First of all, a big thank you to my loyal readers and their notes, as well as their very kind personal messages. So here is the sequel. The air was still heavy with interrupted sleep, and the usual silence of the Riyadh, just before dawn, had just burst under the shock of furious shouts. First, indistinct bursts of voices, rising from the corridors, tearing the night's quiet. Then, the sound of hurried footsteps, a tumult that immediately attracted my curiosity. I jumped up, put on my shorts, and slipped out of my room, my mind still fogged by sleep and alcohol from the night before. In the dimly lit corridor, an unusual and explosive scene unfolded before me. Peter. Disheveled, visibly awake with a start, naked under his white sheet clumsily tied around his waist. His eyes blazing with rage, his features drawn, more awake than ever, despite the obvious remnants of his monumental binge. Facing him... The waiter. The same one who had come to offer his services in my room a few days earlier. Pale. Stammering. At his side, the old night watchman, head of reception, rigid posture, closed face, but worried look. Peter didn't stop. His fist clenched on the white sheet around his waist, he roared, his chest quivering with anger: "You think I'm stupid, huh?" His voice boomed through the confined space of the corridor, echoing against the ochre walls of the Riyadh. "You think I didn't feel it, bastard?" The waiter, visibly panicked, raised his hands in a defensive gesture, his shifty eyes seeking support from the receptionist. "Mr. Peter, I... I... " "You touched me, bastard!" Peter took a step forward, and the waiter jumped back, shoulders hunched, visibly terrified. The receptionist raised his hand, trying to calm things down. “Mr. Peter… Please calm down…” But Peter wouldn’t listen. His fist clenched even tighter on the sheet, and he exploded. “Don’t tell me to calm down, you fucking thing!” He glared at the trembling waiter, who was at his wit’s end. “You kissed me, you filthy pig!” His voice had lost some of its rage, but it still vibrated with suppressed anger. “You… fondled me. ” A shiver of disgust crossed his face. “I was asleep, but I realized it, you bastard!” The waiter stammered, desperately searching for a way out. “Sir, I… I swear… I… I just wanted to see if you were okay, after your… night out…” Peter glared at him. — Damn, don't take me for a fool, either!His fist clenched so tightly on his sheet that his knuckles turned white. The receptionist, aware that the situation could escalate, tried to calm things down. "Mr. Peter, there may have been a misunderstanding..." But Peter's eyes widened, stunned by these words. "A misunderstanding?!" He shook his head, stunned, before pointing an angry finger at the waiter. "I'll tell you what you did, you filthy pig. You took advantage of me being in a coma, that's all. " The distraught waiter stammered: "Sir... I... that wasn't... " "You touched me!" A sudden noise rang out: Peter had just banged his fist against his bedroom door in a gesture of uncontrolled exasperation. "And believe me, if I'd slept for ten years, I'd still have woken up!" Then, suddenly, as if a memory had just resurfaced, he widened his eyes and pointed his accusing finger at the waiter: "And besides, it's not the first time, is it? The other night, you came to my room, supposedly to bring me a snack in the middle of the night! You think I didn't catch your female gyrations? With your erect cock clearly visible under your white pants... You think I didn't see?!" A deathly silence fell in the corridor. The waiter seemed to want to disappear underground, while the receptionist, his face closed, finally understood the extent of the scandal that was threatening to explode. Peter, panting, his bare chest heaving with anger, shook his head in exasperation. Then, in a final burst of rage, he turned on his heel, grabbed the door to his room and slammed it violently behind him. The noise echoed for a long time in the silence of the Riyadh. I stood there silently for a moment, watching the receptionist glaring at the still-trembling waiter, as if he'd just made the biggest mistake of his life. Then, silence returned. Only Peter's closed door still rattled slightly with the echo of the shock. I decided to go through it...There, in the dimness of the room, barely lit by a pale glow filtering through the shutters, he sat on his bed. Naked. The sheet he had wrapped around his waist in the hallway had carelessly fallen at his feet, and he, torso erect, legs apart, elbows resting on his thighs, head bowed, seemed to be trying to contain the storm still rumbling within him. His chest heaved heavily, proof that the anger had not yet completely dissipated. I gently closed the door behind me, moving cautiously. As I approached, he finally looked up, and I was struck by the intensity of his gaze. A mixture of suppressed rage, confusion, incomprehension. But also… Something else. Something deeper, more intimate. He didn't speak immediately. Then, in a fluid, almost brutal movement, he jumped to his feet, facing me. Naked, unashamed, unrestrained. As if he had nothing left to hide, nothing left to prove. As if the fury that still drove him was stronger than any modesty. His gaze bored into mine, and I felt a shiver slide down my spine. For a moment, he said nothing again. There, standing before me, his body tense with barely contained anger, he seemed to be waiting for something. An answer. An explanation perhaps. Or maybe just an echo of his own confusion. “Fuck, brother…” His voice was hoarse, raspy, as if his own mind were crushing him. “I don’t understand anything anymore.” He shook his head violently, as if an unbearable thought refused to go away. “I was there, in my bed… completely shattered by alcohol… and that asshole was there. I was sleeping. Well… you know that state where you’re not quite there anymore, but not really gone either. And then… I felt something.” A visibly uncontrollable shudder ran through him, and he ran his hand over his chest, as if the sensation still lingered there. “At first, it was blurry… just a feeling. But then… Silence.” Then he blurted out in a burst of uncontrolled rage: “I open my eyes and there he was, right there! Fuck, standing right there, next to my bed, with his stupid tray! But I know what I felt before.” His gaze grew even darker, and he continued, lower, more trembling: “His hands on my chest. On my hips. And there… lower still… And I felt a mouth, on my neck, on my lips… On my chest… And then… And on my cock. Fuck!” He inhaled deeply, his chest heaving with the tension.I took a deep breath. Relief washed over me, though I didn't let it show. He'd mixed it up. He was convinced that this waiter had really crossed that line, that everyth ...

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