Chapter 13

13

T he sudden and very loud ringing of my phone startles me out of a dream, which must have been a good one considering how hard my dick is. This is not my regular morning wood at all; my painfully throbbing cock practically has its own heartbeat.

I look towards the nightstand where I left my phone, fully intending to decline the call and ignore whoever is calling me at… well, whatever hour this is. I have no clue. Thanks to the winter months and the heavy drapes, the room is still in almost complete darkness except for a slim shaft of pale light peeking through the tiny gap between the curtains. Fumbling at the nightstand, I frown when a, the insistent ringing won't quit, and b, my hand keeps coming up empty.

I roll over onto my stomach in order to reach further but end up groaning loudly when my aching cock is crushed underneath me. Caught somewhere between pain and the need to hump the bed like a horny teenager, I lift my head and squint through the darkness, trying to locate the lit screen of my phone.

The goddamn thing won't stop ringing and it's making my head hurt. I shuffle a little closer and peer over the side on the bed to see if it's fallen down but I can't make anything out in the gloominess of the room.

My head spins, and after a second, I realise I'm not suddenly developing vertigo. The sheets beneath me are moving and taking me with them. It feels like someone has grasped the sheet and is trying to yank it out from under me, but instead I slide across the bed. The next thing I know I hit the hard floor, knocking my elbow, which sends pain radiating up my arm. I flail as I'm buried under an avalanche of sheets, blankets, and a rather heavy quilt.

"Oww," I groan into the now silent room. The phone, wherever it is, has now rung off. I rest my head against the floor and try to ignore the pounding in my temples. I'm not sure if it's a combination of stress and jet lag, or if I'm unlucky enough to be coming down with something, but my head hurts.

I probably should haul myself to my feet and remake the bed, but honestly, I'm still a little disoriented. How the hell did I end up down here? I wasn't leaning that far over the bed, certainly not enough to take every stitch of bedding with me on my swan dive to the freezing floor.

I close my eyes and am just dozing off when that loud and insistent ringing starts up once more, this time accompanied by a buzzing. Tilting my head in the direction of the sound, I see my phone under the bed, the screen lit up as it vibrates across the floor.

Frowning, I wonder how the hell it ended up deep under the heavy old four-poster bed.

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 of those moods. "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."

I scrub my hand over my face tiredly and reach for light by the bed, flicking it on and blinking against the sudden brightness.

"It didn't go…" I pause, resisting the urge to rub the sudden ache in my chest. "He didn't want to talk to me."

"What? Why the fuck not?"

I shrug even though he can't see me. "I don't know. He's an old man, in his late eighties, and I'm not even sure how mentally competent he is. I mean, he didn't even have pants on. He was just wandering around in his socks and slippers, a shirt and sweater, and tighty-whities that were practically pulled up to his armpits."

"Seriously?"

"Is it weird?"

"What? Walking around in your underwear in front of your long-lost grandson? Yes, it is."

"No, I mean, is it weird I don't recognise this place? After all, I lived here for the first six years of my life, but I don't remember anything at all, not even him."

"Give yourself a break, Morgs." His voice is low. "You were just a kid, and you lost your dad, moved to another country, and had to start over. It's not surprising you've got repressed memories."

"Ellis is taking me on a tour of the house today," I say without thinking.

"Ellis?" Warren repeats sharply.

"Don't," I warn.

"What?" His voice drips with innocence, but I know him too well. I can hear the smirk in his voice. "Ellis is the cute little twinky blonde, isn't he?"

"How do you know?" I ask suspiciously.

"Do you really think I didn't go straight online and look up the website for your ancestral abode? I'll give them their due, it was a very professional-looking site, although it doesn't look like they've updated their staff page recently. There were only five people listed."

"No, that's correct. There are only five at the moment." I nod even though he won't see it.

"For a hotel that size?" he says in stunned disbelief. "How do they even keep that place running?"

"Barely, I imagine. Then again, I haven't exactly looked too closely. It's nothing to do with me."

"Aren't you your grandfather's only living relative?"

I shrug. "As far as I know."

"Doesn't that mean you'll inherit that place one day?"

"I doubt it," I scoff, thinking about my grandfather's scowl. He hadn't been exactly happy to see me. "Besides, what the hell would I do with this place other than sell it?"

"You'd really sell it? Hasn't it been in your family for generations or some shit like that?"

