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Hotel ch.4
🕑 Added 2024-05-29 15:22:11 +0000 UTCHarry Potter stood before the mirror, adjusting his cheap suit for another night at the Star Hotel. It was Friday, and he couldn't help but wonder how weekends differed from weekdays. His first days as a concierge had been... interesting. Would weekends offer even more stimulating challenges?
As Harry fiddled with his tie, his mind drifted back to Bellatrix. He thought about her fingers brushing against his penis as she measured him for a new suit. The memory sent a shiver of erotic energy through him, and he felt his cock stir in his pants. Anxiety mingled with excitement. Bellatrix was a stunning, sexy woman. She was old enough to be his mother, but that only made her more alluring. The seductive way she touched him left no doubt that this mature woman was ready to fuck. Bellatrix made offers with her body and words, testing how ready he was to respond.
What happened next was inevitable. Sooner or later, Harry knew he would have his balls deep in Mrs. Bellatrix Black's pussy. She was his boss, over 20 years his senior, but their mutual attraction was undeniable. Would giving in to their desires jeopardize his new career?
The last thing Harry wanted was to risk his new job. He desperately needed it; he couldn't afford to lose it. After sleeping in a canopy bed and having the luxury concierge suite to himself, the thought of returning to living in his truck was unbearable.
Just be careful, man. Bellatrix is a sexy cougar hunting for young guys. Her claws are sharp. She could fuck you in more ways than one.
And then there was Tracey Davis, the beautiful guest whose drunken advances he had turned down the previous night. Harry wondered how she would react when she woke up and sobered up. Would she be angry with him or, worse, file a complaint against him?
The video recording and Mrs. Longbottom would support him if Tracey, out of embarrassment, made false accusations against him. Even so, hired help rarely won against the wealthy people they served. If Tracey Davis decided to go after him, Harry feared there was little he could do to keep his job.
As if that weren't enough, the hotel was struggling with a sudden increase in vagrants. These incidents were causing distress among the guests. Mrs. Longbottom was already considering finding a new place to stay. Other guests might be thinking the same. And who could blame them? These vagrants could be nasty and dangerous. Harry needed to find out why they kept coming to the hotel. With his experience as a security guard, he knew he could handle them, but it was yet another thing to manage.
"Damn," he muttered, finally straightening his tie. "This job is testing me in more ways than one."
Leaving his apartment, Harry headed to the reception desk, where Frank greeted him with his usual smile.
"Good evening, Harry."
"Good evening, Frank. How was the day shift?"
"The usual weekend stuff. Some people came in, some went out. Everything is in the computer for your review."
"More incidents with vagrants?"
"Panhandlers and general riffraff were at a minimum today."
"Anything else I should know about?" Harry asked.
Frank hesitated, stroking his chin. He looked at Harry thoughtfully, as if deciding how much to say.
"Actually, yes," he finally said. "We have a guest checking in soon—Fleur Delacour. She's a regular, spends every weekend here in room 2D. Listen, treat her kindly, okay?"
"Of course, Frank," Harry replied, intrigued. "Any particular reason?"
Frank paused before responding, his eyes softening. "Fleur deserves kindness," he said quietly. "That's all you need to know."
"I understand," Harry nodded, storing the information about Fleur Delacour in his memory.
"Have a good night, Harry. You're doing well, son. Our guests are already talking about how much they like you."
Harry accepted the compliment with a nod, but inwardly, he felt a deep sense of satisfaction. He really wanted this job to work out. It was good to hear that his efforts were being appreciated.
Frank's footsteps echoed as he walked away, leaving Harry alone at the reception desk.
Harry settled in for another night at the Star Hotel. He took a moment to check Fleur Delacour's reservation and prepare her key.
Mrs. Delacour was 24 years old. Her husband was 47, an influential politician and the head of a thriving commercial empire. The photo on the reservation showed a beautiful blonde who looked younger than her age. Harry studied her face, fascinated by her pale blue eyes.
A guy could get lost in those eyes if he wasn't careful.
Harry chuckled at the thought, phrased in the hard-boiled language of the detective novel he was reading. He pulled the battered novel from the desk drawer, a relic of pulp fiction that had seen better days. His fingers traced the worn spine fondly. It might be an old book, but it told a damn good story. With the downtime this job offered, Harry planned to catch up on his reading.
