Jameson Hotel: The Complete Series Box Set (Parts 1-6)

by Aven Jayce

  These are guys I knew through my father and they’ve helped me out for years when I lived in Vegas. If it’s a nice car, they’ll take it and sell it underground, making a decent buck. If it’s a piece of shit, I can pay to have it left somewhere, like an empty lot or a dingy motel. The cars are wiped clean of prints, vacuumed, washed, the works. But no one wants to risk the seven-hour trip from South Lake Tahoe to Vegas for such worthless vehicles. Having a car disappear in a matter of minutes was easy in Vegas. It’s one of the downsides of leaving that area.

  I was able to finally make a deal with one of the men, but it’s up to me to get the vehicles to him.

  Shit, I’m in no mood for a road trip. I’ll have to think of another solution, and quick.

  Before heading to bed, I bring up my security cams and check to see how much of the incident at the pool was recorded. His snide remarks were caught, the firm grip on Jules’ arm and then neck, Joe and me on the scene, and the entire escort out. Nothing else. Good evidence if the cops come questioning why he was asked to leave, and yes, that he did leave. I have no cameras toward the end of my hotel drive or down to my private garage so nothing to erase or worry about there.

  I check the current state of my grounds, too exhausted to take my usual walk through the hotel on foot. Mera’s truck is still in the lot, the pool has cleared, and the corridors are empty.

  “Fucking Mera Calloway. You’ve come a long way... sleeping in your truck, penniless, tweaking out on the drug Special K like you’re some rave-happy teen. I wonder if you’re in a trance right now? I could get inside your truck and you wouldn’t even know I was there. I’d slice your throat open... but no, I’m not that dumb. Not in my visitor lot in open view of my guests. I’ll let Jules continue whatever she started with you then step in sometime tomorrow.” For now, I’m content letting the sleeping bitch lie.

  Enough of this, I need to wake Jules for some pussy then get some sleep. Tomorrow’s another day to think about Mera Calloway.

  Of course my watch chimes with a text from my son as I’m on my way upstairs... it’s not like I can ever have a free moment.

  fukker mutherfucs

  Yep, that’s my boy, and I can tell by his misspelled words that he’s wasted. “Alright,” I whisper, taking a seat on the stairs and placing a call. “Time for another round of ‘father knows best.’”

  “Jack, it’s your dad.”

  “I know whose the fluck yous is,” he slurs, completely plastered.

  “You okay? What are you drinking, buddy?”

  He moans, once, twice, a third time, then heaves.

  “Fuck, you sound like shit. What did you have and how much?”

  “Wha?” he mutters. “Nothin’. I’m good.”

  “Are you at home? Is your mom around?”

  “You hate me... you...” his voice trails. “I’m nothin’...you married mom cuz... waz pregnant.”

  “No,” I sigh. “I need to know what you drank.”

  “Life... sucks.”

  “At your age it does, but it gets better. You’re only fifteen and—”

  The call ends.

  “Shit, I fucked that one up.” I head down to my office then out to my kitchen, to my living room, pacing, pacing, through the dining area, back upstairs, parking my ass on the top step. Fuckin’ hell, why can’t kids skip the years from thirteen to twenty so parents don’t have to deal with this teenage bullshit?

  “Come on, pick up your cell. Wake up.”

  Three rings. Four. Five.

  “Huh?” he answers.

  “Do I need to call your mother or an ambulance?”

  “No.”

  “So you’re okay?”

  “Where’s my money?”

  Yeah, he’s fine. “Look, I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be an a-hole, I’m just busy.”

  “Ten grand... I’ll visit... ten grand.”

  “We’ll talk about it tomorrow, when you’re sober.” Ten fucking grand, and he’d only stay one day. Little prick.

  “You... don’t care,” he says in two exaggerated breaths. “Liar.”

  I need a guide to conversing with a fifteen-year-old. There has to be instructions online or a video I could watch, maybe even one of those For Dummies books. Dealing With Your Teenage Son For Dummies. It’s been two long decades since I was his age and none of this rings a bell.

