Page 47 of The Haunted Hotel

I set the water to a slightly lower temperature and hope for a more successful shower than yesterday when I almost ended up with hypothermia. Gingerly, I step inside and sigh in relief. It’s just the right side of too cool, enough to wake me up and hopefully blast away the last of this headache without turning me into an ice cube.

However, the temperature seems to have no effect on my dick, which stubbornly refuses to go back into hibernation. Trying to ignore it, I reach for my body wash and lather up, but as I close my eyes and run my fingers over my body, the images are back with a vengeance. This time it’s not the dream but an image of heavy-lidded, lust-filled blue eyes staring down at me as I take his cock into my mouth.

Unable to help myself, my palm glides over my stomach and lazily fists my cock, the slick glide of my soapy hand smoothing my foreskin back as I circle the sensitive head with my thumb. I’m not circumcised like my younger brother, another parting gift from being born and raised in England for the first six years of my life.

I moan and let my head fall back as I enjoy the slide and increase the pressure of my grip slightly. My mind returns to Ellis, and I wonder if he’s uncut; as a Brit, the likelihood is that he is, and the thought gives me a little jolt of pleasure. There’s nothing I love more than playing with a partner’s foreskin. Slipping my tongue underneath the little folds of flesh and tasting the musky flavour and hint of precum. Slowly gliding the skin back and chasing it with my mouth as I glide over the thick mushroom head, my tongue flat against the underside.

I wonder what sort of sounds Ellis would make as I teased him before taking him deep, right to the back of my throat. Would he be loud? Vocal? Would he cry out or grip my hair andtalk dirty to me? The thought of that sweet, angelic smile as he tells me to swallow his cum has me spilling over my fist. My orgasm rips through me so suddenly I lean forward to brace my palm against the cool tiles. Gasping heavily, I watch the milky whiteness of my release spiral lazily in the water and slip down the drain.

What the fuck am I doing?Has it really been so long that I’m forced to tug one out to the image of the pretty receptionist slash waiter slash a million other jobs I’m sure he’s not contracted for but does anyway?

Out of love, I think to myself. He does it out of love—for this place, for my grandfather.

If I hadn’t just had the most intense orgasm in recent memory, that thought would have been enough to deflate my dick in double time. After washing my hands, I splash the cool water on my face, searching for some kind of clarity, but I don’t find any. No, it’s not because I’m hard up for a bed partner. The last several months of self-imposed celibacy were by choice. Nothing about random hookups has been doing it for me anymore, which is why I haven’t even looked at Grindr, not even for a little quick relief during overnights to various cities when visiting our hotels.

But I want Ellis.

There, I’ve admitted it. But one thing I’ve learned the hard way over the years? Just because I want something doesn’t mean I can have it.

14

I’m still feeling residual guilt over what I did in the shower even after I’m dressed and heading downstairs.

When I’d wandered out of the bathroom and back into my room in nothing but a towel, I’d discovered that the bed, which I’d left as an untidy heap of bed linen piled on the bare mattress, was now completely remade and pristine.

I have to admit John the Maid is scarily efficient, and as much as I do appreciate a productive member of staff, I don’t appreciate the fact that he was obviously in my room while I was in the shower.

The first thing I’m going to do when I get downstairs is grab aDo Not Disturbsign and then make it absolutely clear that no one is to enter my room if I’m in there. Mortification rushes over me, warming my skin. What if the slightly scary-looking man heard me in the throes of my orgasm? I try to remember if I accidentally groaned out Ellis’ name as I came.

Christ, I hope not.

My body flushes again and I hurry down the steps, trying not to think about it too much. I’d just reached the bottom of the last staircase, the front desk and office in sight, when a figure leapsout from behind the curve of the bannister with a loud shriek and brandishing a large knife.

I shout out in shock and fall back against the steps, my heart pounding. My ass cheek throbs in pain—that’s probably going to bruise.

I glare at the writing guy, Ass Pennington, who’s now smiling like he didn’t just leap out as if we’re starring in one of theScreammovies.

“What the hell are you doing?” I exclaim angrily.

“Oh, this?” He places his finger on the tip of the blade and presses. The blade retracts into the handle, and he presses it up and down a few more times as if to demonstrate. “It’s a gag knife. Plastic, of course. After all, safety first, especially considering what happened to that murder mystery actor—What was his name? Plume. Professor Plume.”

“That doesn’t explain what you were doing jumping at me like that. Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

“Oh, nothing of the sort.” He laughs heartily and I’m about two seconds from wringing his scrawny neck. “How are you feeling? Rapid pulse? Sweating? What was the first thought that went through your mind when you saw the knife? Was it instantaneous panic, or did you pause for a moment in confusion?”

“What?” I glower at him.

“I’m doing research”—he raises the knife and wiggles it, as if I missed the damn thing the first time—“for my book. So, tell me how you’re feeling right now.” He retrieves what appears to be a tiny notepad and the stub of a pencil from his pants pocket.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Incredulity! Marvellous! Yes, I suppose there would be an element of disbelief. A split second where the victim couldn’t quite believe what was occurring. Amazing input! Thank you somuch for being such a good sport. I should have done this years ago.”

“What? Leap out and scare unsuspecting and innocent bystanders?” I grumble as I haul myself off the step and rub my ass cheek.

“No.” He gives a merry laugh. “Stay somewhere for the ambience.” His smile widens and he almost looks manic. “Really gets the old creative juices flowing.” He punctuates that sentence with a small thrust of his fist.

“Uh-huh.” My eyes narrow as I eye him suspiciously.