by Aven Jayce
JAMESON HOTEL
The Dark Suite Series
(Parts One, Two & Three)
Copyright © 2015 by Aven Jayce
Cover Image by Alenaviad
Cover and Book Design by Triple J Marketing
Published by Mirror Call Press
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual locales, events, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Published in the United States.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book can be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form, including but not limited to printing, file sharing, and email, without written permission from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review. Purchase only authorized editions.
DEDICATION
Thank you to everyone who has been following the story of the Jameson family through NOVA and the Dark Scarlett, especially Michelle McGinty, a beautiful woman, an indie author’s best friend, and a fan of dark reads.
JAMESON HOTEL is a dark series for mature audiences. It includes abusive situations, detailed violence, harsh language, drugs & graphic sexual content. Please be warned - dark novels may be disturbing or offensive to some readers.
MARK JAMESON is an arrogant prick, the type of character readers love to hate or hate to love.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
PART ONE
Prologue
Afternoon
Evening Arrivals
Departure
Morning
Hooked
First Light
Discharge
Into The Darkness
Watching You
PART TWO
Fixing
Breakfast
Pompous
Worshipping The Princess
Gift
Days End
Bleak Night
Hollow
PART THREE
Omen
Daxton
Taunt
An Offering
Unsettled
Devotion
Inamorata
Lady Of The Night
Epilogue
About The Author
PART ONE
PROLOGUE
Eager for a change after losing custody of my son and half of my possessions in an epic and savage divorce battle, I sold my porn company, my house, and the remainder of my belongings to escape the shithole, dehydrated city of Las Vegas.
I spent the next two years arguing with architects, and countless months trying to get the proper building permits until I was finally approved to have a hotel built on a piece of land between Carson City and Sacramento. It’s a three-story structure with a rustic log cabin exterior that melds with the landscape, and an interior that’s elegantly decked out, comprised of dark-toned walls and rich earthy hues in the carpets and wood floors. With high-end furnishings from the ground up, gold and red accents in the corridors, and fresh Mariposa lilies strategically arranged in every room, I’ve heard it referred to as luxurious and stately, similar to a manor house.
Located just off Route 50, my hotel is burrowed in the high pines of the Sierra Nevada Mountains. Replete with a remarkable view of Lake Tahoe, it’s a place for anyone in need of an escape from their polluted urban life of fast food, gadgets, car exhaust, and nine-hour days in front of a digital blue screen.
I thought my time away from the porn industry and casinos might sway my ex-wife to lighten up about my visitation rights with my kid, Jack, who I never get to see. However, I’m beginning to realize that as the son of the former king of porn, Paul Jameson, a psychopath who ended up face down with a bullet through his head, his past will always be a part of my present. My ex-wife is fully aware of the disturbing life my father led, and now that we’re no longer together, she’s using it against me, keeping my son at a distance. She also believes I’m turning into a shielded, voyeuristic, mentally ill man just like he was, and she could very well be right. What she doesn’t understand is that I not only inherited part of my father’s estate, but his enemies as well, and I need to protect myself.
Hiding behind every slot machine back in Vegas and now in these tall mountain pines is someone who’s out to kill me. I don’t trust a soul. Even at six thousand feet, with only one long road in and out of my hotel, I know that someday, someone’s going to arrive and seek vengeance for my father’s fucked up behavior. I am a bit guarded.
I have cameras around my entire property, in the lobby, restaurant, pool area, gym, laundry room, in all of the corridors, the executive suites, and even some of the standard-stay rooms. While I know I can’t legally observe and record my guests in their rooms, what they don’t know can’t hurt them. As far as I’m concerned, it’s a security issue and one I don’t take lightly, not after witnessing some of the shit that went down within my father’s porn company. And, I hate to admit this, but sometimes watching people screw in my hotel hardens my dick.
People traveling through these parts are mostly vacationers hitting the ski slopes during the winter or hiking and boating during the summer. They’re looking for a serene setting, to inhale the mountain air, and to put their four hundred dollar a night bed to good use - fucking like wild beasts every chance they get. With all the cameras in and around this place I can catch some cock getting sucked or a pussy getting eaten out and poked virtually any time of the night or day. And the best part is it’s goddamn real, not a bunch of worn-out porn stars getting paid to unconsciously perform. It’s fucking hot. Shit, even the baggy old asshats that wander into my hotel get it on with their K-Y jelly for at least one night during their stay.
I’ve also caught my staff screwing around on their breaks. Housekeeping, restaurant workers, the doormen and baggage handlers, my maintenance and grounds crew, every damn one of them have banged someone at least once in this hotel, mainly one another, but sometimes the guests. The chief badass offenders are my pool boys; three guys who are fresh out of high school and at eighteen their dicks are pretty much hard twenty-four seven.
I may need to change the name of my place from Jameson Hotel to Brothel in the Pines and, in all honesty, I’m just as guilty as the rest of the whorish men and women who hang around here. For Pete’s sake, I’m not going to live my life without pussy.
