Chapter 17

17

" M organ!" I call out as I hurry down the corridor in nothing but my hastily grabbed towel. "Morgan, wait!"

My nipples pebble and tiny bumps rise on my skin as the cool air hits my wet body. Morgan is just up ahead of me, squelching across the carpet in his soaked shoes and drenched clothes. He's deliberately ignoring my shouting, and I can't blame him. I'm pretty certain he's beyond embarrassed right now, but he doesn't need to be. None of what just happened was his doing, I'm certain of it.

In fact, I'm a thousand percent certain the blame lies with a certain ghostly duo that were doing a very poor job of hiding in the room I've just exited.

I really am going to have to have words with them. I know they want to practise their haunting skills, but enough is enough. They're really stressing Morgan out and he doesn't even believe in ghosts.

Morgan stalks past John the Maid, who is standing with his hand on the handle of the vacuum cleaner, glaring at the trail of bubbles and wet, soapy footprints left in Morgan's wake. But before John the Maid can open his mouth to say anything, Morgan lets himself into his room and slams the door.

I hurry down the corridor, clutching my towel so I don't inadvertently flash John the Maid. "I'm so sorry," I tell him as I reach Morgan's door. "It was an accident."

John the Maid glowers at me, then the carpet, then Morgan's door, then growls loudly and stomps off in the direction of his supply cupboard on this floor.

"Morgan!" I knock on his door loudly but, unsurprisingly, there's no response. "Morgan!"

I keep knocking, even as my body shudders and my teeth start to chatter. Bloody hell, it's cold. "Morgan, please! I'm freezing out here."

The door suddenly swings open and Morgan is standing there in all his livid, soggy glory. He takes one look at my shivering body and reaches out, pulling me into his room and shutting the door behind me. It only takes me a moment to feel warmer. I'm definitely going to have to check to make sure the heating is working in the communal hallways on this floor.

Having stripped off his soaked jacket and trousers and kicked off his ruined shoes in the short time he's been in his room, Morgan's now in nothing but a pair of very sexy, tight black boxer briefs and a very wet shirt, which is plastered to his body, giving me a delicious view of his well-defined pecs and the dark hair covering them.

I'm so caught up in my attempt not to drool that I've almost forgotten I'm in nothing but a towel when Morgan yanks a blanket off his bed and wraps it around me to keep me warm. "What are you doing?" he snaps. "Are you trying to catch pneumonia?"

"No, I?—"

"Oh my god, what the hell am I doing here? It's a never-ending cycle of abject humiliation and feeling like a complete and total idiot. I don't do this. I don't make a fool of myself," he rants as he paces the floor, running his fingers through his hair. His expression contorts at the slimy handful of peach-smelling body wash that he pulls away from his scalp. "I can't believe I walked into the wrong room. What the hell is wrong with me? I checked the number. I could've sworn I checked the number."

"Well, I—" I try to interrupt, to let him know it wasn't his fault. Not that he'd believe me if I told him the dead twinky tennis instructor in white hotpants had intentionally emptied all the shampoo and body wash bottles over the tiled bathroom floor, turning it into a skating rink. Roger's lucky Morgan didn't knock himself out cold on the sink; instead, he'd ended up in the tub with me. Well, in the tub on top of me, and I was very naked… and very slippery.

"I swear, I'm not some sort of sexual predator." He grimaces. "I just couldn't get a good grip." His eyes widen in horror. "I don't mean on you. I mean on the bath… to climb out…oh my god." He covers his eyes with one soapy hand and immediately hisses in pain, no doubt from the soap making his eyes sting.

"Morgan." I still his hands with mine, my mouth curving as he blinks at me rapidly, his eyes streaming. Reaching up with one of my hands, I wipe gently at his face with the edge of the blanket he wrapped me in. "Trust me, I don't think you're a sex predator at all." I chuckle. "It wasn't your fault. Even though I have a room up on the fifth floor, I use that suite when it's not in use because I like the bathtub. I only have a tiny little bathroom, which I happen to share with Rosie, who has the room adjacent to mine."

"I'm sorry," he says miserably, and I want to lean in and kiss his bottom lip which is sticking out.

