Chapter 21

21

I snuggle further down into my blanket, my book forgotten in my grip as I rest my head on the pillow and turn to stare out of the window, sighing in pleasure. This is one of my favourite places to be.

I'm tired. It's been a long day of helping John the Maid clean the stairwells and bannisters. My muscles ache and I feel like I haven't had a day off in forever. Which, to be fair, I haven't. Not that I mind, but sometimes it does catch up with me.

Although I'm still wearing my black trousers, white shirt, and my black waistcoat, now unbuttoned, I've removed my tie and the apron John the Maid loaned me, and my shiny black shoes have been replaced by the comfy pair of tan Uggs my mum gave me for Christmas. I've also pulled on a chunky cardigan with oversized buttons that I knitted myself. I miss knitting, but I haven't been able to make anything new recently because I can't afford the wool.

Still, at least reading's free, even if this is a book I've read dozens of times already. But I find myself staring down at the page and reading the same paragraph over and over again. Nothing's going in—my mind is completely someplace else tonight.

Settling into the pillows, I draw my blanket closer. It's not really that cold, I just like to snuggle. It's a comfort thing. Stretching out on the generously sized and well-cushioned chaise, I go back to watching the snow drift down outside the huge glass windows of the conservatory. Last summer, Rosie and I strung dozens of white fairy lights around the black iron framework in here, and to me, this room is just magical. Lying here in the soft light with the snow fall all around outside feels like I'm inside a giant snow globe.

Shifting around so I can look out the glass roof, I catch sight of a figure watching me from the doorway. I smile at Morgan leaning up against the doorframe. He's dressed casually in jeans and a sweater, and he looks relaxed.

"How did dinner with your grandfather go?" My voice is low so as not to break the magic of the dimly lit atmosphere.

His mouth quirks at the corner. "Do you know everything that goes on in this hotel?"

I chuckle. "We do like to gossip. It helps pass the time."

He lets the door close behind him and crosses the room like he has all the time in the world, a confident swagger that warms my blood when paired with the intense way his eyes have locked on mine. Like I'm the only person in the world.

Morgan moves to take a seat and I shuffle over so he can perch on the edge of the chaise at my side.

"We talked about my dad, about…" He stops and gazes out of the window. "We talked about a lot of things. It's not perfect, but it's a start." He draws in a breath and slides his gaze back to me. "I'm going to keep in contact with him when I return to New York. Call each week, maybe sometimes come to visit."

My stomach clenches at the thought of him leaving, even though he was always intending to. I went into this—whatever it is between us—with no expectations, just a genuine desire to be close to him in whatever way I can while I can. But I can't deny that I'm beginning to feel things for him I shouldn't, things that will only end up hurting when he's gone. I can't seem to stop though; he's like a drug that I crave. Not just his touch and his taste, but also the smile that I know he doesn't give just anyone and his laugh that doesn't come easily but I somehow always manage to tease out of him.

"It's cosy in here," Morgan says as he surveys the room with interest. "Pretty too."

"We have the old freestanding Calor gas heaters in here." I point to a couple of them tucked into the corners of the room. "Keeps it just the right level of warm. The blanket is just for comfort. This is one of my absolute favourite places to be, especially during storms. Watching the lightning through the glass ceiling is incredible, and being all snuggled up with a book and a hot drink when it rains is one of the most comforting things in the world to me."

"I can imagine." The amusement in his warm, dark eyes makes my stomach go all jittery and my cheeks flush.

Soft music suddenly fills the air around us.

"Where did that come from?" Morgan asks, and I point up to the speakers mounted on the conservatory framework, then glance over to where Bertie and Roger give me a couple of thumbs up before disappearing completely.

"I think Roger and Bertie are matchmaking." His brow creases at my words and the motion makes me chuckle.

"Bertie and Roger? The ghosts?" I nod, laughing outright at his expression. "Sometimes I can't tell if you're pulling my leg or being serious." He pushes the blanket off me and stands up, holding his hand out.

"What?" My laugh has changed to a wide smile as I swing my feet off the chaise, then take his hand and allow him to pull me to my feet. "What are we doing?"

He entwines our fingers together and slips his other arm around my waist. Slowly, he draws me close and sways to the music, so I grip his bicep with my free hand and follow his lead.

"Dancing," he murmurs as he gazes down at me.

It's less dancing and more staring and swaying as we turn in a slow circle, but it's the most romantic thing I've ever experienced in my life.

I've had moments on the dance floor with random guys in clubs, which really were nothing more than me in a pair of booty shorts grinding on their crotches and looking for a quick, no-strings hookup. This, though. This is something else entirely.

