The Lodge

“Got that… holiday menu finalized… oh, need to ask Robbie about the tree ornaments…”

Three more days… three more days and you’ll never have to see this place again.

Four months of living on-site at the Valley View Lodge was not what I signed up for.

Two months max, they said. All it needs is someone to supervise operations until it’s up and running. And now here I am… three weeks out from Christmas and still here.

This job has kind of seemed like a bust from the beginning. Transforming a few rundown mountain cabins on a hundred-year-old ranch into a ‘rustic luxury getaway’ seemed like a weird choice to me, but whatever, it’s not my dime.

I have no idea why people would pay to come stay out here in this abandoned old ski town with no cell service, but my boss seems confident in the lure of small-town charm for people in the city.

As hard as it’s been not having my creature comforts, I guess living out here has been kind of a nice break from everything I was dealing with back in Denver.

I haven’t been thinking about mine and Jacob’s breakup every thirty seconds… or worrying about my dad after his health scare… or all the other million things that were bogging me down.

Now I just want to get back home, get back into my routine, maybe actually enjoy the holidays. And so long as we can stay under budget and avoid any more delays, I’ll be home just in time to go last-minute gift shopping and get in some family time.

Honestly, this job isn’t that bad. There’s parts of it that I genuinely like. But there’s one particular thing that makes this job a living hell. You.

“Cliff. What the hell are those?”

“Silver sagebrush.”

“What happened to the flower shipment? This morning there was a truckload of marigolds waiting to be planted—”

“They’re not native. Doesn’t make sense to plant them.”

Oh my god.

“Cliff, they’re already paid for. It’s what corporate wants. They ordered it!”

“They want plants that’ll be dead in a week?”

“No, they—they want whatever they want!”

God, how are you so good at getting on my nerves? I cross my arms over my chest and just… look at you.

Your messy hair pasted to your sweat-covered forehead. Your stupid little dimples hidden in your scruff. Those stained jeans and dirty steel-toed boots. You’re the handyman from hell.

This is the third time you’ve deliberately contradicted me and just went on doing things your way, which apparently you find superior. I can’t even speak two words to you without my blood pressure spiking.

“You do realize we’re opening in three days, right? Corporate’s going to be here tomorrow to make sure everything is by the book and it’ll be my ass on the line if it isn’t! What about the Christmas tree for the lobby? Is that done?”

“Too tall for the ceiling in there. Gonna have to move it. Or just go out back and cut one down that actually fits.”

“No, we can’t have a real one because it might bring in mold, remember? Did you finish hanging the string lights for the back patio?”

“You sure you wanna know?”

Okay, that’s it. I’m done. I cannot handle any more of your crap today.

I’m going to my office. I just need to be… somewhere, anywhere away from you.

“Don’t worry. Your little middle-of-nowhere influencer paradise will be ready for the holidays.”

“Don’t call it that.”

“Well, that’s what it is, isn’t it? Your fancy hotel group swoops in, buys a place, turns it into something it’s not. All without knowing a single thing about where you are.”

“I’m just trying to do my job and you are getting in the way of that!”

I walk towards the toolshed, just to avoid this conversation turning into another full-blown argument. We’ve had way too many of those recently.

I feel you close behind as I blindly search for the light’s pullstring. You reach out and lay a firm hand on my shoulder. I don’t want to, but I let you turn me around to face you.

I take a step back and feel the wall behind me. You step forward and our bodies are suddenly flush.

You lean forward and rest your arm against the metal shelf above my head, looming over me, your face just a few inches from mine.

Weird. I’ve never noticed how green your eyes are.

“Would it hurt to take my advice once in a while? I have lived here my whole life, you know. Worked on this ranch since I was fifteen years old.”

“Would it hurt you to actually respect me as your boss? I don’t tell you what to do because I think I’m smarter or better. I do it because it’s my job to give our clients what they want.”

“All you guys care about is money. You don’t give a damn about this town or the history of this place. You’re just trying to make a buck.”

“Well, take it up with corporate. then. I’m just doing my job!”

