Revenge

Jon lounged in the dimly lit hotel room, hand wrapped tight around his throbbing cock, eyes glued to the screen's raw frenzy. Strokes quickened. Then, a knock—sharp, insistent. Room service. He yanked a towel over his lap just as the door swung open, but too late. Domino, the delivery boy with his crisp uniform and easy smile, stepped in, balancing the tray with Jon's ordered beverage. His gaze flicked down, caught the telltale bulge, the flush on Jon's face. 'Looks like you're enjoying the show,' Domino said, voice low and teasing, not a hint of judgment. He set the tray down, eyes lingering. Jon's pulse raced. Why not? 'Go ahead,' he murmured, tossing the towel aside. 'Touch it.' Domino hesitated only a beat, then closed the distance. His fingers brushed Jon's shaft—warm, curious—traced the veins pulsing with need. Jon groaned, hips bucking slightly. The touch turned bold, a firm grip that sent sparks racing. Domino worked him with skill, thumb circling the slick tip, drawing out beads of pre-cum like forbidden nectar. The tip Jon slid into Domino's palm dwarfed the usual change—crisp bills, more than expected, a silent promise. Clothes shed in a rush. Jon's cock, thick as the beverage bottle on the nightstand, stood rigid, demanding. He guided Domino onto the bed, positioned him just so. With a slow, deliberate thrust, he pushed inside—stretching, filling, the heat of tight muscle clenching around him like a velvet vice. Domino gasped, arching, as Jon claimed him fully, rhythm building to a fevered dance of skin on skin.