted twice in three years. Your managers speak very highly of you.”
Declan didn’t know whether to be flattered or terrified. “You had me investigated?”
“I had everyone at this conference investigated,” Matthias said smoothly. “Due diligence. But you...” He reached out, his fingers brushing a strand of hair back from Declan’s forehead. The touch was feather-light, but it sent electricity racing down Declan’s spine. “You, I noticed for entirely different reasons.”
Declan took a shaky sip of bourbon. The burn helped ground him. “What if someone hears us?” he asked. “What if someone finds out?”
Matthias’s smile widened. “I’ve rented every room on this floor. Outside of my security team at the far end of the hall, we are completely alone.”
Of course he did. Declan didn’t know whether to laugh or panic.
“And what if I refuse?” The question came out before he could stop it. “Would I lose my job?”
Matthias’s expression shifted—something almost offended flickering across his face. “Of course not.” His voice was firm. “You’re not being kept here against your will, Declan. You’re not being coerced. You’re free to walk out that door right now, and nothing will change. Your job is secure. Your career is secure.”
He leaned in slightly, his eyes searching Declan’s. “But if you stay—or if you leave—I need your discretion. What happens in this room, or what doesn’t happen, stays between us. If word of this encounter ever got out, there would be legal consequences. Not for you,” he added quickly. “For whoever broke the NDA.”
“I didn’t sign an NDA,” Declan pointed out.
Matthias smiled. “You will. If you stay.”
Declan stared at him. At this impossibly handsome, impossibly powerful man who had somehow decided that Declanwas worth all this trouble.
He pretended to think it over. Took another sip of bourbon. Let the silence stretch.
But the truth was, there was no decision to make.
He’d been fantasizing about this man for three days. Three nights of stolen glances and unspoken promises. And now Matthias was sitting beside him, half-naked and devastatingly gorgeous, offering him everything Declan had been imagining and more.
Declan set his glass down on the nightstand. Turned to face Matthias fully.
“Where’s this NDA?” he asked, his voice steady.
Matthias’s smile was pure triumph.
The NDA took thirty seconds to sign on Matthias’s phone. Declan barely read it—something about confidentiality and discretion and penalties for breach—but he didn’t care. His entire focus was on the man sitting beside him, watching him with those dark, hungry eyes.
The moment Declan hit “submit,” Matthias took the phone from his hand and set it aside.
“Now,” Matthias murmured, his voice dropping an octave, “where were we?”
He leaned in, and Declan’s breath caught. Matthias’s hand came up to cup his jaw, thumb brushing over his cheekbone, and the touch was so gentle, so deliberate, that Declan’s eyes fluttered closed.
“Look at me,” Matthias whispered.
Declan opened his eyes, and the heat in Matthias’s gaze nearly undid him.
“I want you to know,” Matthias said softly, “that I’m going to take my time with you. I’m going to learn every inch of your body. Every sound you make. Every way I can make you fall apart.”
Declan’s pulse was a roar in his ears. “Promises, promises,” he managed, and Matthias laughed—a low, dangerous sound.
“Let me show you.”
And then Matthias kissed him.
It wasn’t tentative or testing. It was claiming. Matthias’s mouth was hot and demanding, his tongue sliding against Declan’s, and Declan melted into it with a moan he couldn’t suppress. Matthias tasted like bourbon and something darker, something addictive, and Declan wanted more.
He reached up, threading his fingers through Matthias’s hair, pulling him closer, and Matthias groaned into his mouth. The sound sent heat pooling low in Declan’s belly.
Matthias’s hands were everywhere—sliding down Declan’s sides, tugging at his shirt, pulling it free from his pants. Declan broke the kiss long enough to yank the shirt over his head, and then Matthias’s mouth was on his neck, his teeth grazing sensitive skin, and Declan gasped.
“Fuck,” he breathed, and Matthias chuckled against his throat.
“Not yet,” Matthias murmured. “But soon.”
He pushed Declan back onto the bed, and Declan went willingly, his body buzzing with anticipation. Matthias followed him down, settling between his legs, and the weight of him, the heat of his bare chest pressing against Declan’s, was almost too much.
Matthias kissed him again—slower this time, deeper—while his hands worked at Declan’s belt. The clink of the buckle, the rasp of the zipper, and then Matthias was sliding Declan’s pants and boxers down in one smooth motion.