My heart trembles in a way I'm not prepared for but don't have the will to fight.

"Ellis," Morgan whispers.

Unable to stop myself, I rise on my toes and press my lips to his in a soft, slow kiss. We stop swaying to the music, but he keeps holding me, his grip firm but gentle. My mouth parts and lets him in for a slow, sexy glide of tongues. Then my head falls back on a gasp and his soft, warm lips trail over my jaw and down my neck to the open collar of my shirt.

"Ellis," he whispers again. "I want you so badly. Let me have you. Please," he begs against my flushed skin.

"Yes," I breathe. His hand next goes to work on the buttons of my shirt until he can fully push the fabric aside.

Practically holding me upright, his mouth lowers so his tongue can trace my nipple. I stare up at the snow sliding down the glass, but I'm lost to sensation, unable to truly process anything but the hot suction of his mouth as he tugs and suckles first one nipple and then the other.

My skin prickles and I shiver. I've never felt taken apart by something so simple yet so intimate. We've created a little mini world of our own. Our own personal snow globe.

I wish I could freeze this moment in time and exist in it forever. The thought of him leaving creates a sharp stab of pain that I try to ignore; instead, I focus on the way he tastes and the scent of his skin, imprinting both in my memory.

His hands skim down my back to cup my buttocks, and as he lifts me effortlessly, I wrap my legs around his waist.

My mouth crashes down on his and my equilibrium shifts. He moves us onto the chaise and lays me down next to the discarded blanket, his weight pressing me into the plump cushions. I groan when his deliciously hard cock rubs against mine through the fabric of my trousers.

Sliding my hands underneath his sweater, I skim my fingers up his hot skin, raising the sweater and T-shirt beneath it with my efforts. We break our kiss long enough to pull them over his head, then I toss them to the flagstone floor.

My lips ache, swollen from his desperate kisses, and I have beard burn along my jaw, but I don't care. I can't stop, don't ever want to stop. I want him to mark me in every way possible because soon he'll be gone, and all I'll be left with is the memory of this.

Running my hands up his arms and over his shoulders, I dip down to drag my short nails over his nipples and thrill in his hiss of pleasure. God, I love a hairy chest, it's my kryptonite. Morgan checks every single box I've ever had and some I never knew about before.

He pulls back, straddling my legs, and I chase his mouth with a little whine of protest. As he sits up, he smiles down at me, a smile that's wide and natural and so fucking beautiful.

Helping me up to a sitting position, he pushes my cardigan, waistcoat, and shirt off my shoulders, then drags them down my arms. He pauses for a moment to give me a cheeky little wink that makes laughter bubble up my throat while he drops my clothing to the floor. With that secret, seductive smile still playing on his lips, he unbuckles my leather belt, slipping it through the loops of my trousers and tossing it to land with a small clatter against the pile of clothes.

He leans in and takes my lips once more, but the kiss is chaste and fleeting, a tease of more to come as his fingers deftly unbutton my trousers. Climbing off me, he starts to pull them and my briefs down my legs. My cock, damp with precum, slaps against my belly as he strips me of the remainder of my clothes, leaving me splayed out on the chaise.

I'm gloriously naked, my cock hard and my eyes heavy with desire as they meet his.

He lets his gaze pass over my body, as if imprinting this moment in his memory forever. Unable to help myself, I slide my hand down my stomach and fist my dick, giving it a slow, teasing stroke as he watches.

Christ, he's so gorgeous. He's all I want… all I can see. His almost-black hair is mussed from where my fingers have tangled in it, the grey streaks at his temples glowing under the twinkling fairy lights. My fingers itch to trace over the sexy stubble at his jaw. His intense gaze turns molten and my eyes drop to his swollen lips as he licks them slowly and deliberately.

His firmly rounded pecs are liberally dusted with hair, and his nipples are flat, dusky discs that I'm aching to get my lips on. His stomach is a little softer, but it's obvious he takes care of his body. There's a mouthwatering trail of dark hair from his belly button that disappears into the low-slung waistband of his jeans.

That luscious mouth tilts up into a cocky smile as he retrieves a couple of foil packets from his pocket and tosses them onto the chaise by my hip. I watch avidly, hoping I'm not drooling, as he unbuttons his jeans with a slow, teasing pop pop pop…

Okay, I may actually be drooling. Why is it that buttons are so much sexier than zips? He hooks his thumbs at his hips and draws his jeans down, stripping off the rest of his clothes before he straightens up and smirks as I ogle him shamelessly.