“I’ve been in this line of work for twenty years. Never met someone so stubborn.”

“Yeah, well… same…”

Your mouth crashes into mine hard, desperate. Like something just burst between us.

We pull and grab at each other’s clothes, attraction and frustration mixing into something intoxicating and desperate.

“The door—get the door.”

I rake my hands down your chest and push the stiff canvas jacket down from your shoulders.

Your work gloves are rough against my bare skin as you help push my shirt up and over my head. I yank each one from your hands and toss them somewhere.

Your hands cup my ass and you pull us even closer.

“Down… further…”

Your mouth closes around my nipple and your teeth scrape over the sensitive skin…

“It’s easy to get you riled up, I see.”

“You’re so annoying.”

You drop down onto your knees and slide my pants down to my ankles. You urge my legs apart with one hand.

You grab my left foot and lift it up to rest on your shoulder, spreading me open, giving you better access.

“What are you—”

Oh my god… how are you so good at this? Each flick of your tongue sends a searing jolt of heat through me. You trace up through my labia… around my clit… and back down again…

I grab a handful of your hair and push your face harder up against me.

Your hands tighten around my ass, harder than before, and suddenly you’re lifting me up off the ground. I grasp my arms around your neck for balance, but it’s clear you could lift something far heavier than me.

The bulge behind your worn-out jeans presses right up against me as you sit down on the edge of the worktable with me in your lap. I squeeze my legs around your waist, grinding up into your dick and rocking my hips into you.

“Take off your pants.”

“You want me to fuck you?”

“Yeah, take them off. Now.”

“Uh-huh. You can tell me what to do when we’re at work. But not right now. Keep grinding on me.”

“Are you kidding? Just… please, fuck me…”

“God, hearing you beg is so sweet.”

You hold me by the hips and bury your face into my chest. Your tongue swirls over each nipple, biting and teasing.

Your cock grinds against my clit through your jeans.

You stand up with me still wrapped tight around your waist and gently lay me down.

The cold metal of the worktable is a shock against my bare ass.

“Oh my god, finally.”

“You’re really impatient, huh?”

“Well, you’re really a pain in my ass.”

I reach for your cock and wrap my hand around the base. It’s hard and throbs a little between my fingers as I stroke it. The sight of it so hard does something to me… It’s so hot that I did that to you.

“You want it, don’t you? You want me to fuck you?”

“Yeah. I want you to fuck me. I want you inside.”

“How bad do you want it?”

“I need it, just—fuck me—please—”

“Oh, fuck! Oh, yeah, yes!”

I tighten my legs around your waist again, drawing you as far in me as possible. Your eyes are shut tight and your hands gripping the edge of the table as you drive into me. I don’t want to admit how fucking good you make me feel.

“Fuck, yes—yes—harder—”

“Turn over…”

I release you from my grip around your waist and you pull out of me. My whole body is thrumming with heat and warmth as I turn around and lay my hands flat against the table.

Your fingers trail down my bare back until they reach between my legs.

“Oh, fuck…”

You find my clit with ease and rub slow circles over it. Your other hand reaches around my chest and squeezes one of my nipples.

“I love the way you sound…”

“F-fuck… Cliff…”

“I just want to hear you beg for it one more time…”

“Please—fuck me—oh my god, Cliff, please—”

We just stay here, you leaning part of your weight against my back, me resting my forehead against the cool metal table. I focus on the sound of your breathing… the cool air coming in the toolshed from outside…

You pull out of me, but you stay close enough that I can smell the mix of pine and sweat on you.

“Um, so…”

“Guess I better get back to work.”

“Yeah… me too…”

“Hey. I’m sorry for being an ass. It’s not personal. I’ve just got a lot of memories wrapped up in this place. Hard to see it change.”

“I know. I get that. I’m sorry for riding your ass.”

“Truce? For now?”

“For now.”

I finish getting dressed and push open the shed door. The afternoon sun is bright, and there’s a cold bite to the air. Maybe I’m not in such a hurry to get back to Denver after all…