Declan’s cock sprang free, already hard and leaking, and Matthias pulled back to look at him. His eyes darkened, and he licked his lips.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, and Declan felt his face flush.
Matthias slid down Declan’s body, pressing kisses to his chest, his stomach, the sharp jut of his hipbone. And then he was kneeling between Declan’s legs, his hands gripping Declan’s thighs, and he looked up at Declan with a wicked smile.
“I’ve been thinking about this,” Matthias said, his breath ghosting over Declan’s cock, “for three days.”
And then he took Declan into his mouth.
Declan’s back arched off the bed, a broken moan tearing from his throat. Matthias’s mouth was hot and wet and perfect, his tongue swirling around the head of Declan’s cock before taking him deeper. Declan’s hands fisted in the sheets, his hips jerking involuntarily, and Matthias hummed in approval, the vibration sending sparks of pleasure racing up Declan’s spine.
“God, Matthias,” Declan gasped, and Matthias pulled off with an obscene pop.
“Say my name again,” Matthias commanded, his voice rough.
“Matthias,” Declan breathed, and Matthias rewarded him by taking him deep again, all the way to the base, and Declan thought he might actually die from the pleasure of it.
Matthias worked him with expert precision—his mouth, his tongue, the perfect amount of suction—and Declan was quickly spiraling toward the edge. But just as he felt the coil of heat tightening in his belly, Matthias pulled off.
“Not yet,” Matthias said again, his eyes glittering with mischief. “I’m not done with you.”
He hooked his hands under Declan’s knees and pushed his legs up, spreading him open, and Declan’s breath stuttered.
“Matthias—”
“Trust me,” Matthias murmured, and then his mouth was on Declan’s hole, and Declan’s mind went blank.
The sensation was overwhelming—Matthias’s tongue, hot and wet, circling his entrance, teasing, before pressing inside. Declan cried out, his hands flying to Matthias’s hair, holding him there, and Matthias groaned against him, the sound vibrating through Declan’s entire body.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Declan chanted, his hips rocking against Matthias’s mouth, and Matthias devoured him like a man starved. His tongue worked Declan open, slow and thorough, and Declan felt like he was coming apart at the seams.
When Matthias finally pulled back, Declan was a trembling, panting mess.
“You taste incredible,” Matthias said, his voice wrecked, and Declan let out a shaky laugh.
“Your turn,” he managed, and Matthias’s eyes flashed with heat.
Declan pushed himself up, and Matthias let himself be maneuvered onto his back. Declan made quick work of Matthias’s pants, shoving them down and off, and then he was staring at Matthias’s cock—thick, hard, and absolutely perfect.
“Jesus,” Declan breathed, and Matthias smirked.
“Go on, then,” Matthias said, his voice a low challenge. “Show me what you can do.”
Declan settled between Matthias’s legs and wrapped his hand around the base of his cock. Matthias hissed, his hips jerking, and Declan grinned before leaning down and taking him into his mouth.
Matthias’s groan was guttural, his hand coming up to tangle in Declan’s hair. “Fuck, yes,” he breathed, and Declan took him deeper, hollowing his cheeks, using his tongue the way Matthias had used his.
Matthias was vocal—praising, cursing, moaning—and every sound went straight to Declan’s cock. He worked Matthias with enthusiasm, loving the way Matthias’s thighs tensed under his hands, the way his breathing grew ragged.
“Declan,” Matthias gasped, “stop, or I’m going to cum.”
Declan pulled off, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and Matthias pulled him up into a bruising kiss.
“I want you to ride me,” Matthias said against his lips. “I want to watch you take my cock. Can you do that?”
Declan’s answer was to straddle Matthias’s hips, his hands braced on Matthias’s chest. Matthias reached for the nightstand, producing a bottle of lube, and Declan took it, slicking his fingers and reaching behind himself.
Matthias watched, transfixed, as Declan prepped himself—one finger, then two, stretching himself open. The whole time, Matthias’s hands roamed over Declan’s body—his thighs, his hips, his chest—touching him like he couldn’t get enough.
When Declan was ready, he slicked Matthias’s cock and positioned himself over it. Their eyes locked, and Declan slowly, slowly lowered himself down.
The stretch was exquisite. Matthias was thick, and Declan had to go slow, but the burn was perfect, and when he finally sank down fully, they both groaned.
