The hotel
Undeserved Ascendance
chapter 9
by
copier
· original author:
an188
Lu eased the Aston Martin to a stop beneath the grand porte-cochère of the Crestline Resort. The wide circular driveway was deserted; summer had chased the skiers away, leaving the alpine palace eerily quiet under floodlights that painted the stone facade gold. A single young valet—maybe twenty, in a crisp navy blazer two sizes too big—ambled out from the shadowed entrance, clipboard in hand. He froze mid-step when the driver’s door opened.
Lu unfolded himself from the car like a golden colossus emerging from a jewelry box. The T-shirt strained audibly across his pecs with every breath; the athletic shorts looked painted on. At seven feet, he towered over the valet, who took an involuntary step backward, mouth falling open.
The boy’s eyes traveled up—up—past the impossible breadth of shoulders, the cobra-like flare of lats, the gleaming golden hair that caught the lights like molten metal. He blinked rapidly, clipboard slipping from numb fingers.
Lu didn’t speak at first. He simply straightened to his full height, rolling his shoulders so the fabric creaked. Then, with deliberate slowness, he circled to the passenger side.
Charlie waited demurely. When the door opened, she accepted his massive hand and stepped out with practiced grace, her yellow summer dress fluttering. She kept her fingers wrapped around his forearm—possessively, lingering—while shooting the valet a sweet, knowing little smile.
The boy stared at her, then back at Lu, then at the car that now looked comically small behind the giant who had just emerged from it.
Lu plucked the key fob from his pocket and tossed it. It sailed in a perfect arc; the valet caught it reflexively.
“Park her somewhere safe,” Lu drawled, voice a velvet thunder. “And maybe detail her. She’s had a long night.”
“Y-yes, sir,” the valet squeaked.
Lu glanced down over the shelf of his own pecs—past them, really—and smirked. “Good boy.”
Charlie giggled, the sound bright and delighted. She pressed closer to his side, cheek against the hot curve of his tricep. Invincible, she thought. We’re untouchable now. No one can take him from me. Ever.
They strode through the double doors into the soaring lobby. Marble floors, crystal chandeliers, a massive stone fireplace that hadn’t been lit since April. Behind the reception desk stood a woman in her late twenties—dark hair pinned up, name tag reading “Elena”—who looked up from her screen and promptly forgot how to breathe.
Her gaze locked on Lu. Then traveled up. And up. Her mouth opened in a perfect O of shock.
Lu approached the desk with languid confidence, each step sending faint tremors through the polished floor. He leaned forward—elbows on the marble, pecs compressing slightly against the edge—and peered down at her over the twin mountains of his chest.
“Evening,” he purred. “I believe I have a reservation. Morningstar. Presidential suite.”
Elena blinked. Swallowed. Her fingers trembled as she typed. “Y-yes… Mr. Morningstar… I—I see it here. Welcome to Crestline.”
Charlie stood slightly behind him, arms folded, watching Elena with narrowed eyes. She didn’t like the way the woman’s gaze lingered on the way Lu’s T-shirt clung to every ridge of his abs, or how her cheeks flushed when he smiled that Cheshire, condescending smile.
Elena managed to summon a bellboy—a gangly teenager named Mateo—who appeared from a side corridor pushing an empty luggage cart. When he saw Lu, the cart rattled; his knees visibly buckled for a second.
“Th-this way, sir… ma’am…”
The regular elevators were laughably inadequate. Lu eyed the narrow doors, then the freight elevator tucked behind a service corridor. Mateo led them there without being asked.
Inside the cavernous lift, Lu had to duck and turn sideways. The mirrored walls reflected him back in triplicate—golden hair, flawless white skin, muscles that seemed carved from marble and lit from within. Charlie stood pressed against his thigh, small hand resting on the swell of his quad. Mateo kept his eyes glued to the floor indicator.
The presidential suite occupied the entire top floor. Mateo fumbled the keycard; the lock beeped green. He pushed the door open and wheeled the cart inside, depositing their two small suitcases beside the entrance.
Lu had to bend nearly double to step through the doorway. Once inside, he straightened to his full height again. The twelve-foot ceilings suddenly felt intimate.
Mateo stared up at him like a mouse confronting a lion.
Lu fished a thick wad of hundreds from the pocket of his ruined shorts—somehow still intact—and peeled off several bills. “For your trouble,” he said, pressing them into the boy’s shaking palm. “And discretion.”