  “I married your mother because I thought it was the right thing to do and we thought the experience with you would be special.”

  “Thought? Wha... what the...”

  “That’s not what I was trying to say, you are special, Jack.”

  Crap. Cut off again. Silenced.

  I lean back and stare at my log ceiling, wishing one of the beams would fall and smash my head. Then I’d sleep. Damn, I wish I knew how to fix our relationship. If only he’d come for a visit so we could talk in person. It’s easier for him to fly out for a weekend than it is for me to go there. He knows it, but refuses to make the trip.

  “Keep trying,” Jules says, standing in the master bedroom doorway, wearing only a pair of sleep shorts with her hair still matted down from the pool. She must’ve heard the conversation. “Don’t ask him what he drank, ask him why,” she says.

  “You look beautiful.” I rise slowly, sore from the strenuous night.

  “And you look exhausted... now call him back. It sounds like he needs you.”

  “I’ll call him tomorrow after he sobers up.”

  “Promise?”

  “In the afternoon after he’s had some sleep, I promise.”

  “Everything else okay?” She leads me into the bedroom and lifts my bloody hoodie off, tossing it next to the bed then helping me out of my jeans. I allow her to care for me, whispering that everything is perfect as she takes my switchblade from my back pocket and places it on the nightstand.

  “Socks next,” she says tenderly.

  I raise one foot, then the other, watching the socks fly through the air and land in a pile with the rest of my clothing. She kneels before me, slinking my boxers down then leisurely walking her fingers up to my expanding cock. She looks over the tip and into my eyes with her mouth open in a suggestively carnal way. I’m dog-tired, but wouldn’t mind a slow and gentle fuck, as long as I don’t have to hold her in the air, be on top, bring out my toys, fuck her like a wild beast, or... hell, as long as I don’t have to move, this is gonna work.

  Our eyes remain locked while her tongue glides up and down my dick before it’s taken inside her mouth.

  “Uh, Jules.” Her name is said tenderly. “Yes.”

  She caresses my balls in one hand and strokes my wet dick with the other, her fingers following her mouth with every bob and twist. Her tongue swirls my tip when she rises and flattens against my shaft on her way down.

  “Uh,” I whisper, as I’m deepthroated. She gags occasionally, giving me fast and slow nods, long and short licks, sucking me off with her hot mouth.

  “You like that?” She wipes her lips and smiles.

  My hand rests on the back of her head as I guide her back in. Fuck, yeah, I like it.

  “More.” I nod. “Your mouth is so gorgeous when you suck me off.”

  I babble in pleasure watching my cock slide down to the back of her throat. The firm stroke of her hand never ceases, even when she needs a break to catch her breath. She tongues my balls and is a master of pleasuring the underside of my shaft... she even blows my flesh. An actual blow that feels fucking incredible.

  “This is flawless head,” I say with satisfaction. “Perfect.”

  She keeps eye contact with an expression of adoration. All of her energy focused on my dick. “Mmm,” is garbled from her mouth. “Uh, uh,” I pant repeatedly.

  “It’s coming.” I hold her hair back and direct the speed, needing a quicker suck. “Yeah.” My legs tighten. “Yeah.” My body shudders. “Fuck.” My cock’s massive. Engorged. Ready.

  “Uh!”

&n
bsp; She pulls back and opens her mouth, allowing my cum to fire inside. One shot, two, a third and she’s flooded with the thick fluid running down her chin and onto her breasts.

  My hand slows and I fall backward onto the bed in a winded state as she disappears into the bathroom to clean up.

  Sounding like a caveman, “good,” is all I can say. “Good... good.”

  She returns with tissues and wipes my dick then lies next to me.

  “So it was good, I take it?”

  “Good.”

  She laughs and massages my abdomen, waiting for my brain to come back to life, only I doubt that’s going to happen. I could fall asleep at any moment.

  “I can tell you’re about to crash, no need to get me off.”

  “Thank you,” I whisper.

  “No, I’m thanking you. You deserved a reward for protecting me from another scumbag.”

  I grin. “So all I need to do to get incredible head is to kill a man? Done.”

