Straight Until Checkout

MM Bi-Awakening Romance
by Milo Hart

Free with Kindle Unlimited

Pairing: MM (Gay)
Heat: 🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️ Inferno
Tropes: Bi Awakening, Forced Proximity, Grumpy/Sunshine, Praise Kink, Class Difference, One Bed, Possessive Hero, Slow Burn

A grumpy, “straight” corporate fixer. A chaotic bellhop who sees right through him. One double-booked hotel suite. And a week-long “mistake” he can’t stop extending.

Daniel Mercer doesn’t do chaos. He flies in, fixes broken companies, flies out. No mess, no attachments, no surprises. So when a system glitch sticks him in a shared hotel suite with the mouthy, tattooed bellhop who won’t stop calling him “sir,” he’s irritated. That’s it. Irritated.

Not curious. Not turned on. Definitely not replaying the way Javi’s hand brushed his wrist at the bar.

Javier Reyes has seen closeted business travelers before. He’s been the secret. He’s been the experiment. He swore he wouldn’t do it again. But Dan is different—wound so tight he’s about to snap, looking at Javi like he’s the only unlocked door in a burning building.

One kiss in the dark. One rule: just for this trip.

But rooms have checkout dates. And Dan keeps extending his stay.

You’ll love this book if you enjoy:

✅ Bi-awakening MM romance with a corporate grump who doesn’t know he’s gay yet
✅ Forced proximity in a hotel suite with only one bed
✅ A bellhop who’s been the secret before and won’t do it again
✅ “I’m not gay” to “I’m moving to Milwaukee for you” pipeline
✅ Praise kink, possessiveness, and the word “sir” doing heavy lifting
✅ Slow burn that IGNITES (🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️ — graphic, explicit, emotional)
✅ Found family energy with the best hotel staff cast
✅ HEA guaranteed

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⚠️ Content Warning: This novel contains explicit sexual content (graphic MM scenes), strong language, bi-awakening themes, workplace power dynamics, and emotional content related to identity and family expectations. Intended for readers 18+.

📖 Read Chapter One Free

Not sure yet? Read the full first chapter right here.

Chapter One: 714

The airline lost my bag somewhere between O’Hare and Milwaukee.

Not misplaced. Not delayed. Lost. As in, the woman at the baggage claim counter smiled at me with the dead eyes of someone who’d already been screamed at six times today and said, “We’ll do our best to locate it, Mr. Mercer,” which in airline-speak meant my bag was currently in Tulsa or a dumpster or some baggage handler’s living room and I should go ahead and make peace with that.

I filled out the claim form. I didn’t scream. I wanted to, but I’ve learned that screaming at people in service jobs accomplishes exactly nothing except making you the asshole in someone else’s story. My mother taught me that. Twenty-two years cleaning hotel rooms will teach you a lot about who people really are when they think no one that matters is watching.

The rental car smelled like cold french fries and something vaguely floral, like whoever had it last had tried to mask the fast food with a gas station air freshener and only made it worse. I turned the heat up, pulled onto I-94, and reminded myself why I was here.

The Bellweather Hotel. Two hundred rooms, downtown Milwaukee, part of the Crestline Hospitality portfolio. Revenue down eighteen percent year-over-year. Guest satisfaction scores in freefall. Management turnover that looked like a revolving door from the outside and a dumpster fire from the spreadsheets. My job was to spend two weeks inside the operation, figure out what was broken, and tell the board how to fix it—or whether to bother.

I did this four times a year. Fly in, dissect a struggling property, write a report that either saved it or killed it, fly out. I was good at it. Efficient. Clinical. Karen Holloway, my boss at Kellner-Worth, called me “the scalpel.” I’d stopped finding that flattering about a year ago.

It was almost eleven by the time I pulled into the Bellweather’s parking structure. Rain was coming down in sheets—the kind of Midwestern spring storm that turns gutters into rivers and makes every flight within two hundred miles a coin flip. I grabbed my laptop bag, my carry-on with one change of clothes and a charger, and walked through the rain to the lobby entrance.

Inside was chaos.

The lobby was packed. A banner near the elevator bank read WELCOME GREAT LAKES DENTAL ASSOCIATION — 47TH ANNUAL CONFERENCE, which explained the clusters of people milling around with lanyards and the slightly manic energy of professionals who’d been trapped in a hotel bar for three hours because their flights were canceled. Every chair in the lobby was occupied. A family with two screaming toddlers was camped by the concierge desk. The check-in line stretched halfway to the revolving door.

I got in line. Waited. Checked my email. Karen had sent a prep file with the hotel’s financials flagged in red—twelve attachments, all marked urgent, as if anything she sent had ever been marked otherwise. I scanned the subject lines without opening them. Tomorrow’s problem.

The line moved. Slowly. The woman at the front desk—early thirties, dark hair pulled into a bun that was losing its battle with gravity, name tag reading LENA—was handling the crush with the grim efficiency of a field medic. She processed guests, fielded complaints, answered the phone, and managed to do all of it without once raising her voice, though I caught her jaw tighten when a man in a polo shirt told her he’d been waiting “an eternity.”

“I understand your frustration, sir. Let me see what I can do.”

She’d said it four times in the twelve minutes I stood in line. Same tone each time. Same controlled smile. I respected the hell out of it.

When I finally reached the desk, Lena looked up at me with the hollow composure of someone running on caffeine and spite.

“Welcome to The Bellweather. Checking in?”

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Suite 714 — One Year Later — A scene TOO HOT for Amazon

Dan books the newly renovated Suite 714 for their anniversary. Same room. Same shower. Very different terms. Counter sex, the “sir” callback that breaks them both, and the filthiest, most joyful hotel-room scene in the series.

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