Mateo nodded so fast his teeth clicked. He backed out, door closing behind him with a soft click.
Charlie immediately began exploring, bare feet silent on the thick carpet. The suite was obscene luxury: floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking moonlit peaks, a sunken living room with velvet sofas, a dining area set for twelve, a private infinity pool shimmering on the terrace. And one bedroom—visible through open double doors—dominated by a single enormous bed draped in crisp white linens and piled with pillows.
She spun on her heel, ponytail bouncing, eyes sparkling. “Only one bed!”
Lu ducked through the doorway, straightening inside the bedroom. He stared at the mattress—king-sized, yet looking almost child-sized beneath his shadow.
“I specifically requested two beds,” he muttered, frowning. “I’ll call down and—”
“No!” Charlie rushed forward, grabbing his massive forearm with both hands. She looked up at him with wide, pleading eyes, voice pitching into that childish lilt he could never resist. “Please, Daddy? I’ll sleep so much better if I’m right next to you. I get scared when it’s dark and you’re far away. And… and it’s cozier this way. Like when I was little.”
She pressed her cheek against his bicep, lashes fluttering. “Pretty please?”
Lu sighed—a theatrical, indulgent sound. “All right, Princess. One bed it is.”
Charlie beamed.
He reached down, gripped the hem of his too-tight T-shirt, and peeled it off in one fluid motion. Fabric tore faintly at the seams. The shorts followed—ripped away like paper. He stood naked, stretching luxuriously, every muscle popping and shifting under flawless golden skin. Pecs bounced; abs clenched into razor-sharp definition; thighs flexed like coiled steel cables.
“God, that feels better,” he rumbled, rolling his neck until it cracked. “Clothes are for mortals.”
He padded toward the master bathroom—marble, steam shower big enough for six normal people. “Order whatever you want for dinner, Kiddo. Steak, sushi, caviar, ice cream sundaes at three a.m.—doesn’t matter. We own the place tonight.”
Charlie nodded eagerly, already reaching for the in-room tablet. “Anything you like, Daddy.”
As the bathroom door closed behind him and hot water began to hiss, she sank onto the edge of the bed, legs crossed, staring at the closed door with dark, hungry eyes.
One bed.
No escape.
No interruptions.
Tonight she would begin—slowly, carefully, irresistibly—showing him exactly who she was now.
And who she intended to keep.
Forever.
Lu unfolded himself from the car like a golden colossus emerging from a jewelry box. The T-shirt strained audibly across his pecs with every breath; the athletic shorts looked painted on. At seven feet, he towered over the valet, who took an involuntary step backward, mouth falling open.
The boy’s eyes traveled up—up—past the impossible breadth of shoulders, the cobra-like flare of lats, the gleaming golden hair that caught the lights like molten metal. He blinked rapidly, clipboard slipping from numb fingers.
Lu didn’t speak at first. He simply straightened to his full height, rolling his shoulders so the fabric creaked. Then, with deliberate slowness, he circled to the passenger side.
Charlie waited demurely. When the door opened, she accepted his massive hand and stepped out with practiced grace, her yellow summer dress fluttering. She kept her fingers wrapped around his forearm—possessively, lingering—while shooting the valet a sweet, knowing little smile.
The boy stared at her, then back at Lu, then at the car that now looked comically small behind the giant who had just emerged from it.
Lu plucked the key fob from his pocket and tossed it. It sailed in a perfect arc; the valet caught it reflexively.
“Park her somewhere safe,” Lu drawled, voice a velvet thunder. “And maybe detail her. She’s had a long night.”
“Y-yes, sir,” the valet squeaked.
Lu glanced down over the shelf of his own pecs—past them, really—and smirked. “Good boy.”
Charlie giggled, the sound bright and delighted. She pressed closer to his side, cheek against the hot curve of his tricep. Invincible, she thought. We’re untouchable now. No one can take him from me. Ever.
They strode through the double doors into the soaring lobby. Marble floors, crystal chandeliers, a massive stone fireplace that hadn’t been lit since April. Behind the reception desk stood a woman in her late twenties—dark hair pinned up, name tag reading “Elena”—who looked up from her screen and promptly forgot how to breathe.
Her gaze locked on Lu. Then traveled up. And up. Her mouth opened in a perfect O of shock.
