8. Emerson

Years ago, when I had first hired Roland, it was before I'd even set eyes on him. I had recently taken over management of the hotel, and I was set on making a good impression, proving to my father that I was capable of doing the job. And that meant hiring staff that embodied the same traits I hoped to instill in myself—honesty, approachability, a hard-working nature. I had Roland's resume, but he lived out of the city in North Salter, and it hadn't made sense to make him drive in for the interview when it could just as easily be done over the phone. There had been something about his voice that put me at ease, personable and relaxed, and I'd been really impressed. We ended up going well over our allotted time, just chatting, and in the end, it was obvious to me that he was perfect for the desk position. I hired him on the spot.

Boy, did I ever royally screw myself over.

The day he first showed up to work, I nearly came in my pants right then and there. He was so damn adorable, moving to the big city to carve out a life for himself. He was such a breath of fresh air. I'd had to shake his hand while his scent muddled my thoughts and give him a tour of the hotel with an erection pressing into my zipper. It hadn't helped matters when he'd taken an interest right back, always standing just slightly too close, his eyes lingering in all the wrong spots. He was smart, sweet, kind, but he was way too young for me, fresh out of high school, just 18 years old, while I was approaching 30, and he had entrusted me with his care in this vulnerable stage of his life, so far from home. I made a vow that I would never take advantage of him, and so far, I'd kept that vow.

Until last night. Fuck.

Kissing Roland was better than I'd ever dreamed it could be, and now that I'd had a taste, my brain was working overtime, trying to find a way that I could keep him. How stupid all my past excuses seemed in hindsight. What did it matter if there were a few years between us? Whose business was it that I was his boss? All that time we wasted, when he could've been mine ages ago!

Now the barrier between us seemed a little more life-and-death—hopefully not literally…

"There has to be something," I snarled into the phone. "What did your friend say, Sawyer? You talked to him, right?"

I could immediately tell he felt awful for not having better news for me, his voice strained. "I'm sorry, but he said the mayor hasn't done anything illegal that he can find. Either she's innocent or she's just very good at covering her tracks."

It was definitely the second option. Innocent women didn't coerce people with veiled threats.

My leg was bouncing under my desk, and I pinched the bridge of my nose, eyes clenched tight. I was usually such a calm, relaxed person, but the dread was practically spilling out of me. "Are you telling me that I actually have to marry that woman? Tie the knot or lose my hotel?" Either way I would lose Roland.

"I'm not telling you to do anything," he said, speaking in a soothing tone to try and placate me. "My friend has her name now, so she's on his radar. Don't give up hope. He could still find something, maybe she'll slip up or—"

"Fuck," I cursed before I hung up on him and dropped my phone onto the desk. Eva had proven to be a patient woman when maneuvering me to where she wanted me, but now that I was cornered, we both knew she had me in check mate. And honestly, I would do anything to save the hotel. Even marry my enemy.

Maybe she wouldn't care if I kept Roland on the side…

Gods, I hated myself for thinking that. Roland was better than being someone's side piece. He was worth romantic dinners. He deserved true love and marriage and kids. Kissing Roland had only solidified that I would do anything to protect him—and Eva had made it clear he was a target. He was everything I'd ever wanted, and even though he couldn't be mine, I would do everything I could to ensure he found his happily ever after. Even if it wasn't with me.

I never should've interrupted his date. It wasn't my right, and all it had done was make everything worse.

There was a knock on the door, and I snarled, this inhuman sound. I did not want to deal with people today. I had enough on my plate. "What?" I snapped.

Usually, I only got interrupted by problems—customer complaints, burst pipes, order shortages—so when Roland stormed in, it took me a minute to find my footing. "Wha—" I began, but it was clear he had something to say.

He slammed the door shut behind him and marched up to my desk, his dark eyes flashing dangerously. "My date brought me flowers, you know." He was worked up, panting to catch his breath. "He wanted to kiss me good night. It would've been so easy to invite him in. Instead, I had a long shower and jerked off while thinking of you," he said, stabbing a finger in my direction.

My mouth gaped, and I wanted to avert my eyes but couldn't seem to look away. The picture he'd painted snuck into my mind, of his hand wrapped around his shaft, frantically pumping, and once I imagined it, it wouldn't go away. "W-why are you telling me this?" I stammered.

"Because it's always been you. Why don't you get that? Even dreaming of you is better than a real version of someone else."

I gulped, my resolve weakening. He looked so helpless, and I wanted nothing more than to pull him into my arms and declare my undying devotion to him—because I understood all too well that level of desperate need. I felt it too.

Roland stepped around the desk slowly, approaching as if I were a skittish animal, as though he expected me to turn and run. "You wouldn't be taking advantage of me," he whispered, pleading, as if he could read my mind. "You would be putting me out of my misery."

