Hotel Lamia

“Crap!” The wine bottle shattered against the concrete floor. The contents floated out, turning the light gray surface dark. I quickly picked up the green shards of glass and wiped up the spilled white wine with a dishcloth. Thankfully, it wasn’t expensive.

I grabbed the bottle of 2018 Henri Boillot Montrachet Grand Cru that I came in here to get before I accidentally bumped into the shelf.

Who the hell orders a £300 glass of wine on a Tuesday? That was more than I made working a shift here, including tips on a good night. Some people just had too much money.

I walked out of the storage room and down the hall. This part of the hotel didn’t have the same extravagance as the rest of the place. The white paint was flaking off of the walls, and it reeked of stale beer and sweat.

I tucked a dark runaway curl back behind my ear.

I walked into the bar and stood behind the counter, bottle in hand and my perfect customer service smile plastered on.

The prissy blonde that had ordered the wine sighed, exasperated. “Did you have to grow the grapes first?” she said with a snotty sneer.

“My apologies, ma’am,” I replied, smiling widely.

I decided not to waste any time trying to explain because I knew it wouldn’t make a difference. Some people were just looking to complain. I wouldn’t let her bitchiness sour my mood, no matter how much she tried. I grabbed two glasses and poured the wine expertly.

“The service here is just horrendous!” she spat venomously.

I slid the two glasses toward her, giving her another perfect smile. She grabbed them and walked back to her table without another word.

I started wiping down the black marble countertop while I looked out over the massive room before me. Small, black tables were spread out under the twenty-foot-high ceiling. Big, sparkling, crystal chandeliers gave it all a calm, luxurious feel.

Behind the bar, there was a huge wall mirror with shelves for all the fanciest liquor bottles. The mirror made it easy to keep an eye on the room while mixing drinks or preparing garnish and such.

The hotel was old, like from the 1800s or something, and the style was kept throughout the building, except for the parts the guests would never see. Why spend money on that?

The place was lavish as hell. I liked it, don’t get me wrong, but the snotty people it attracted ruined the whole flow of the place. It’s not that I hate rich people. It’s more that so many of them are just straight-up assholes.

While slicing up some lemons, I peered up into the mirror, sneaking a peek at the guests. The blonde was sitting in the middle of the room with a redheaded lass, scowling and gesturing wildly with her arms.

Why would people with such luck in life spend it being bitchy? Such a waste.

Over by the windows, the regulars were chatting. They were big business men, and they came here to unwind with a stiff drink every day around noon. They were good tippers and mostly well-behaved.

I grabbed a few limes and started cutting them into boats. When I looked up at the mirror again, my eyes instantly went to a man at the far left corner table. He was staring right at me.

I quickly looked down, like I hadn’t seen him staring. I felt a tingle go down my spine, and the hairs on my neck rose up. A faint electrical surge went through me, making my heart skip a beat.

I grabbed a random bottle of the shelf, using it as an excuse to look again. Our eyes met for a split second, and it felt like my soul was being pierced. I sucked in a sharp breath and dove back into work, trying to act like normal.

The eye contact felt so weird, like he’d just seen me naked. I’d never felt so exposed in my life.

Looking around the counter, I searched for any reason to run to the kitchen. I noticed the tray of dirty glasses was almost full, so I grabbed it.

“Back in five!” I called to the other bartender, Pete.

“Roger that!” he replied.

In the kitchen, I put the tray in the industrial dishwasher and pulled the lid down.

As it started humming, I focused on taking deep breaths while I tried to comprehend why I was feeling so weird. I didn’t have a problem with eye contact. Not at all. I was confident and thick-skinned. Not much would unsettle me. So why did I feel so exposed?

I grabbed a clean glass from a shelf and gobbled down two full glasses of cold water. My body quickly cooled down, making me feel more like myself again.

My eyes immediately snapped to where I’d seen the man, but he was gone. I felt an urge to find out who he was. But how? I hadn’t seen him by the bar. Maybe he got a drink while I was in the storage room earlier. I turned to Pete with a sneaky plan.

“Did you get a nice tip from the corner table guy?” I asked casually.

It wasn’t an unusual question between bartenders, but he looked at me, confused.

“Huh? There hasn’t been anyone at either of the corner tables,” he said, frowning at me, like I was drunk or something.

“Hmm. I thought I saw a guy there just before I left for the kitchen,” I said, my eyebrows knitting together. I turned away from Pete so he wouldn’t see my reaction. My plan to check the receipt wouldn’t work.

“It’s just been the housewives and the regulars,” he said, wiping down his part of the counter.

“Oh, my mistake, then,” I said, trying to play it off casually. I still felt a twinge of doubt in my gut. I wasn’t convinced I’d made it up. It felt too real.

The rest of my shift was uneventful and boring as hell. Pete was working the midshift, overlapping both mine and the next.

I grabbed my bag out of my locker and walked out the rusty back door. It was supposed to be early spring, but the afternoon air was bitterly cold. I stuffed my hands in my pockets and walked out of the alley and down the street toward my flat.

I got the place just because it was close to the hotel. It gave me a huge advantage in the fight for more shifts.

I only had a contract for two per week, but I would always get more. Especially after the manager noticed how fast I would get there every time he asked me to come in on short notice. I was now the first one he called when they needed extra staff.

I jogged up the five flights of stairs to my penthouse. I called it that, as it was the only flat on this floor, but it was really just a smelly loft turned into a tiny, one-room flat.

Besides the bathroom, everything was in one room. Tiny kitchen in one corner, a couch and a banged-up TV in another. A double bed in the third corner, and in the fourth was the musty bathroom.

I dropped my bag on the floor and went to fill the bathtub.

But why didn’t Pete see him? It wasn’t like it was normal for my brain to make things up like that, but who knows? I was sleep deprived and overworked as hell. Maybe my brain finally gave in and cracked after all these years of neglect and abuse.

I took off my white, button-down shirt and dropped it on the middle of the bathroom floor.

I loved living by myself. No one would yell about my mess, and I only had myself to clean up after. Coming from a foster home with too many kids and constant screaming from the adults, this was heaven, even if it was a dump.

I pulled my long, raven hair up in a messy bun and stepped into the tub. As the warm water enveloped me, I felt the tension leave my aching loins. I let out a moan as I closed my eyes.

Listening to the drip from the tap, I let my mind drift into nothingness, something I had picked up while living at the shitty foster home. I would completely clear my head and think of nothing at all. Just blank out my brain. It always made me feel better about all the stress and worries of life.

I almost felt caressed by the water, like it was hugging me. It swirled around my breasts, gently caressing my nipples. So delicate and soothing. It moved around my body, warming me, bringing every nerve to the surface.

A wave of water traveled from my chest, over my stomach, and down between my legs. Heat started pooling at my center, making me feel needy. In my dreamy state, I released a soft moan, relishing in the strange sensation. Water started swirling gently against my pussy, pushing at my clit, making my breath hitch. I grabbed on to the edge on the tub.

My mind was in a haze, drowned in the buzz of the delightful tingle. I started moving my hips, grinding against the swirl as the soft pressure gradually intensified.

The water twisted harder around my nipples, making me gasp. Suddenly, it started pumping against my clit, and I cried out in ecstasy as the orgasm hit me like a tsunami.

I jerked back to reality, frantically looking around the tiny room, searching for an explanation for what had just happened. When I saw nothing was out of place, I jumped out of the tub, grabbed a towel, and ran out of the bathroom.