Chapter 51 Dominic
Dominic
The red-brick Hotel Monte Vista in downtown Flagstaff has every Hamptons arms crossed, their eyebrows tugging in either disbelief or discomfort. Even Cecily, who read about the hotel and knew this day was coming, looks perturbed.
"I am not staying in a haunted hotel," Kerrigan says.
Savage Grandma smiles at their expressions. "Yes, you are, you scaredy-cats." She looks at me. "Have you ever seen so many babies among a group of adults?"
"Never," I respond cheerfully.
Cecily narrows her eyes. I take her hand. Because I want to. Because I can.
"I'll keep you safe," I whisper into her hair as Ophelia leads the way into the famed haunted hotel.
She glares up at me. "If you do anything to scare me further, it's going to be you who needs to be kept safe from me."
I squeeze her waist. "Noted."
Browns and maroons decorate the hotel lobby, and ornate gold filigree embellishes the ceiling molding.
A gleaming cherry check-in desk takes up a large portion of the room.
What looks to be a fireplace is actually a set of stairs leading down, metal lettering reading Cocktail Lounge on what should be a mantle.
Framed black-and-white versions of the hotel throughout history line one wall.
To the young receptionist, Duke asks, "Can you please provide some background on why the hotel is believed to be haunted?" He sounds serious and unafraid, but I know the guy was standing in front of the building fewer than five minutes ago trembling in his Magnanni's.
She launches into a well-worn explanation of supernatural sightings.
The Meat Man with the strange habit of hanging meat from his chandelier, the disturbing sounds of a baby crying in the basement, the Phantom Bellboy, and the infamous women of the night.
Unsentimental, she says, "They were murdered and tossed from the third-story window. "
Cecily leans her head against my arm, and I tip my head closer to hear her whisper, "Soiled doves and women of the night. This has turned into quite the road trip."
I snicker. It's the only appropriate word to describe the sound.
The receptionist looks at me. "You don't believe in ghost stories, do you?"
"Uh, no." I shake my head as I rock back on my feet. "I don't."
She nods her head decisively. "Perfect. We'll have you in room 306." Her tone is pleasant, but there is an undercurrent close to pleased mocking. Like she thinks she's setting me up.
"Why room 306?" Kerrigan asks, her hands wringing.
"Doesn't matter," I answer. "We'll be fine."
"Marilyn and I might take the motor home tonight," Glenn announces.
"I could sleep on the floor," Duke offers. "Is there a sleeping bag?" He shakes his head like he's clearing it. "Doesn't matter. I'll take the floor."
"I can definitely make that kitchenette table into a bed," Kerrigan adds, eyes lighting.
Given everything I have learned about this family, I did not see shared fear of ghosts as something that would unite them.
"You're sleeping here," Savage Grandma announces. "End of story."
The receptionist hands out keys. She dangles ours over my open palm and smirks. "Have a nice night."
"Way to go, Errand Boy," Cecily hisses when we step onto the elevator. She punches my upper arm for maximum display of vexation. "I looked it up. Room 306 is the room where the women of the night were murdered."
"She probably gets commission if she incites a level of fear that's still a little fun in the guests, like the perfect small shot of adrenaline. People are more likely to look for the supernatural and claim they see it if they're told to look out for it."
"Good luck," Duke says dryly, stepping off the elevator when it opens on the second floor. Kerrigan gets off too, saying to me, "You better hope you look nothing like the man who murdered those prostitutes." The ancient elevator doors shut with a clang.
Cecily deepens her voice. "I don't believe in ghost stories. Put me in the most haunted room in the hotel."
I press my lips to that inch of space below her ear, the spot I know she loves to feel my tongue glide over. "Is that how I sound, wife?"
She whimpers. "No, husband. You have a higher pitch."
I chuckle against her skin. The elevator doors open on the third floor.
We locate room 306, and slide our key into the lock. Cecily pushes open the door slowly, and it creaks.
"Did you hear that sound?" Her eyes are wide.
"This place is a hundred years old and you opened the door slowly. Of course it creaked."
She nods, mollified. "That makes sense." Her voice is small, and her lips are slightly jutted out.
I step in first to show her it's ok. It's a corner room with two windows letting in ample light. There is a dresser with a mirror above it on the wall, and a small seating area with a couch and rocking chair. Everything is old and worn, adding to the creepiness factor. Cecily edges in behind me.
"If that rocking chair moves on its own, I'll be stuffing my feet in my running shoes and hoofing it back to the valley."
