Page 44 of The Haunted Hotel
Sighing in resignation, I realise that whoever is calling will not give up, and I roll over onto my stomach. My erection has completely deflated as I huff in annoyance and belly crawl commando-style underneath the bed. I have to give it to John the Maid, there is not a single speck of dust or a single spiderweb in sight under here.
Reaching my phone, I grasp it and look at the screen, squinting as I try to focus. An even louder sigh escapes me when I register who’s calling. Knowing he’s not going to quit, I hit connect.
“What do you want?” I grumble.
“Good morning to you too, brother,” Warren’s dulcet and slightly alcohol-laced tone greets happily.
“Is it morning?” I pull back and glance at the screen again, wishing I had my glasses. “Warren, it’s eight a.m here, so it must be three in the morning in New York. Why are you calling?”
“Can’t I just check in on my big brother?”
“At three in the morning?”
“Well, I knew it would be later where you are.” I can hear the grin in his voice. Great, he’s in one ofthosemoods. “Besides, I just got in.”
“What do you mean you just got in?” I lift my head and wince as I loudly crack my skull on the bottom of the bed, which does nothing at all to alleviate my headache.
“Hookup.” He hums and the sound manages to sound extremely smug. “Damn, he was an animal. I can barely sit down. You should have seen the size of his thighs and all that hair. Mmm,” he hums again. “It was like a pelt.”
“As much as I enjoy you telling me every single minute detail of you getting your hole drilled by whatever bear has caught your attention this week, please note the tone of sarcasm in my voice. Because I do. Not. In fact. Enjoy the salacious and often kinky details of your extensive sex life. My question stands, Warren. Why are you calling me? Why aren’t you crawling into bed with an icepack on your ass?”
“The icepack was only one time, and I really regret telling you about it.”
“That makes two of us.”
“Jonas was a one-off, a unicorn in the wild. I’ve never again encountered a dick as magical as his. This guy was fairly average, maybe just slightly below average,” he says thoughtfully. “Although what he lacked in size and girth, he did make up for in skill and enthusiasm. He did this thing where he?—”
I tune him out, well used to his recounting of his most current sexual escapades. I’m a much more private person but the little shit delights on sharing everything… often in excruciating detail.
As much as we love each other, and we really do, my brother and I have always been polar opposites, especially when it comes to men. He’s a needy bottom who can’t resist being manhandled by a bear, the bigger and hairier the better, whereas my tastes run more to topping slim, svelte, pretty boys with the curly blonde hair of a cherub, the bluest eyes I have ever seen, and a smile that is like pure sunlight on a rainy day.
Fuck.
I’m pretty sure I remember what I was dreaming about now—or rather, who. I let my head drop forward. My brain rattles and I wince once more when my forehead clunks against the floor, making my head throb even worse.
“Morgs? Are you still there?”
“It depends,” I mumble into the floor, making no attempt to move. “Are you still describing the size of your hookup’s dick? Because I’m hanging up if so.”
“No,” he snorts. “I called to check on you.”
“Urgh, wait a minute.”
Tangled up in my bedding, I do what can only be described as a backwards caterpillar crawl as I attempt to edge back out from under the bed. Once free, I push myself to my feet, grabbing a blanket to wrap around myself against the chill of the room before sitting on the edge of the bed.
“You sound out of breath,” Warren says in amusement. “Have I disturbed something? Do you actually have company in your bed for a change?”
“No.”
“Why not? When was the last time you had a cute guy balanced on your balls?” Warren asks with absolutely no shame.
“Hanging up now.”
“No, wait!” Warren huffs. “Christ, you’re a grumpy asshole. I wanted to know if you had a chance to speak to your grandfather.”
“I met him.”
“And?” He waits for several long seconds. “Morgan, for fuck’s sake. It’s like pulling teeth. I was looking for something more than single-syllable answers.”