"How the fuck should I know? I practically know nothing about that side of the family and whatever Mom knows, she hasn't exactly been forthcoming with the information."

"I know, but still. Wouldn't you want to keep it? Start your own little hotel chain of quirky British manor houses?" The amusement in his voice is clear even across an ocean.

"Trying to get rid of me already?"

Warren sighs. "You know that's not true. If anything, it's the exact opposite. I've been far too reliant on you over the years. You were always the practical, responsible one, and I think sometimes I took advantage of that," he says soberly.

"That's a little deep for you at three in the morning. What's brought this on?"

"I guess I've just been thinking about things a lot since Dad died last year."

"Warren, are you okay?" I ask in concern.

"I'm fine," he replies, brushing off my question. "Anyway, back to your hotel."

"It's not mine."

"You know what I mean."

"It's really quiet here. They only have one guest."

"You're kidding."

I shake my head. "I honestly don't know how they're keeping this place running. It's empty, so it's clearly not making any money. There's almost no staff, the building itself is in desperate need of updating, but…"

"But what?"

"There's something almost charming about the hotel. It's spotless and well cared for despite needing an update. The food so far has been outstanding, and it may only have a handful of staff, but those who are here love this place. You can tell how committed they are to it."

"What will happen to your grandfather if it closes down?" Warren asks, echoing the same thought that had occurred to me yesterday. "Will it just revert to being a family residence instead of a hotel?"

"Couldn't say." I frown, recalling how Ellis had casually mentioned figuring out how to save the hotel. "It doesn't look as if there's enough money to keep it running. I need a better understanding of what's going on. My grandfather may not particularly want me here, but the fact remains that, as far as I'm aware, I am his only living relative. And as inconvenient as it is, I kinda feel like?—"

"Like he's your responsibility?"

I go silent for several long moments after his interruption, trying to get my aching head around my random thoughts.

"You forget I know you, Morgan, and as prickly as you are ninety percent of the time, there is no one I know who takes on more responsibility than you. You're a good man."

"Urgh, it's too early for this shit." I rub my face again.

Warren chuckles deeply. "So, are you staying for a while?"

"I don't really have a choice. I'm snowed in," I lament. "I couldn't leave right now even if I wanted to."

"Snowed in with the hot twinky blonde?" The smirky tone of his voice is back. "Some might call that serendipity."

"And some might call it bad weather and poor planning," I return dryly, feeling my head pulse again. "I can't believe I even got on the damn plane in the first place."

"Then why did you?"

"Because you told me to," I grumble under my breath.

"Since when have you ever done anything I've told you?" he points out. "I'm the younger sibling, as you're so fond of reminding me. You got on that plane because you know deep down this is something you need to resolve. You need this closure."

He's right, but I'm not about to admit it because he'll be insufferable until the end of days. "You should get some sleep," I reply, hearing the slight slur of his words and the tiredness in his voice. "You're going to have your hands full with work until I can get back."

"I'll manage just fine." He yawns loudly. "Because, unlike you, Mr Control Freak, I know how to delegate instead of trying to micromanage everyone and everything."

"Fuck you," I mumble, but there's no heat behind my words because, again, he has a point. I do like to control my environment, it makes me feel secure.

"Now go and offer that gorgeous receptionist a blow job. It will make you feel better," he declares with a little too much glee. "You're too uptight."

"Goodnight, Warren." I sigh and hang up the phone before he can put any more ideas in my head about Ellis. I have absolutely no doubt that I would thoroughly enjoy giving him a blow job, but that doesn't mean it's a good idea.

I stare down at my dick, which is enthusiastically tenting the front of my pyjama pants.

"That's enough out of you," I mutter quietly. "You don't get to have an opinion."

Looking at the mess of blankets and sheets on the floor and then at the bare mattress on the bed, I frown. I don't understand how everything ended up on the floor, me included. I shake my head and, ignoring the dull thud, scoop up the bedding and dump it back on the bed. There's a good chance I'm not going to get any more sleep; what I need most right now is a shower and then some really strong coffee.

Carefully placing my phone back on the nightstand, I head into the bathroom and switch the light on. My cock aches and no matter how much I try to wrangle my wayward thoughts back into order, fragments of my dream flicker back through my mind: my hands gliding over smooth skin, soft lips pressed against mine, the hot tangle of tongues, a slim body beneath me.

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 and talk 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.