Simon cleared his throat, trying to mask the raspy, post-coital edge in his voice as the line clicked open. Marcus watched him from the edge of the bed, his naked chest broad and imposing, a smirk playing on his lips as he watched his new acquisition navigate the mundane world of employment.
"Laura? Hi, it’s Simon. Sorry to ring you on a Tuesday, I know it’s my day off," he began, his hand instinctively reaching down to brush a stray drop of Marcus’s spent load from his inner thigh.
"Simon? Everything alright? You sound a bit... breathless," Laura replied, the static of the café’s milk frother audible in the background.
"Yeah, fine, just been... at the gym," Simon lied, his eyes locking with Marcus’s. Marcus reached out, his fingers tracing the sensitive, stretched skin of Simon’s entrance, causing the young jock to jump slightly and stifle a gasp. "Look, I’m calling because a bit of a mad opportunity has come up. A mate’s had a cancellation for a villa in Tuscany and offered me the spot for next to nothing. The catch is I’d have to fly out tomorrow morning."
"Tomorrow? Simon, that’s short notice. We’ve got the lunchtime rush and the new pastry delivery," Laura sighed, though her tone was more tired than angry.
"I know, I’m really sorry for the short notice. I realize it’s a lot to ask, but I’m really overdue some leave, Laura. I haven't had a proper break in months," Simon pressed, feeling Marcus’s hand wrap firmly around his cock, which was already beginning to stir again despite the exhaustion. "If you can cover me, I’ll take every closing shift for a month when I get back. Please? It’s a once-in-a-lifetime thing."
There was a long pause. Marcus leaned in, his lips brushing Simon's ear as he whispered, "Tell her you're going."
"Alright, Simon," Laura finally relented. "You’ve been working hard, and the rugby season's put a lot of strain on you. Go on then, get some sun. But I expect you back in one piece and ready to work those lates."
"Thanks, Laura! You’re a legend. I’ll see you in a week," Simon said, quickly ending the call before his breathing gave him away.
He tossed the phone onto the silk sheets and looked up at Marcus. "She said yes. I’m all yours for the week."
Marcus’s grip tightened on Simon’s hardening length. "Good boy. Now, before we pack, I think we have time for one more round. I want to see if I can get you to scream loud enough for the guests in the next suite to hear."
Simon groaned, his hips already beginning to rise to meet Marcus’s touch. "For fifty grand, Marcus, I’ll scream whatever you want me to."
Marcus didn't wait for a verbal assent; he gripped Simon’s muscular thighs and hauled him toward the edge of the bed until the lad’s well-defined buttocks were hanging off the mattress, his heavy legs splayed wide in the air. Marcus stood between them, his own thick, pulsing shaft glistening with the tacky remnants of their previous bout. With a low, predatory growl, he drove forward, the broad head of his cock forcing its way past Simon’s fluttering, over-sensitised entrance. Simon threw his head back, a sharp, choked cry tearing from his throat as the blunt intrusion stretched him to his absolute limit once more. Marcus began a relentless, rhythmic pounding, his hips slamming against Simon’s firm glutes with a heavy, wet squelch that echoed off the gilded walls of the suite.
The friction was agonizingly perfect; the salt-slicked walls of Simon’s heat clutched at Marcus’s invading length, massaging every nerve as he bottomed out with a bruising force. Simon’s hands scrambled for purchase on the edge of the bed, his knuckles white as he felt the older man’s cock battering his prostate with every deep, uncompromising lunge. Marcus leaned over him, his chest hair rasping against Simon’s sensitive nipples, his teeth sinking into the corded muscle of Simon’s neck.
"You like being used, don't you, Simon?" Marcus hissed, his breath hot and ragged. "You like being a rich man's plaything."
Simon couldn't even find the breath to lie. He was lost in the raw, physical sensation of it—the way the millionaire’s weight crushed him, the way the thick shaft was reorganising his insides with a piston-like intensity. He began to thrust back, his heavy legs wrapping around Marcus’s waist to pull him in even deeper, his own cock jerking and leaking fluid against his lower abs. The pace became frantic, a desperate, sweaty collision of muscle and silk. Marcus’s thrusts grew shorter and sharper, his fingers digging into Simon’s hips, leaving faint bruises on the tanned skin. Simon’s vision blurred as he felt the impending explosion building in his gut. With a final, guttural shout, Marcus buried himself to the hilt and spasmed, his hot, thick load jetting deep into Simon’s core in pulsing waves. Simon followed instantly, his own orgasm racking his powerful frame, his cum splattering across his chest and chin as he groaned into the pillows.
They collapsed together in a tangled, sweating heap, the only sound their synchronised, shallow panting. After a few minutes, Marcus withdrew, the wet, suctioning sound of his exit making Simon shiver. The millionaire stood up, seemingly unfazed by the exertion, and walked toward the dresser.
"Give me your sizes, Simon," Marcus said, his voice regaining its cool, aristocratic authority as he looked at the lad’s spent, naked form. "My assistant will purchase you some clothes and luggage for the trip—everything you'll need, other than the bespoke suit I purchased that you arrived in. I want you looking the part when we land in Pisa. I'll get my driver to take you home now so you can grab your toiletries, your passport, and anything else you absolutely cannot do without. Be back here within two hours. We have a private jet to catch, and I don't like to be kept waiting."
Simon nodded dazedly, the warmth of Marcus’s climax still trickling out of him, his body feeling both ruined and reborn. He rattled off his measurements—large in the chest, thirty-four waist, thirty-two leg—his voice still thick with the aftermath of the fucking. He watched Marcus dress with practiced ease, knowing that by the time he returned to this room, his old life as a debt-ridden café worker would be well and truly over.