Lu approached the desk with languid confidence, each step sending faint tremors through the polished floor. He leaned forward—elbows on the marble, pecs compressing slightly against the edge—and peered down at her over the twin mountains of his chest.
“Evening,” he purred. “I believe I have a reservation. Morningstar. Presidential suite.”
Elena blinked. Swallowed. Her fingers trembled as she typed. “Y-yes… Mr. Morningstar… I—I see it here. Welcome to Crestline.”
Charlie stood slightly behind him, arms folded, watching Elena with narrowed eyes. She didn’t like the way the woman’s gaze lingered on the way Lu’s T-shirt clung to every ridge of his abs, or how her cheeks flushed when he smiled that Cheshire, condescending smile.
Elena managed to summon a bellboy—a gangly teenager named Mateo—who appeared from a side corridor pushing an empty luggage cart. When he saw Lu, the cart rattled; his knees visibly buckled for a second.
“Th-this way, sir… ma’am…”
The regular elevators were laughably inadequate. Lu eyed the narrow doors, then the freight elevator tucked behind a service corridor. Mateo led them there without being asked.
Inside the cavernous lift, Lu had to duck and turn sideways. The mirrored walls reflected him back in triplicate—golden hair, flawless white skin, muscles that seemed carved from marble and lit from within. Charlie stood pressed against his thigh, small hand resting on the swell of his quad. Mateo kept his eyes glued to the floor indicator.
The presidential suite occupied the entire top floor. Mateo fumbled the keycard; the lock beeped green. He pushed the door open and wheeled the cart inside, depositing their two small suitcases beside the entrance.
Lu had to bend nearly double to step through the doorway. Once inside, he straightened to his full height again. The twelve-foot ceilings suddenly felt intimate.
Mateo stared up at him like a mouse confronting a lion.
Lu fished a thick wad of hundreds from the pocket of his ruined shorts—somehow still intact—and peeled off several bills. “For your trouble,” he said, pressing them into the boy’s shaking palm. “And discretion.”
Mateo nodded so fast his teeth clicked. He backed out, door closing behind him with a soft click.
Charlie immediately began exploring, bare feet silent on the thick carpet. The suite was obscene luxury: floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking moonlit peaks, a sunken living room with velvet sofas, a dining area set for twelve, a private infinity pool shimmering on the terrace. And one bedroom—visible through open double doors—dominated by a single enormous bed draped in crisp white linens and piled with pillows.
She spun on her heel, ponytail bouncing, eyes sparkling. “Only one bed!”
Lu ducked through the doorway, straightening inside the bedroom. He stared at the mattress—king-sized, yet looking almost child-sized beneath his shadow.
“I specifically requested two beds,” he muttered, frowning. “I’ll call down and—”
“No!” Charlie rushed forward, grabbing his massive forearm with both hands. She looked up at him with wide, pleading eyes, voice pitching into that childish lilt he could never resist. “Please, Daddy? I’ll sleep so much better if I’m right next to you. I get scared when it’s dark and you’re far away. And… and it’s cozier this way. Like when I was little.”
She pressed her cheek against his bicep, lashes fluttering. “Pretty please?”
Lu sighed—a theatrical, indulgent sound. “All right, Princess. One bed it is.”
Charlie beamed.
He reached down, gripped the hem of his too-tight T-shirt, and peeled it off in one fluid motion. Fabric tore faintly at the seams. The shorts followed—ripped away like paper. He stood naked, stretching luxuriously, every muscle popping and shifting under flawless golden skin. Pecs bounced; abs clenched into razor-sharp definition; thighs flexed like coiled steel cables.
“God, that feels better,” he rumbled, rolling his neck until it cracked. “Clothes are for mortals.”
He padded toward the master bathroom—marble, steam shower big enough for six normal people. “Order whatever you want for dinner, Kiddo. Steak, sushi, caviar, ice cream sundaes at three a.m.—doesn’t matter. We own the place tonight.”
Charlie nodded eagerly, already reaching for the in-room tablet. “Anything you like, Daddy.”
As the bathroom door closed behind him and hot water began to hiss, she sank onto the edge of the bed, legs crossed, staring at the closed door with dark, hungry eyes.
One bed.
No escape.
No interruptions.
Tonight she would begin—slowly, carefully, irresistibly—showing him exactly who she was now.
And who she intended to keep.
Forever.
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·
June 13
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