  She smiles and kisses my chest. “So what’s my reward if I kill someone?”

  “Me.”

  “Not good enough,” she snickers. “Why don’t you roll over so I can give you a back rub as a second reward before you fall asleep. You must be sore.”

  “Hell,” I exhale. “I still wonder if you’re a figment of my imagination.” I roll onto my stomach and raise my arms above my head. “No one’s ever treated me so well. Actually, no one’s ever paid much attention to me at all.”

  “Shh,” she hushes. “Don’t think about the past. Close your eyes and relax so you can drift to sleep.”

  “There’s massage oil in my nightstand.”

  “I know,” she says, taking it from of the drawer and breaking open the seal. “I was snooping.”

  “Did you find anything unusual?”

  The smell of cherries reaches my nose as the oil drips onto my back. She works it into my tight muscles, touching my flesh in a circling motion.

  “The number of sex toys under your bed was a bit shocking... and exciting. But the unusual part was that you don’t keep them in a drawer.”

  “When I need them, I’m usually in bed,” I yawn. “Easy reach, quick access.”

  She kisses my neck while firmly working the tension from my shoulders. Her thumbs press into the sides of my spine... her palms knead my shoulder blades... it’s pure heaven.

  “I’m happy,” she says faintly, although I’m the one who should be speaking those words. She hums a pleasant-sounding song, luring me to sleep while her fingers continue to pamper my back.

  “I should’ve kissed you.”

  “Hmm?” She leans closer, trying to hear my muffled words.

  I feel deprived of her mouth and crave a kiss. Those moments of our lips linking finally have meaning.

  “I should’ve fisted you,” I mutter into the pillow. Dozing in and out of consciousness.

  “That’s not what you said.”

  She needs to stay with me forever.

  “Mark?” she whispers.

  It’s true. There’s someone for everyone. Even us fucked up Jamesons can find love. Peace of mind, probably not, but love...

  INAMORATA

  EIGHT IN THE MORNING and she’s gone.

  “Fuck, you better not be cleaning the blood again.”

  I rise and slip into my robe, take a piss, then check to see if she’s showered before heading downstairs. No sign of her.

  “Jules.”

  Silence.

  My fireplace is the only source of light in the dark room and I can tell it’s been burning for some time because of the large embers glowing underneath the flaming wood. The breakfast cart is pulled into the living room, there’s a piece of toast missing, and my coffee cup is used. I wonder if she’s already left for work.

  “Julia.”

  Nothing. Yeah, must be at work.

  I take the remaining toast and check the garage, remembering the guy’s Suzuki on my way down. What the fuck am I going to do with that thing? Maybe I need to bring in a digger to bury it. No. I should sink it in the lake, but then it could reappear in a year or two if the drought continues. That’s not the best solution.

  The change in water levels could be bad for business in a few years. And not just here... Lake Mead back in Vegas is disappearing quickly. Soon all the bodies my father deposited will show up and a massive graveyard will appear, with the concrete blocks symbolizing headstones.

  “Whoa,” I whisper, nearly choking on my toast when I reach the garage.

  What the hell is Mera Calloway’s truck doing here?

  I search the garage, run upstairs and check every room on my ground floor, then race to the top floor, still holding the toast in my hand, wishing it were my knife. Where the fuck is my knife anyway?

  “Nightstand.”

  Grab it... check the deck... then the bathroom again.

  “Jules!”

  And where is that bitch, Mera?

  I stop, wait, breathe, listen... a muffled noise comes from the guest bedroom, then another. I hold the blade steady, walking cautiously past the guest bath then setting the palm of my hand against the bedroom door. It’s opened a crack, not enough for me to see inside, but I can hear what’s going on and I know the sound well, too well.

  Someone’s gagged.

  But the sounds aren’t high enough to be coming from Jules. It has to be Mera.

  I open the door slowly, seeing Jules with her back turned, sitting at the foot of the bed. She’s dressed in a sweatshirt and sleep shorts and Mera’s next to her, lying down. She has her wrists and ankles cuffed and her mouth covered with one of my ties.

  She got her. My woman brought me a gift.