“Fuck,” Matthias breathed, his hands gripping Declan’s hips. “You feel incredible.”
Declan leaned down, capturing Matthias’s mouth in a kiss, and started to move. Slow at first, rolling his hips, finding the angle that made stars burst behind his eyelids. Matthias met him thrust for thrust, his hands guiding Declan’s movements, and the slide of his cock inside Declan was perfect, overwhelming, everything.
“Harder,” Matthias urged, and Declan obeyed, picking up the pace, riding him with abandon. The room filled with the sounds of their bodies coming together, skin slapping against skin, their moans and gasps echoing off the walls.
Declan was lost in it—the feel of Matthias inside him, the way Matthias’s cock hit his prostate with every thrust, the heat coiling tighter and tighter in his belly. Matthias’s hands were everywhere, his mouth on Declan’s neck, his teeth scraping over sensitive skin, and Declan felt like he was flying.
“God, Matthias,” Declan gasped, “you feel so good inside me. So fucking good.”
“You’re perfect,” Matthias groaned. “So tight. So perfect. Fuck, Declan, I’m close.”
Declan rode him harder, faster, chasing the edge, and Matthias’s moans grew louder, more desperate. His grip on Declan’s hips tightened, his thrusts becoming erratic, and then he was crying out, his cock pulsing inside Declan as he came.
Declan felt it—the hot rush of Matthias’s release filling him, so much that it leaked out around Matthias’s cock, dripping down his thighs. The sensation sent him spiraling, but he held on, wanting to give Matthias everything.
When Matthias finally stilled, panting and spent, he looked up at Declan with a dazed, satisfied smile.
“Your turn,” he murmured.
He pulled Declan off his cock and flipped onto his stomach, raising his ass in the air. Declan stared, his cock throbbing, at the perfect sight before him—Matthias’s hole, pink and tight and waiting.
“Fuck me,” Matthias said, looking over his shoulder. “As hard as you can. I want to feel you for days.”
Declan didn’t need to be told twice. He slicked his cock, positioned himself, and slammed home in one brutal thrust.
Matthias screamed—a sound of pure ecstasy—and Declan set a punishing pace, fucking him hard and deep. Matthias pushed back against him, meeting every thrust, and the sound of their bodies colliding was obscene.
“Yes,” Matthias moaned. “Fuck, yes. Harder. Don’t stop.”
Declan brought his hand down on Matthias’s ass, and Matthias cried out, his hole clenching around Declan’s cock.
“Again,” Matthias begged, and Declan obliged, spanking him again and again, each slap making Matthias moan louder.
“I’m close,” Declan gasped, his rhythm faltering.
“Give it to me,” Matthias demanded, taking over, slamming his hips back, fucking himself on Declan’s cock. “Fill me up. I want your load. I want all of it.”
“Fuck,” Declan groaned, his balls tightening. “I’m going to—fuck, I’m cumming—”
He buried himself to the hilt and exploded, his cock pulsing as he emptied himself inside Matthias. The orgasm ripped through him, white-hot and devastating, and he collapsed onto Matthias’s back, gasping for air.
Beneath him, Matthias cried out, his own cock jerking as he came again, untouched, his release painting the sheets below.
They lay there for a long time, Declan’s weight pressing Matthias into the mattress, both of them trembling and spent. Finally, Declan found the strength to roll off, and they ended up on their sides, facing each other, their bodies still tangled together.
Matthias reached out, brushing a strand of hair from Declan’s face, and smiled. “Stay,” he said softly. “Stay the night with me.”
Declan’s heart clenched. “Yeah,” he whispered. “I’ll stay.”
They showered together—slow and tender, washing each other with gentle hands, trading lazy kisses under the spray. When they finally climbed back into bed, Matthias pulled Declan against his chest, and Declan went willingly, his head resting over Matthias’s heartbeat.
“Thank you,” Matthias murmured into the darkness. “For staying.”
“Thank you,” Declan replied, “for the best conference I’ve ever attended.”
Matthias laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest, and Declan smiled.
As he drifted off to sleep, wrapped in Matthias’s arms, Declan thought about how boring these conferences usually were. How he’d dreaded coming to Chicago. How he’d expected three days of tedious panels and forced networking.
And now, he couldn’t wait for next year’s conference.
He had a feeling it was going to be even better.
If you enjoyed this story, consider supporting the author on Substack.
To get in touch with the author, send them an email.