Books were something Harry had loved since childhood. Growing up in a trailer, they didn't have cable TV because his dad spent his paycheck on beer and scratch tickets. The TV reception was lousy out in the boonies, so Harry turned to books as an escape from reality.
That habit had stuck with him ever since. During the brief period when Harry lived in his truck, a good book was invaluable.
Harry was deep into the fourth chapter when the door opened, and Fleur Delacour walked in. She was tall and slender, dressed in a light gray dress and carrying a small overnight bag.
In person, Fleur Delacour was even more beautiful than in her photo. Her face was angelic, and her body was voluptuous. Fleur's blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders like a golden waterfall. Her eyes sparkled, but there was a sadness in them, a palpable vulnerability. She offered Harry a shy smile as she approached the desk.
"Good evening," Harry said warmly. "Welcome to the Star Hotel."
"Hi," she replied, her voice soft and delicate. "I'm here to check in? Fleur Delacour?"
She had a lazy southern accent that was both soothing and seductive. Yet her voice was quiet, as if she were unsure of her words.
"Of course, Ms. Delacour. We’ve been expecting you. I have your key for room 2D."
"Thank you," she murmured as Harry handed her the key. "Are you the new concierge?"
"Sorry, I should have introduced myself first. I'm Harry, and yes, I'm the new concierge."
Harry extended his hand, and after a brief hesitation, she took it. Fleur's hand was soft and cool.
"Nice to meet you, Harry." She blushed adorably. "And please, call me Fleur."
"The pleasure is mine, Fleur. Can I help you with your luggage?"
She shook her head, lifting her small bag. "I just have this. But thank you for the offer."
"Of course. Is there anything else I can assist you with?"
"I have everything I need. At least, that's what I've been told. It was nice meeting you."
"Alright. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask."
She waved over her shoulder and disappeared into the elevator with one last, shy smile.
"That might be the prettiest girl I've ever seen," Harry Potter murmured under his breath.
Feeling the need to clear his head, Harry stepped out of the lobby and scanned the sidewalk in front of the hotel. Two suspicious-looking guys stood by the alley next to Salazar's shop. When they saw Harry looking at them, they turned and walked deeper into the alley.
"I need to talk to Salazar about possibly fencing off that alley," he reminded himself. It seemed to be a magnet for vagrants who harassed the hotel guests.
Setting aside the troublemakers, it was a beautiful summer day. Harry enjoyed the sunshine for a moment, happy to be in a city where he had a job, enough food, and a safe place to sleep at night. He returned inside, grateful for the comfort of the Star Hotel.
Dusk fell, and the streetlights had just come on when Harry's phone rang. He was sitting behind the reception desk, reading his novel. He picked up the receiver and grimaced when he saw who was calling.
"Good evening, Ms. Davis. How can I help you?"
"Well, you can start by calling me Tracey, as I asked."
"I wasn’t sure if you’d remember telling me that," Harry said cautiously.
"I remember everything from last night. That’s why I’m calling. I’d like to talk to you, Harry. Could you come to my room?"
Harry hesitated, unsure of what to do. Tracey must have sensed his indecision.
"I promise, no funny business this time," she assured him. "I’m completely sober."
Her honesty surprised Harry, but he appreciated it.
"Alright," he agreed. "I'll be up in a few minutes."
Harry took his time reaching the elevator, trying to collect his thoughts. He wasn’t sure what to expect. Would she apologize? Scold him? Make another sexual advance? Whatever happened, he had to remain professional.
When Harry reached her room, Tracey opened the door dressed in a simple t-shirt and jeans, a far cry from her disheveled appearance the previous night. She invited him in, and they sat on a plush sofa by the window.
"Harry, I wanted to apologize for last night," she began, her eyes downcast. "That’s not something that usually happens, and you didn’t deserve to be put in that situation."
"No need to apologize," Harry assured her. "People have their moments, and my job is to help our guests."
"No, don’t brush me off so easily, Harry. I’m not rich. I know the power dynamics, and I realize the danger I put you in with my reckless behavior. I put you in an awful position. It was shitty of me, and I really regret what I did."
Harry was touched by Tracey’s sincerity and her understanding of the trouble she could have caused him. It took a strong person to both grasp the magnitude of their mistake and take responsibility for it.