"It's fine," I murmur, then realise that my hand has dropped the blanket and is now cupping his cheek, my thumb stroking the stubble along his jaw.

His dark eyes flare as his gaze drops to my mouth. I watch as those sexy eyes, the colour of bittersweet chocolate, travel over my throat and down my bare chest. The blanket, now loosely draped around my shoulders like a cape, does nothing to hide the spectacular tenting of my unicorn towel.

I'm not even ashamed. Morgan is the sexiest man I've ever seen. Fuck, I want him so bad. My hard cock is aching, my heart is pounding, and my breathing is just a series of shallow little pants. I'm so desperately turned on by him. I want that gorgeous body pressing me into the bed, all hot, hard flesh and delicious friction.

I know it's been a long time for me, but I've never wanted a man like I want him. And his breathing is as erratic as mine—this isn't one-sided.

Is it a bad idea? Probably.

Am I going for it anyway? You bet I am.

I don't know which one of us moves first, but the next thing I know, our mouths meet in a desperate clash of lips and tongues. My hands tangle in his slick hair and his palms slide around my naked waist, pulling me flush against his body.

One of us groans and I'm not sure who. It had a kind of choral quality to it, so maybe it was both of us in glorious harmony. I grind up against him and he returns the motion. Oh yeah, we are both definitely on board the same train.

"Morgan," I breathe heavily. "Morgan." His name is on repeat in my head because I don't currently have the mental capacity for anything more eloquent than get your dick out and fuck me hard .

Maybe I'm getting ahead of myself.

The blanket slips from my shoulders and we stumble as he powers me backwards until I'm pressed up against the wall.

Maybe not.

"We probably shouldn't be doing this," he pants between kisses. I reach up and unknot his tie, sliding it out from his damp collar.

"Uh-huh." I kiss him again, dropping the tie and reaching for his buttons. "Terrible idea."

"Really terrible idea," he groans, reaching down and whipping my towel off, then sending the unicorns flying across the room.

"The worst, ughhhhhmmmh." The next word out of my mouth is a garbled mess when he wraps his warm palm around my dick and strokes firmly.

"Fuck," he moans and I shove his boxers down his thick, hairy thighs.

Taking his cock in my hand, I start up my own rhythm, making sure to run my thumb across the sensitive head and gather up the drops of precum to make the glide more intense.

He takes my mouth again, his tongue plunging between my lips to taste me. We hump frantically at each other. Fuck me, he's addictive. There's no civility, so finesse, just a desperate need.

I let go of his dick and push his shirt off his shoulders, dragging the material down his arms only to have it tangle at his wrists. I fumble with the buttons, but the fabric is damp and twisted, and I don't have the patience. Neither, it seems, does Morgan. He grabs the sleeves, first one, then the other, and rips the whole thing off, flinging it to the floor.

My dick twitches at the fierce desire in those dark eyes. He slides his hands down and cups my arse, grinding his hard cock against mine, then lifts me. I wrap my legs around him, trying awkwardly to shove his boxers further down his thighs with my feet.

Suddenly, he pushes away from the wall and turns us around. Clinging to him, I continue to devour his mouth, which is my new favourite thing in the world, while he does a kind of shuffling waddle towards the bed with me in his arms. Looking down, I see his boxers tangled around his ankles, and I snort out a laugh as we tumble to the mattress in a mess of mouths, groping hands, and grinding pelvises.

God, this man. It feels like I'm on fire.

"Morgan." I'm back to panting his name like the desperate little hussy I am, begging against his lips. "Morgan, please."

He groans long and loud and ruts against me, our dicks sliding together with all kinds of delicious pressure and friction. I practically see stars when he wraps his fist around both of us and begins to stroke, but as damp as we are with our collective precum, it would be better with lube.

Something unexpectedly smacks Morgan in the side of the head, causing him to release my mouth and glance up. "Ow, what was that?"

We look down to see a small bottle of lube lying on the sheet next to us.

"Where did that come from?" Morgan frowns in confusion.

"Just go with it," I breathe heavily, taking his mouth again. I pat the sheet blindly to pick up the bottle.

