I am a Straight Guy Working in A Gay Bar - Chapter 7

I thought this guy was just joking around, but he really fucking went in for it.

When I got off the taxi and walked down that dangerous alley again, I twisted my neck a little trying to think of a way I could escape without attracting too much attention.

He saw through my plans right away and said, “We can do it here too if you don’t want to go to the hotel.”

Shit, doing things like that in public, does he know no shame?!

At the mention of that, I remembered what happened the night before in this exact spot. I quickly shook my head to get that image out of my mind.

Don’t be afraid, don’t be afraid. At the very least, we have a verbal contract going on. This person might be such sly, but he has never lied to me. Even if he really wants to go overboard, I’m a strong, healthy adult male, okay? I can fight, or at least escape!

While in my daze, I had blindly followed him into the hotel elevator. I immediately leapt to the corner, backing against the wall just in case he decides to do something in the heat of the moment. At least he would be caught on camera and that would end things.

Standing too far away from him, I didn’t see which floor he had pressed, only wondering to myself that the elevator speed seemed a little slow, taking quite a while to stop.

The room was just around the corner from the elevator. He took his card out and swiped the door open, turning around and gesturing for me to enter first.

I silently gulped. In order not to appear like a wimp backing off before the real thing, I held my head up high and strode in.

He followed closely after me, closing the door with a click behind him. Yet, I had thrown all my nervousness out the window, completely stunned by the interior.

Since when did a standard room come with a living room and kitchen? Why is there a wine cooler stashed at the corner too?

This is clearly a fucking VIP suite! Is the university that rich? Shit, why didn’t I know that?

The person behind me pinched the back of my neck and said, “I booked a separate room. There’s no one else on this floor.”

Oh, so that’s how it is.

I was jealous of the rich people for a moment, before it suddenly hit me violently. This is the top floor? And there’s no one else around…

Shit, I’m doomed.

I stared at his back as he walked closer while loosening his bow tie. I let out a dry laugh, “You…You promised me before. You won’t go back on your words, right?”

He didn’t answer, only taking two glasses out of the liquor cabinet and asked, “Do you want one?”

Even trying to trick me into drinking? He must really have an ulterior motive, right?

Speaking of drinking, I can’t go on without talking about my bizarre level of alcohol tolerance.

During my rebellious phase in high school, I would sneak out in the middle of the night with my buddies to drink. We drank beer in bottles after bottles, sometimes drinking stronger ones with no problem at all. I always thought my tolerance was unbeatable, but later realized it was limited to local branded beer. Those colourful-looking foreign alcohol would knock me out with just a glass.

So even though I ended up having this pretentious-looking occupation as a bartender, I still could only drink by myself when I am alone at home.

Facing this guy’s provocation as he swirled the wine glass in front of me while he said, “Should I add some milk for you?”, I snorted disdainfully and said, “I won’t drink even a single drop!”

He raised an eyebrow but did not force it on me. Instead, he poured me a glass of plain water.

I reached out to take it, but accidentally caught sight of that small area of skin over his neck that was exposed through his loose top when he leaned down. I couldn’t help but let out a yelp, “Damn!”

My hand trembled along with that and the water in the cup spilled out a little, right on the watch on his wrist.

I quickly got up to apologize, but he didn’t appear to care much about it. Pushing the cup into my hand, he took off his watch and rolled up his wet sleeve.

I was occupied with passing him some tissues, but this guy showed his hand directly in front of me and shook his wrist a little.

Damn it, he really is a spoiled young master.

But what can I do when I’m in the wrong? I have no choice but to help wipe him down without a word. However, I really have to say— God is truly fucking biased when it came to creating certain humans. It’s already illegal to be born with such looks, yet even his hands are more beautiful than others. His bones were well-defined and anyone could easily tell he grew up pampered and didn’t have to do a single chore by giving his hands a light squeeze.

Tsk, such a person actually isn’t a bottom. The world sure doesn’t make any sense.

I looked up from his wrist and caught sight of the corner of his rolled-up sleeve. There was a small, green-patterned tattoo.

Recalling the shadow, I vaguely saw on his chest earlier, I asked in surprise, “You have a tattoo?”

He narrowed his eyes and said, “Yeah, wanna see?”

With that, he reached out to try to unbutton the top of his shirt.

I immediately refused, “No, no, no! I was only asking!”

If he really unbuttoned his shirt, what would happen next? Although I did have a tiny bit of curiosity over it, but what if I had to pay to have a look?

With my current understanding of this guy, he might really just ask for it.

Fortunately, he didn’t insist on that, only raising his eyebrows before dropping his hand.

I let out a long sigh of relief. But only after that did I realize I was still holding onto his hand. Before I could let go, he turned it around and held my hand instead.

He gave my wrist a squeeze and slowly leaned down, whispering, “Isn’t it time to pay your debt?”

…Fuck, I really can’t escape.

Despite having prepared my heart multiple times now, my heart still jumped and my heartbeat went up to 180mph when his cool lips landed on my cheek.

He lingered on my dimples for a long time. I didn’t know what was so great about licking that spot, but half my face felt like it had caught on fire.

I tried to distract myself by squeezing out, “Fifty…”

He blocked my mouth with his thumb then.

I held it in for a while, but ultimately couldn’t help but parted my lips and lightly bit on his fingertip. I tasted the faint scent of red wine.

In a trance, I heard him make a ‘tsk’ sound, then removed his finger away from my lips, replacing it with something else.

I wasn’t able to speak at all anymore.

When the wet sensation wrapped with the scent of alcohol wormed its way into the insides of my mouth, I think my heartbeat went up to 1800mph.

The consequence of such intense progression was the CPU overheating itself. My brain was really hot while my limbs went weak. I begin to unconsciously slide down the sofa seat.

The person on top of me quickly noticed the situation. He was reluctant to let me go at first, then he held my hands and placed them on top of his shoulders. In a husky, rugged voice, he said, “Hold on tight.”

I completely lost my ability to think, whining in my fevered daze, “I have no more strength…”

The person on top of me seemed to have laughed a little. He then whispered into my ear, “Shall we go to bed then?”