And just to be clear, I also don’t take shit from anyone. People who fuck with me never check out. Lake Tahoe is the third deepest lake in the United States with an average depth of a thousand feet. If some swine finds himself sinking to the bottom with a concrete block tied around his chest it’s because he was a threat to someone I care about, in which case he’s never going to be found. Trust me on that one.
I’m Mark Jameson.
Oh, and welcome to my hotel.
AFTERNOON
The face that stares back at me in the bathroom mirror is more foe than friend. Six-feet tall with blonde hair, blue eyes, high cheekbones, and a chiseled jawline, I’ve been told time and time again that I look like a model. I’m the living, breathing, shitting version of Malibu Ken, only I dress a hell of a lot better and I don’t have a vinyl bulge for a dick. I also don’t believe there was ever a Ken doll sold that was deranged. There’s no Killer Ken in the toy stores, and certainly no Fuck Her in the Ass Ken, so I’ve got a leg up on Barbie’s little squirrel monkey.
But this face I keep gazing at each day... the quixotic man who enjoys fine suits over Bermuda shorts even in eighty-degree weather
, the one who is past his prime in the midst of a mid-life crisis, if that man had his way he’d look like his father - dark features, beady rodent eyes, large build, with fists of steel and the laugh of a villain. Evil surged from every pore of my dad and anyone within a hundred-mile radius sensed his wickedness. His presence was unsettling to all.
Still, when I walk into a room, women pant while men stand and want to shake my hand like I’m some fucking prince. My features are the antithesis of the malicious man I’ve become. I didn’t inherit my father’s mob boss appearance, but I did end up with his cruel, heartless, and merciless genes.
And my looks are the reason it’s so easy to get away with all the shit that happens in my hotel. I look like an innocent, good-natured Boy Scout, and most of the time I’m calm in public. The ruthlessness of my inner core only materializes behind closed doors.
“Mark, you said you’d be right back. Fuck’s sake, I’m drying out over here. Come back to bed.”
“Use your fucking fingers ‘til I’m finished, alright?”
New guests arrive each day and I have my choice of some strikingly beautiful rich women - lips plumped full of Botox, high-heels clicking on my lobby floor, their asses snug and swaying in skin-tight dresses, ready for a day of shopping, gambling, and sightseeing in town. Shit, they all remind me of my wenchy ex-wife and I couldn’t care less about any of them. Right now, I want the one who’s in my bed.
Julia.
I’ve had some mind-blowing oral suck fests with her; a foul-mouthed blonde with long hair, nice tits, and a pretty smile who works nights at the front desk. I asked her to arrive an hour early today so I could take her to my private suite for an afternoon fuck before her shift begins, hoping to finally get my dick wet, but she still refuses to open her legs for anything other than my tongue.
She’s twenty-two and far from being worn out, getting the dick-stick from a measly two inadequate guys in her life. She makes me feel like I’m a teenager in the back seat of a car, begging my prom date to spread ‘em wide. I hover over her, but as soon as my cock touches her skin she clutches it and takes it in her mouth, never letting my tip get close to her pussy. And then when cum dribbles down her chin, she takes my hand and forces it into action for her own pleasure. She’s been driving me mad.
“I’m about to cum. Finish me off, please!”
I knew the moment she walked into my office for an interview that I’d have her modelesque body in my bed before anyone else in this hotel laid a hand on her, but if I could’ve predicted that a noose would start tightening around my neck because I have feelings for...
“What the fuck was that!” I hear her rush over to the bathroom door. “Mark?”
I admire the broken glass with a grin. “It was nothing.”
She looks in and gasps at the shards in the sink and surrounding my bare feet while the blood that flows from my cut hand drips onto the tile floor.
“What the hell happened?”
“I guess I shut the medicine cabinet too hastily. Sorry about that.” I wrap a towel around the cut and step away from the glass. “Come on, let’s finish this.”
“Are you crazy? You wanna fool around while your make-shift bandage becomes soaked with blood and then... no way, no thanks.” She turns away and I grip her soft sun-tanned shoulder, bringing her body back to mine.
“Look,” I whisper and block her path to her clothing. “We’re not finished. I kind of respect the fact that you want to wait to feel my cock deep inside of you, but you don’t have all the control when you’re in my room. Let me hear you cum. Now get back in my bed so I can make that happen,” I say softly, steadily, and flash my warmest smile, hiding my desire to throw another punch toward my sneering reflection.
“What were you doing in there, anyway?” she asks, sitting on the edge of the bed and spreading her legs like an open nut cracker, waiting to crush my head between her inner thighs.
I smile when I kneel before her, grabbing her hips and sliding her smooth twat closer to my mouth.
“Lean back.”
“No, I want to watch,” she whispers, caressing my chin with her finger. “Pretend your hands are tied behind your back so I don’t have to see the blood. And keep your eyes open for me.”
I’m giving her far too much control today and I think her clit needs to be teased as payback for leaving my dick in a continuous state of craving.