Lowering himself back to the chaise, Morgan settles his warm, bare skin onto mine, and I groan. We rub and frot against each other, my hands once again tangling in his hair.

"You're so beautiful," he pants against my mouth. "I want to be inside you."

"Yes." I arch my back, moaning sluttily as he nips and sucks at the sensitive juncture where my neck meets my shoulder, an action that makes me shudder. "I want everything ."

He groans and moves so he can open the condom and roll it down his thick cock, then opens the packet of lube and wets his fingers.

"It's been a while," I gasp, my eyes rolling back in pleasure at the touch of his slippery fingers at my entrance.

"Me too," he whispers. His mouth takes mine and swallows my moan as one long finger slips inside me, joined a moment later by a second.

"Morgan," I breathe, rocking my hips. Then we're back to kissing again. I seriously could spend the rest of my life attached to this man's mouth, he's so addictive.

He curls his fingers and searches for my prostate, and when he finds it, I let out a rather embarrassing sound somewhere between desperation and ecstasy. Fuck . I ride his fingers, feeling the stretch and burn, but I don't care. I want him inside me.

By the time he adds a third, I'm impatient and fighting the urge to come already.

"Now, now, now," I chant against his lips. "Morgan, please. I need you."

He groans at my words and pulls his fingers out. Quickly, he slicks his cock with the rest of the lube, then lines up the head with my hole. I clutch at him tightly, my fingers digging into his skin hard enough to leave marks, as he sinks inside me. He grasps my thighs and pushes them up, almost folding me in half, canting my hips to get a better angle. Something gives at last, and he slides in all the way to the root.

We both moan and I wrap my arms around him as he buries his face in my neck. For a second, we just rest, our heavy breathing in sync, and relish the feel of our bodies joining for the first time.

I feel so full, and not just from the way his huge cock stuffs me. Every part of me feels this way—even my mind and heart are filled with his presence. He begins to push in slowly, grinding when he's buried deep. My eyes roll and I let out the longest, sluttiest moan I've ever made in my life.

Fuck me . Sex has never been like this for me. I can't remember experiencing such intensity. I move with him in perfect synchronicity. He thrusts deep into my body, that thick, heavy cock dragging over my prostrate with every movement.

I hope to god there is no one else in this part of the hotel because I'm very loud, but there's no way to stop my cries of pleasure. I've always been quite vocal, but this is next level. I don't know if it's him, the fact I haven't had sex in ages, the ambience… or the way he makes me feel every single time I'm with him.

All I know is that he's probably ruined me for anyone else.

"Harder," I beg. "Oh god, please, harder!"

He grabs the edge of the arm of the chaise above my head with one hand while his other cups my arse cheek so he can get as deep as possible. He growls once more and the sound sends a shiver down the back of my neck as he sets a punishing pace. I'm in heaven and just hold on tight for the ride. There's no more finesse—it's deep, it's hard, and it turns my whole world upside-down.

He continues to batter against my prostate until lightning races down my spine and stars burst in front of my eyes, and I come so hard I almost black out. My orgasm makes me clamp down hard, strangling his dick. Morgan cries out and thrusts so hard that I'm shoved further up the chaise. Once inside me at his deepest point, he stills, and his cock pulses as he unloads into the condom.

His body is trembling, so I pull him into a hug, wrapping my arms and legs around him and plastering our sweaty bodies together while our breathing slows.

I don't know how long we stay tangled up in each other, but I finally relax my legs, stretching them out to link with his as he lays between my thighs. His head rests on my chest right above my heartbeat, and I lazily card my fingers through his hair.

"It's never been like that before." Morgan's whisper has a puzzled tone to it.

"Not for me either," I confess.

We lie for a few more minutes and watch the snow, which has lightened up to a few tiny flakes drifting past the conservatory windows.

"Tell me about your life in America." I want to know everything about this complicated, contradictory man.

"What do you want to know?" he mutters. "It's not really that interesting. I go to work, I travel for work, I work out in the gym between work."

The corners of my mouth tug up. "Sounds like you work a lot."

"Yeah. Honestly, I think I've done it for so long that I've forgotten how to do anything else." He twists his head so our eyes can meet. "I came here because I was mad about what had happened. Pissed that the papers had connected my name to this place."

"That's understandable."

"The thing is,"—he settles his head back on my chest and turns toward the window, as if it's too hard to look at me while saying the next words—"I came here because I was angry, but it gave me something I didn't know I needed."

"And what's that?"

"Peace." He says the one word so softly I almost don't hear it.

My heart gives a hard knock and I close my eyes.

Damn this man. He's going to break me, I just know it.