After flicking it open, I pour some into my hand, then reach down between us. He moves his hand and I take over. Both of us moan loudly, and I begin a slick but firm stroking motion, my thumb gliding over the heads of both our dicks. Morgan undulates against me, humping into my hand and grinding against my dick.

I cry out into his mouth as I spill over my fist and soak his cock with my cum. That seems to push him over the edge, and he lets out his own strangled cry while a pulse of hot liquid coats my fingers.

He collapses against me, his face buried in my neck, his hot, panting breaths against my skin.

I like it.

I like the weight of him, the feel of his heart thundering against mine and the dampness of our mingled orgasms slick between us. After a few moments, he rolls onto his back beside me. He takes another couple of slow breaths and lifts his head weakly.

"I'm still wearing my socks."

I follow his gaze and chuckle when I see his boxers dangling from one ankle. Rolling onto my side to face him, I wipe my hand on the covers and tuck it under my cheek.

"I better remember to wash the bedding myself tomorrow. I don't think John the Maid will be happy at the state of the sheets."

Morgan snorts. It's loud and unattractive and absolutely perfect. The kind you can't keep in when you're happy and something is funny.

"Oh my god, can you imagine his face when he sees the lube and cum stains?" Morgan is still laughing as he turns his head to look at me. His eyes dance with mirth and his smile is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

"You're so gorgeous when you smile," I mutter, lifting my other hand to trace his lips and the curve of his cheek with my fingertips.

"I don't know about that," he says. "I guess I don't smile much."

"Why?"

He shrugs. "I don't know. I did, I think, when Warren and I were younger. Less responsibilities."

I bend my elbow and prop my head on my hand so I can gaze down at him as I run my fingers through the thick chest hair scattered across his firm pecs.

"I know you take your responsibilities very seriously, but don't you ever… I don't know, just have fun?"

"Ah, yes. Fun. That's what people do when they don't have a multimillion-dollar hotel empire to run, right?"

"You know what I think you should do?" I roll over on top of him, then fold my hands on his chest and rest my chin on them.

"What?" He reaches up absently and toys with an errant curl at my temple.

"You should find a reason to smile every day," I decide.

"Every day?" He chuckles and I enjoy the feel of his chest rumbling beneath me.

"Every. Single. Day." I nod. "Life's too short, Morgan. I know you have a big, important job that comes with stress and decisions, but there's always time for a smile…" My voice trails off, and he stares at me for a long time.

"What are we doing, Ellis?" His tone is low and intimate as he traces the line of my cheekbone with his finger.

"We're enjoying the time we have together."

"Is that enough?" he replies, his brow furrowing. "I'm going back to New York."

"I know." Even though my heart gives a sad, little forlorn thud at the thought of him leaving. "It's enough," I whisper, leaning in and pressing my lips to his. The kiss has none of the heat and desperation of earlier but instead is filled with sweetness.

When I pull back, he looks slightly dazed, and I chuckle. "Did I scramble your brain?"

"I think you might have." He skims his palms down my back and rests them in the curve at the base of my spine. "I've never met anyone like you," he mutters, and I'm not sure whether he meant to say that out loud or not, but I answer anyway.

"I've never met anyone like you either," I murmur, teasing my lips against his again.

"This has the potential to go so wrong."

I reach up and graze the pad of my thumb between his brows to smooth away the almost-permanent crease.

"I'm not asking for anything you don't want to give. I like you, Morgan, just the way you are. There's not a thing about you I'd change. Why not let yourself have this? I get the feeling you don't allow yourself the things you want very often. Enjoy the time we have together and when it's time for you to go home, take the memory with you." I trace the arch of his dark brow softly. "And maybe when you think back to our time together, it'll make you smile."

"You know, I'm beginning to think you're right about this place."

I grin. "About what?"

"That it's magic," he says as he watches me. "I feel like I'm caught in a web you're weaving around me."

"Maybe I am," I tease.

This time, it's him who lifts his head to lay a soft, sweet kiss on my lips, and my heart gives a hard knock and rolls over lazily. In that one moment, I know without a doubt that I will lose something important when he leaves.

He'll be taking a little piece of my heart that I didn't mean to give but did anyway.