"Better stretch now," I tease. "It could happen at any moment."
Cecily sends me a dark look. "That is not funny, Dominic."
"Please know that for the rest of our lives, I'm going to tease you mercilessly about this."
Yeah, I heard what I said. The rest of our lives. Bold of me, but not untrue.
Cecily drops her bag from her shoulder, and I drop both our duffels. She slides her arms around my neck. "The rest of our lives, huh?"
"Does that scare you?"
Her eyes roam my face, like she's drinking me in. "No. Maybe it should."
"There's no room for should. Not with us."
She rises on her toes, and I capture her mouth. Her hands find my hair, fingers fisting and pulling. She presses into me, gently biting my lower lip. The kiss is carnal, full of sex. If the fear of staying in this hotel has given her this adrenaline spike, made her this eager, I'm here for it.
Cecily stands back, sliding her joggers down her legs and kicking them off. She pulls off her T-shirt, and I could die right now, a happy man. A yellow lace bra, a matching scrap of underwear.
"Do those have a function?" I ask, my eyes glued to that perfect little spot on her body. "They're so flimsy they look like I could breathe on them and they would disintegrate."
Her lips curl up in a slow smile. "Why don't you find out for yourself?"
"Already planning on it, Menace. Daily vitamin, remember?" I poke her stomach with a single finger, urging her backwards until she's against the wall. "One day, I will stop an elevator and drop to my knees again. For now, this will have to do."
My knees hit the carpet. I lean in, press an open mouth to the lace. Cecily squirms. One hot breath against the fabric, then another. "Guess they're sturdier than they look."
"Mm-hmm," Cecily says, and I slide them down her legs.
All coherence ceases after that.
My tongue flattens against her. Using my mouth, I show my wife how much I care about her.
How much I fucking adore this part of her, this beautiful spot only for me.
A roll, and a nip. Two handfuls of her ass while my mouth loves on her.
Her muscles tremble, and I hold her up while she falls apart around me.
"Dom," she whispers, when I turn my head and kiss the inside of her thigh. "You unravel me. Do you understand that? I'm just so...so...undone with you."
I look up. Cecily's looking down. "I feel the same way, Cecily."
Rising, I lift her up, and she locks her legs around me. Reaching between us, I yank down my shorts and position myself where my mouth was a moment ago. Cecily sinks down with a groan. "Right there," I growl, lifting her ass and slamming her back down. "Mine."
"Such a caveman," she gasps. "I love it."
Kneeling on the bed, I lie her back gently and come over her.
Nose to nose, forehead to forehead, as I drive inside her.
Heavy in the cradle of her legs, my strokes are slow and languid.
She moans, an mmm that slides from closed lips.
I press my lips to hers, wanting that sound to reverberate in my throat, ready to swallow it whole when she comes.
My eyes close, my senses filled with her scent and her sound and the feel of her.
Cecily's hands are on my back, nails lightly scratching, and then they're on my throat, pressing in.
Hmm. Interesting. I don't hate it. The pressure increases, making it a little harder to breathe.
Cecily groans into my mouth and lets go of my neck.
I sit up, grabbing one of her legs and throwing it over my shoulder.
Gripping her hip, I increase my pace. Cecily's face tips up, luscious dark hair spilling around her head.
Her hand dips between her legs, and I watch her fingers work, memorizing, so I can do it for her next time.
I want to be everything for this woman. My wife.
Cecily's body spasms, her mouth in a silent o, eyes locked on mine.
There's nothing more beautiful than watching my wife get pleasure from me.
The look and sound and feel of her fracturing prompts my own, and I shut my eyes tight and do everything I can not to make noise.
Cecily makes me want to become unhinged, roaring my release like I'm on a fucking savanna.
I've never been so undone, just like she said. It's her. Only for her.
I fall down on the bed beside her, and she lays her head on my chest. "It was hard to be quiet, and this place is old. I'm sure the walls are paper thin."
I chuckle, running my fingers down her spine. "I'm sure whoever was in the room below us knows precisely what we were up to. The bed was moving."
There's a smile in her voice when she asks, "What if it's Duke or Kerrigan?"
"We're newlyweds. Aren't we supposed to be insatiable?"
"Perfect word. I like the leg over the shoulder move." She props her chin on my chest so she can look at me. Her cheeks are flushed, her hair a mess. My wife, freshly fucked.
"I'm not sure how I feel about the choking," I admit.