Jeff's POV
I kept him pressed against my chest for a long time, one hand stroking slow circles over the fresh bite marks on his neck. Steve's breathing eventually evened out, but he still wouldn't look at me properly. Every time I tilted his chin up he just flushed deeper and hid again.
"You're really not going to answer me?" I asked quietly.
He mumbled something into my skin.
"Speak up, baby."
"…You can't just say marry me after you… after all that."
I laughed under my breath. "Why not? I meant it."
He finally lifted his face. His eyes were still glassy, lips swollen, the red marks on his throat already darkening. He looked wrecked and beautiful and mine.
"We're in Nigeria, Jeff. We're brothers. Mum—"
"I know." I kissed the corner of his mouth. "I still meant it. We don't have to tell anyone yet. We don't even have to put a label on it if you don't want. But I'm not pretending this is just some hotel mistake. Not after last night. Not after the way you came apart for me twice and still begged for more."
Steve's thighs tightened under the duvet. I felt him twitch against my hip.
"You're hard again," he whispered, almost accusing.
"Your fault. You keep existing."
He huffed a soft laugh, then went quiet. His fingers traced the edge of the sheet between us.
"What if… what if I say yes? Not to marriage right now. Just… yes to this. To us. Quietly."
Something in my chest loosened so hard it almost hurt.
"Then we keep it quiet," I said. "For as long as you need. But when we're alone—" I slid my hand down his bare back, palm settling over the curve of his ass, still faintly warm from last night, "—you're still mine. Exactly like this."
Steve's breath hitched. He nodded once, small and shy, and that was all the permission I needed.
I rolled him onto his back carefully, pushing the duvet away. Morning light filtered through the half-drawn curtains, painting his body in soft gold. The bite marks, the faint fingerprints on his hips, the way his cock was already half-hard against his stomach—everything looked claimed.
"Still sore?" I asked, thumb brushing the inside of his thigh.
He shook his head, then amended, "A little. Not enough to stop."
I leaned down and kissed the head of his cock in apology, tasting salt and last night on him. Steve's hips jerked. A tiny sound escaped him—half moan, half laugh.
"Jeff… we have to meet Mum's driver at two. She said—"
"Plenty of time." I licked a slow stripe up his length. "I'll be gentle. Promise."
I wasn't entirely gentle.
I opened him with my tongue again first, slow and filthy, until his thighs trembled around my ears and he was pushing back onto my face with broken little "please"s. Only when he was dripping and open did I slick myself and sink in, one long, careful thrust that made both of us groan.
Steve's hands flew to my shoulders. His eyes were wide, wet at the corners.
"Still good?"
"Y-yes—fuck—move."
I did. Slow at first, deep rolls of my hips that kept me buried inside him, grinding against the spot that made his cock jump between us. Then harder when he started begging for it, when his nails dug into my back and he clamped down around me like he never wanted me to leave.
I came first this time—deep, pulsing, biting the side of his throat hard enough to leave another mark. Steve followed a few strokes later, spilling between our stomachs with a high, broken sound that I swallowed with a kiss.
We stayed locked together afterward, sticky and breathing hard. I stayed inside him until I softened, until the overstimulation made him whimper and squirm.
Eventually I carried him to the shower again. This time I actually managed to wash him without starting round three… mostly. I only pressed him against the tiles once, hand working him slowly while the water ran over us, until he came a third time with his face buried in my neck and my name on his tongue.
By the time we finally dressed and left the room, Steve walked a little carefully. Every time I looked at him he blushed, but he also kept finding excuses to brush against me—fingers trailing over my wrist in the elevator, knee pressing mine under the restaurant table later, thigh against mine in the car on the way to the gaming center.
His Mum video-called again just as we were leaving the beach. Steve answered, voice bright and normal, while I stood behind the phone where she couldn't see and mouthed "mine" at him. He almost cracked.
When the call ended he shoved me lightly.
"You're evil."
"You love it."
He didn't deny it.
That night, back in the hotel, he didn't wait for me to start anything. The second the door locked he pushed me against it, dropped to his knees, and took me into his mouth like he'd been thinking about it all day. I tangled my fingers in his hair and let him, praising him the whole time, telling him how perfect he looked with his lips stretched around me, how good he was, how I was never going to let anyone else have him.
When I finally pulled him up and bent him over the desk, he was already trembling. I slid in easy—still soft and open from the morning—and fucked him slow and deep while the city lights glittered outside the window.
"Say it again," I murmured against his ear.
"I'm yours."
"Louder."
"I'm yours, Jeff—only yours—"
I came inside him again, holding him so tightly I was half-afraid I'd leave bruises. Steve came with almost no stimulation, just from the way I filled him and the words I kept whispering.
Afterward we lay tangled on the bed, the robe forgotten on the floor, the short gown he had worn earlier somewhere under the duvet. Steve traced idle patterns on my chest.
"Mum leaves tonight," he said eventually. "We'll have the house to ourselves for a week when we get back."
I smiled into his hair.
"Then we should make the most of the hotel while we still have room service and no one who can hear you scream."
Steve's laugh was soft and a little wicked.
"You're going to ruin me."
I kissed the top of his head.
"That's the plan, baby. That's exactly the plan."