My tongue is soft and warm, not bristly and cold like most men, and as it glides effortlessly from her ass upward, between her folds and over her clit, she lets out a heavy moan.
“Were you about to cum a few minutes ago?” I ask, as my heated breath travels over the saliva I deposited on her flesh, causing her to shudder in sexual frustration.
“One lick’s not enough,” she states, staring into my eyes.
I lean forward with my hands behind my back, gazing at her diamond shaped young face and begin a powerful massage of her pussy.
“That’s perfect,” she says.
With a twist of my hair between her fingers, my head is quickly restrained in a tight grip. Her eyes become distant indicating an orgasm’s on the rise. Distorted whimpering sounds leave her mouth, echoing off every wall of my two-story suite.
“More,” she begs.
“Plead,” I whisper. “Tell me you want all of me, including my dick.”
I pause and wait, but she doesn’t say it.
“How can you hold out like this?” I ask, reaching under my bed for my strap-on facemask. Still, she doesn’t answer. Fuck, I’ll get inside of her one way or another.
The toy fits securely over my head and once it’s in place the giant cock bobs in front of her hole.
“What the shit, Mark? A man with a dick hanging off his face doesn’t turn me on. If anything, it’s asinine and frightening.”
“Release my hair and lean the fuck back or you can get dressed and go to work with a twitching pussy. I gave you a few minutes of power, now let me have some fun.”
She smiles and falls backward, “yes sir.”
I lower the strap-on to my chin, leaving my mouth exposed and my tongue free for pleasure. Hell, if she lets me do this, my actual cock will be in her within a day.
“Whoa,” she whispers as the black latex dick starts to slide inside. “Holy shit. Stop!” She grips the shaft and pushes it away. “Not yet. I’m not ready.”
I’d love to ram it inside and get it over with, but I do respect the words “stop” and “no” from a woman, so instead I lower the stiff toy against her ass and out of the way while my tongue swiftly does its duty. Licking, swirling, and flicking until...
“Uh, uh, uh, Mark.”
That’s right, at this moment she’s completely vulnerable. I believe if you’re going to kill someone, you need to do it when they’re in this state. When the person you’re with can’t move, speak, breathe, or open an eye, and when they don’t remember their name or what day it is.
“You good?” I ask, pulling off the latex shaft, disappointed I’m still locked out. “I hope you let me loosen you up later tonight.”
“Christ, that was strong. Nice moves, by the way.” She breathes heavily and looks at me. “You think I’ll be in your suite again this evening?”
“If I ask, you’ll definitely come.”
“You haven’t even kissed me today.”
“You know I hate that shit,” I mutter. “It makes me feel weak.” I unwrap the towel and see that the cut’s not as deep as I originally thought and shouldn’t require stitches. “You’re attractive and sexy, Julia, but my mouth only enjoys certain kinds of lips.”
“You’re such a nutsack. I’m not letting you fuck me if you can’t even dish out a simple kiss. And you know I prefer Jules to Julia.”
“Nutsack?” She’s so young. “That sounds like something my son would say. Get dressed and get to work. It’s almost three.”
“Did you hear me? Call me Jules, okay? It’s been my nickname since I was a baby.”
“I’ll tr
y, but Julia sounds more sophisticated.”
“You mean older, right?”
“No, that’s not what I mean... and I’ll call you whatever feels right at the moment.”
She gives me the finger. “Great, so I can call you dickhead because that’s what suits you at every moment.”
I toss her clothing on the bed, slip into my boxers, and head to the bathroom for a bandage. I’m sure my hair looks like shit from her finger play and the skin around my mouth probably has indentations from the strap-on. I’ll have to wait a while before I make an appearance in the lobby.
“You’re fully booked tonight,” she says, helping me put on my white dress shirt. She buttons it slowly, feeling my abs as I place the bandage on my hand. “I noticed on the schedule that you’re interviewing for a new security guy this evening. Did you fire one of...”
“Don’t ask so many questions.”
She drops her arms hastily and sighs. “Fine. No kissing and no talking. You’re not getting very far with me, Mark.”
She snatches her purse off a table and starts to head out. “If you want some inside information that might help you with your decision, I met one of the guys who applied. He’s huge, bigger than your last man and seems pleasant.”
“Name?” I snap my fingers. “What’s his name?”
“Dayne something.”
My hand is glued to her forearm before she can take another step. “What the fuck did you say?” I push her up against the wall. “How do you know Dayne?”
She stutters while trying to respond. “I... I don’t.” Her eyes glance at my firm grip. She’s pissed. Damn it, I fucked up.
I release her and rest my hand on her shoulder.
“I don’t know him!” she shouts. “And don’t you ever be physically cruel with me!”
“I barely touched you!”
“I’m out of here, you crazy shit.” She races down to my living area and slams the door on her way out.
“I barely touched her,” I exhale and stare at the empty room, the blood, my hand, and the shattered glass on the floor. I lean against the wall and lower my head. I’ve never been this irate and manic in the past. Mentally, I’m losing it.