  The word ‘goodbye’ is sliced into her stomach and I can tell by the smears of blood that Jules wiped her blade on my sheets. It’s enchanting and somewhat relaxing to watch this play out, being a spectator for once instead of in the ring.

  I take a seat on the low dresser and chew my toast, continuing to enjoy the show.

  “I can’t believe you hurt a little boy,” Jules says. There’s no anger in her voice as I’d expect, but I do sense remorse. For one, she’s hiding Mera out in this room, meaning she feels guilty or possibly regrets that she’s here. She’s also no longer holding her knife; it’s on the windowsill, away from her victim.

  “I know this will hurt like hell when you come off your high, and I’m sorry, but it’s only going to get worse when Mark gets his hands on you.”

  The room smells like urine and damp clothing, the type of odor that reminds me of an animal shelter. Two towels are hanging off the bedpost and Mera’s still in her bikini top, although her bottoms are on the rug next to the bed, replaced with a pair of sweatpants. Next to her leg is a small bottle, clear, half full, with a needle close by. She’s not sobbing or thrashing to get away. She moans, but it’s a definite doped up sound.

  “You’re cold and heartless for hurting Daxton,” she continues. “He’s an innocent child and the nephew of the man that I love... you deserve whatever he has in store for you, but... I get you first.”

  She stands and grabs the knife, moving back to Mera’s body and raising it, about to stab...

  “Marry me,” I say, chewing my toast.

  In a startled uncertainty, she turns rapidly, lowering the knife and holding it behind her back like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar. She looks at Mera, the blood smears on the bed, and then at me.

  I smile and wink.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?” I ask.

  “The mess. I didn’t think about the fact that she might need to use the bathroom. And when I was trying to hurt her like she hurt Dax... I got lost in the moment and didn’t realize until it was over that I was wiping the bloody blade on your sheets. I fucked up.”

  I laugh while taking another bite of toast. She hasn’t responded to my proposal. “Marry me,” I repeat, pointing my toast at her.r />
  “What?”

  “Yeah, we’re perfect for one another. Just say yes and then we’ll deal with Mera.”

  Her jaw and arms drop the way they always do when she wants to tell me I’m being a total twit, like when I took her to my own restaurant for dinner, or when I told her the belt punishment was fun. Seriously, I think my proposal’s romantic. I mean, five hours ago she delivered a round of phenomenal head and now she’s holding a bloody blade over a bound women. I can’t think of a better time to ask her to be my wife.

  “You haven’t even said you loved me yet, but you’re proposing? Tell me how that works? You’re the only person in this world who’s asked someone to marry him without first professing his love.”

  Mera moans and I can’t help but smile. I thought I professed my love with the Berti in her hand, but I can say the actual words if that’s what she needs to hear.

  “I love you.” I look at my toast and take a final bite, wipe the crumbs from my fingertips then give it another go. “Now, marry me.”

  “No. This isn’t how you propose to someone, Mark.”

  “Says who? Who the fuck has a franchise on proposals and says there’s a right and a wrong way of doing it? That’s bullshit, now marry me.”

  “No, I’m not ready.”

  “What do you mean, no?”

  She exhales and walks closer, spreading my knees apart and shifting her body between my legs. My hands rest on the small of her back as we discuss this face-to-face.

  “I’m sorry, I’m not ready.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Hmm? What does that mean? Are you angry? Disappointed? What?”

  “Do you think someone better’s going to come along?” I’m uncertain that’s the right thing to ask, seeing how it made her grin. “Alright, it doesn’t matter, we’ll just be engaged until we’re dead.”

  Slowly, she leans closer, her head tilts, eyes close, I follow, wetting my lips before we kiss. My tongue gets a wet tease before she pulls back and whispers, “You’re irreplaceable, but your relationship skills are downright tasteless.” She places her arms around my neck and swings her hips. “I’m not waiting for someone better to come along, but I think we should live together before we get married. Besides, you were the one who said you weren’t ready for us to share a place, that’s why I have my own suite, remember? Are you taking all that back? Now you want to rush into a marriage?”