THE RECLUSE: Duty Officer (Ch. 4)

The smell of the living room the next morning was not that of the sandalwood air freshener Guillermo had bought; it was the dense, sweetish, stinging trace of the night before. An aroma of gym sweat mixed with the musk of someone else's sex that seemed to have soaked into the raw wood of the Scandinavian parquet floor.

Guillermo woke up with swollen eyes and his stomach clenched by a pasty guilt. The first thing he did, before even looking in the mirror, was get into the shower for the fourth time and rub his thighs with oatmeal gel until his skin was red. As the hot water ran down the back of his neck, he replayed on a loop the creaking of the partition, Santi's submissive moans, Vik's animal breathing and, above all, the shameful memory of his own fingers moving frantically inside his underwear, seeking the breath that the Hungarian giant was giving to another just a few feet away. He felt dirty, exposed and, in a very hidden part of himself, jealous.

When he went out into the hallway, with his hair still wet and wearing his everyday uniform—immaculate chinos, the light-green linen shirt buttoned to the neck and the framed reading glasses he only sometimes wore—he tried to rebuild his façade of a well-mannered young man.

But the savage surroundings were having breakfast barefoot and in a tank top in the American kitchen.

He had his back against the marble countertop and was holding a steaming cup of coffee between his enormous hands, decorated with the faded scars of his knuckles.

"Good morning, brainiac," Vik let out, without looking at him, with that voice that seemed to come directly from the underground. His Hungarian accent sounded drawn out, lazy, chewed by sleep. "Today I made you the coffee." He said, stretching out his huge arm and sliding toward Guillermo a cup that was waiting on the countertop. "I hope you like it good and strong."

Guillermo swallowed, feeling his legs weaken subtly at the mere presence of the guy who a few hours earlier had handled a man as if he were a rag doll. He crossed the kitchen trying not to look at what bulged aggressively under the hem of Vik's shirt, nor at the firmness of his thighs. But he couldn't help noticing that deep in his brain a slight dose of dopamine had been secreted because of the coffee detail. The first small detail the great monster had had in several weeks.

"Thanks," Guillermo said, with a voice he tried to modulate so it sounded professional. "I love strong coffee. It helps me concentrate more," he added, trying to create a natural atmosphere that hadn't existed for days.

He held the cup and brought it to his lips while out of the corner of his eye he noticed the Hungarian smiling slightly and scratching his enormous bulge with his free hand.

Then, almost by survival instinct, he pulled the cup away from his lips.

"What's wrong? Too strong for your baby stomach?"

"What did you put in it?"...