“Just landed. Omw now”

“ETA?”

“11”

“Meet me at the bar.”

The bar?

Carson’s Uber pulled away from the airport as he broke into a sweat. And not just from the Florida heat.

This is crazy, he thought, the same thought he’d been having for the last 48 hours. He didn’t know anything about this man, except for how his cum tasted. Yet here he was, hours from home and crawling back for more.

The Uber arrived at the Four Seasons, and Carson’s jaw dropped. It was gorgeous, enormous. The Bravard was no dump, but in New York City it wasn’t much of an attraction, just a stay. This was luxury beyond anything he’d seen before.

Carson wandered into the hotel, feeling uneasy as he passed throngs of wealthy patrons in his cargo shorts and flip-flops. He made his way into the lounge.

There at the bar, sitting with his back to him on a stool, was the unmistakable torso of Mr. Armisen. A perfectly tailored grey suit hugged his shoulders, the fabric at the seat of his pants swallowed by his crack.

Carson took a deep breath and slid into the seat beside him.

“Hey there,” Carson said, as casually as he could muster.

“So you made it,” Armisen said, setting down his drink, his voice as rough and deep as Carson remembered. Carson’s penis twitched in his pants. “How was your flight?”

He looked over and smiled, his Ray-bans catching Carson’s nervous reflection.

“It was fine,” Carson shrugged. “No complaints.”

The bartender wandered over. “What can I get you?”

Carson’s heartbeat suddenly raced, as if the man could tell just by looking that Carson had sucked Mr. Armisen’s dick once and impulsively followed him across the country with nothing but flip-flops and a carry-on.

“He’ll have a vodka and tonic,” Mr. Armisen said. “Put it on my tab.”

The bartender nodded and left.

“Thanks,” said Carson breathlessly.

“No problem,” said Armisen, taking a sip of his liquor. “You’re my guest, after all.”

Something about the way he brought the glass to his lips made Carson wish Mr. Armisen would throw the drink in his face. Stinging cold and wet--

“So… what’s the plan?” Carson asked. It couldn’t have come out more awkwardly.

Armisen actually snorted. “The plan?”

The bartender returned with Carson’s drink.

“Yeah,” he said, taking a sip and feeling a little indignant.

“Well, first thing’s first,” Mr. Armisen said. “Let me show you the room.”

Carson’s heart swelled in his chest.

“C’mon,” said the giant, rising from his stool.

Carson’s tongue went numb. “But I haven’t finished my drink--”

Armisen gave him a look. “It’s a five-star hotel, Carson. You can take it with you.”

Carson followed the giant into the lobby, scurrying to keep up with his confident stride. Suddenly, an older black man in a business suit stepped into their way.

“David!” he exclaimed. “You here for the convention?”

“Of course,” said Mr. Armisen, shaking the businessman’s hand. He turned to Carson. “This is one of my firm’s partners, Frank White.”

“And who’s this?” said Mr. White, smiling at Carson.

Carson’s heart skipped a beat, his mind drawing a blank.

“Didn’t I tell you?” said Mr. Armisen, wrapping an arm snugly around Carson’s shoulder. “My son goes to FIU.”

His son?

“You don’t say?” Mr. White nodded, completely unphased.

“Yeah, he’s staying with me for the weekend.”

Carson almost laughed out loud. He couldn’t decide if this ruse was weird, stupid...or a little hot.

“That’s great,” Mr. White said. Suddenly, an alert bleeped from his phone. He looked down. “Oh, meeting’s soon. I better get running.”

“I’ll be right there,” said Mr. Armisen. “Just gotta show my boy the room.”

Mr. Armisen tussled Carson’s hair and squeezed the back of his neck.

Oh, no, Carson decided. It was definitely hot.

* * *

The luxury suite back at the Bravard was old-money chique. Mr. Armisen’s suite on the twenty-first floor of the Four Seasons was new-money chique--spic and span and shiny.

Carson took in the modern furniture, the sleek black wood floors, the glass fireplace. He looked out the window to a private balcony--palm trees fluttering in the wind. A perfect view of the glittering ocean.

“So, this is it,” said Armisen, slipping his hands into his pockets with a casual shrug.

Carson’s heart fluttered in his chest. He couldn’t stop himself. He blurted out, “Are you going to fuck me now?”

Armisen looked at him for a moment, then broke out laughing. That sexy, dry laugh. “Now? I have a meeting in twenty.”

Carson bit his lip. “Oh.”

“Listen, I get off at three. What do you say we go on a hike? Grab some dinner...”

Armisen stepped towards Carson, his tall shadow descending on him. He leaned in with a soft and smokey purr, “And finish off with some dessert?”

He reached around and grabbed Carson’s ass with one strong hand, squeezing the breath out of him. He pulled the boy close, splitting his cheeks with his middle finger. Digging in tight.

“Uh-huh,” is all Carson could say.

“Good.”

Armisen spanked him, hard, almost knocking him to the ground. Then he brushed past, heading for the door.

Carson wheeled around. “What should I do in the meantime?”

Mr. Armisen shrugged. “Whatever you want. Stay here. Walk around. I’ll leave you my card.”

He set it down on a counter. “In case you wanna spruce up.”

Then he shut the door behind him.

Carson’s rubbed his butt, the sting of Armisen’s palm still fresh, and looked around the suite. There was the master bedroom--the walls charcoal grey and lined with mirrors, the bedsheets black. He made his way towards a mysterious door at the far corner. For a moment, Carson wondered what kind of kinky sex dungeon might be hiding behind the door--toys and straps hanging from the walls...

But it was just a bathroom. He was a little disappointed.

Carson caught his reflection in the mirror, his curly locks and pale expression. He looked down at his Mickey Mouse T-shirt. He would definitely need an upgrade.

* * *

Carson walked along the beachside boutiques, a vanilla ice cream in hand. He looked over at the shore, tanned and muscular bodies striding past. He took a lick of his cone. A guy could get used to this.

He ventured into a store and locked himself in a changing room, trying on the hottest clothes he could find. His eyes widened at the price tags. He hoped Mr. Armisen wouldn’t mind.

His phone buzzed. A text from the man himself.

“just checkin in. hyd?”

Carson smiled. He posed in front of the mirror, accentuating his ass and tonguing his ice cream cone. He took a picture and sent.

“just sprucing up ; )”

Armisen added a !! reaction to his picture.

“dont u get me hard rn. Im in a meeting”

Carson smiled. He took another photo, dipping his pants down to expose his right butt cheek. Sent.

Armisen replied with a shot looking down at his pants, a swollen dick print in his grey slacks.

“Look what u did to me u fuck”

Carson’s chest swelled with pride. All his nerves about Miami were starting to melt away.

Feeling himself, he walked along the boardwalk and posted a handful of pictures onto his rinsta. Why the hell not? His arms looked swole in his new blue tank top, his butt round and firm in his crisp white shorts.

A few minutes later, Clarissa texted him.

“WHERE R U??”

Carson laughed, and just sent her a “speak no evil” monkey emoji. He would fill her in later with all the juicy details.

It was coming on three, so he figured he better get back to the hotel. Just as he turned away from the beach, he received a notification.

His ex had commented on his post.

Carson’s stomach twisted up in knots. He hadn’t he’d heard from the guy in months. What could he possibly have to say? He dared himself to check--

Just a couple flame emojis.

Carson rolled his eyes and switched off his phone. He had a man waiting on him now; he was done dealing with boys.