"Roland," I whimpered, begging him to stop, to keep going, to make it all go away. I didn't know how to ask for what I wanted.

When I didn't stop him, he crawled into my lap, straddling me. "Stop fighting it," he whispered. And so I did.

Gripping his ass in both hands, I surged to my feet, forcing him to cling to me, clamoring at my shoulders. Didn't he know I would never drop him? I would always keep him safe, first and foremost. Sweeping my arm across the desktop, I cleared a space, papers scattering across the floor. What did I care about the mess when I had Roland in my arms. I set him down, far more gently than what I had in mind. I wanted to own him, even if it was just for today, one single hour, one minute. I just wanted to be able to say that he was mine.

I started tugging at his belt, and at the same time he tried to reach for mine. Our arms tangled, and finally, he laughed a little manically. "I'll do mine, you do yours. Just hurry."

We didn't even get our clothes fully off. Neither of us had the patience to wait. He kept trying to kiss me, and when his pants and underwear got caught around his ankles with his shoes in the way, he fumbled frantically. "Get them off me!"

"Don't bother, there's no time," I gritted out, grabbing him around the waist and flipping him over. I shoved the hem of his shirt up his back, exposing his perfect ass. There was no doubt he was slick enough when I drove myself inside him.

He cried out, grappling for something to hold on to, and I stilled immediately, fighting against the urge to move. This was wrong, so wrong. This wasn't how our first time was supposed to be. "Sorry, too rough?"

"No, never." He looked over his shoulder at me, his cheeks flushed, looking more alive than I'd ever seen him. "I've been waiting forever for you. Make me feel it. Fuck me hard, Emerson."

His name on my lips was enough to light a fuse and set me off like a powder keg. I groaned, drawing myself out before thrusting back in, again and again, working myself up to a frantic pace. His channel tightened around me, the sound of slick flesh slapping together mixing with our moaning.

I told myself to savor it, to make it last. If I could only have him once, then I needed to make it count. The pleasure I felt only barely held back the self-loathing. Roland and I should've been talking, I needed to tell him the truth…

But then his ass clenched around me like a fist, and all rational thought was lost. "Gods, you're so damn tight." I marveled at how perfect he felt, as if he were made just for me.

"Emerson, fuck, yes," he grunted as I pounded into him hard enough that the desk skittered forward, squealing against the floor.

His moans were getting louder, and these walls weren't soundproof. As he crested his climax, I clamped a hand over his mouth to muffle his shout. He stiffened, his cum dripping down the side of my desk. As his inner walls squeezed around my shaft, his entire body shuddering beneath me, the heat and pressure that had been building for what felt like years finally blew, and I emptied myself into his ass, painting his insides with my cum. It felt like it went on forever, pulse after pulse, until finally my knot expanded, locking our bodies together.

I collapsed over him, resting my head on his shoulder, sweat wicking into his shirt. My chest heaved as I tried to catch my breath. Shit. What have I done? Guilt and regret were already taking the place of pleasure. How was I supposed to let him go now? He needed to get himself as far away from me as possible! I was poison.

He chuckled, a sleepy, sated sound. "Emerson, that was—" he began, but I couldn't let him finish that sentence.

"I'm getting married," I blurted out before I could second-guess myself.

"W-what?" he gasped, pushing off the desk and forcing me to stand, our bodies still locked together. He stumbled, and I tried to brace him, but he slapped my hands away, wrenching around to try to look at me. "To who?"

"To Eva Ward."

He instinctively tried to flee, and I bit back a groan as it tugged on my knot. "You bastard," he muttered, tears building.

"Roland, I'm sorry. I should've told you." Even as I said the words, I knew they weren't enough.

"Yeah. You should've." He cursed as he finally managed to pull himself off me, far too early, and both of us shuddered at the sensation of my knot, still semi-inflated, squeezing from his hole. My cum dripped down his legs, and he bent over to jerk his pants back up, turning away to stuff himself into his underwear.

Under different circumstances, we would've been basking in bed in the blissful afterglow. I felt a fresh wave of grief as I mourned the loss of him and anything we could've—should've—had. So what if he hated me? It was better that way.

I didn't want to give in to the mayor's demands, but I just didn't see another way out of this. I would never leave anyone on my staff without their job, the income they relied on to support their families, not to mention breaking up the found family they'd built here with their coworkers at the hotel. They were counting on me to do whatever it took to protect them, and I wouldn't betray that trust.

Tears spilling down his cheeks, Roland looked back at me and shook his head, scoffing. "Fuck you, Monsieur Holland," he spat, before storming out the door.