by Zahra Girard
“Oh, that is so cool.”
“It is. She knows how to swing,” I say, delighting in hearing Violet still try to come up with some protest, as if it wasn’t hot as hell seeing her dish out some punishment in a fight.
Violet leans down, her quiet whisper tickles my ear and sends shivers up my spine. “You are in big trouble,” she says. “Keep it up and you’re going to get punished.”
There’s more than a hint of something sinful in her voice, something that burns away any resistance I have and quiets that logical part of my brain that says I should focus on business and on getting out of here as quick as possible; all I’m left with is the base burning desire to see just how far the sultry heat of Violet’s promise will go.
Turning, I look up at her.
“How long until you have to open the bar?” I growl.
A toothy grin lights up her face. “This is my bar. I set my own hours. One advantage of being the boss.”
“Good for us,” I say. Then I call out to Snake on the other side of the bar. “Brother, why don’t you take my bike and take Josie for a little ride?”
Before Snake can answer, Violet pipes up.
“No,” she says. “She’s too young for a motorcycle. Take my truck. And Josie, if you finish all your homework, you and Snake can watch that movie you were talking about.”
Josie sits up straight and grins like she just won the lottery. “Really? I can watch Dead Snow?”
“Really? We can?” Snake calls out. He sounds even more excited than Josie.
Violet raises one commanding finger and fetches the keys to her truck from the pocket of her jeans, dangling them temptingly. “Yes, but only if she finishes her homework first. And you can order pizza, too.”
Snake and Josie are both out of their seats as fast as lightning, and he’s over to our table to snatch the keys from her before I can even blink. In seconds, he and Josie are racing to the door, heads huddled together like two kids plotting some serious mischief.
I’ll have to keep an eye on them, I think. Though who is going to corrupt who is a big question. Josie is just as devious as Snake, and she’s got her youthful innocence to get her out of any trouble.
The thought of the two of them working together — egging each other on — is enough to make me forget for a moment about the raven-haired beauty standing behind me.
Then the door to the bar closes and we’re alone.
And, in one smooth motion, she slips her leg over me and straddles me. Her hands clasp my cheeks and her lips find mine. All I can think about is how good she tastes.
Full, seductive lips kiss their way from my lips to my ear and, as she nibbles at me, she whispers, “I hope you don’t mind mixing business with pleasure, Crash.”
Chapter Nine
Violet
I shouldn’t kiss him.
He’s not the kind of man I should open up to, make myself vulnerable to, allow my heart to make a commitment of any kind to.
But I can’t help it.
All day, I’ve been watching him. Watching how open and caring and kind he is with Josie. Witnessing what kind of man he is beneath that hard, icy, prickly outer shell. Realizing that that kind of man — who isn’t afraid to tell silly stories to a scared young girl, or to show her the honesty and respect she deserves by talking to her like she’s an adult when the situation require sit — is one that I shouldn’t be afraid to get close to.
Because, as much as he tries to hide it, the man he really is knows how to love.
And, even if I’m not so foolish as to expect love — I’ve been there, done that, have the divorce paperwork to remind me never to do that again — just one night, just this one time, can’t hurt. Can it?
Not when it’s been so long. Not when it feels so damn good to put my lips to his. To press myself close to him and feel him grow so damn hard beneath me. Even through his jeans, I can feel his length and girth. The primal rumble in his chest, the ragged moans of pleasure he makes as he explores my body with his hands and tongue, tells me he is as hungry as I am.
“This is a bad idea,” he says.
I silence him with my lips.
“We’re in a bar. Bars and booze exists to excuse bad ideas. Stop thinking,” I answer.
Muscular arms encircle me, hold me tight to his body. He stands, he leans, presses me flat on my back on the table behind me.
My shirt comes off.
Lips and tongue lavish attention on my chest. Make me shiver with longing as the intoxicating sensation of a new, hungry, powerful man explores my body for the first time.
I rise, just an inch, just enough to reach behind my back and unhook my bra. My nipples harden beneath his tongue. The sensation is overwhelming; I shiver, shake, moan, reach behind his head and hold his face tight to my chest. Fuck, I could hold him here forever. It’s been too long.
Too long, and this feels too good.
His lips leave my tits. They kiss my tummy, going lower and lower at a pace so slow I hammer my fists against the table in frustrated agony. Now that I’m so close to something that I’ve been putting off for years, it can’t come soon enough.
“Patience,” he whispers.
“Fuck patience,” I moan. “And fuck me.”
He chuckles.
When he opens the buttons and zipper of my jeans, when he grabs tight to them and tugs them off me in one slow pull, I raise my hips and lift myself toward him. The only thing between my pussy and his lips are one soaking pair of panties.
“Please,” I moan. “Please Crash, I want it so bad.”
I am soaking, wet and slick with four years of anticipation. Even as he teases me through my panties, running his thumb in a gentle circle above my clit, it’s enough to make me cry out with pleasure.
“You are so wet,” he whispers, taking his thumb from my panties and licking it. “And you taste so good.”
Unable to wait anymore, I grab my panties and pull them off.
“Stop fucking around,” I snap.
He laughs. And then, with a strength that surprises me, seizes me by my hips and forces me flat to the table. He’s strong, I can’t move.
And then he gives me what I yearn for; his lips against my sensitive, dripping pussy. He doesn’t toy with me; he doesn’t tease me; he knows how badly I want this. And I moan and smack the table as he pleasures me with his lips, with his fingers, with his tongue.
There’s a crash and the sound of shattering glass as I smack the table again, my limbs going crazy as he suckles the bud of my clit and massages it with a firm stroke from his tongue.
Sounds like I need to buy a new bourbon glass, I think.
Then all thoughts fade, driven away by his tongue.
All I see are flashing colors behind my closed eyelids. All I hear are his moans and mine blending together in the quiet of my bar, all I can do is clench my legs to his cheeks and lift my hips, rocking them in time with his tongue, grinding my yearning pussy against his face.
So close.
I am so close.
And then I’m there.
“Yes,” I moan. “Yes, oh God, yes.”
Four years worth of pent-up frustration I never knew I had releases in one shaking, quivering, spasmodic fit on a table in my bar. My chest is covered in dewdrops of sweat, my lips tingle, and my fingers clench and unclench as if I’m trying to grasp at air.
And god damn, does it feel amazing.
When my eyes can see again, I sit up. He’s between my legs, still, but he’s stood up and he’s stripping down. Lean, muscular, his body accented with tattoos that highlight how fucking hot he is. I’m spent, tired, but already aching to feel his hard cock inside me.
But there’s something else I want, too.
I slither off the table, dropping to my knees in front of him. It feels so right to be here, in front of him, looking up at him, taking his hard cock in my hands and guiding it into my waiting mouth.
The moans I draw from him are the most delicious sound to ever
hit my ears.
And his cock is hard and thick enough to put to shame all other men that I’ve been with.
“Fucking god damn, Vi,” he moans.
He’s stopped standing. He’s leaning back against the table. Holding on to it for dear life while I suck his cock with relentless, fervent abandon.
I’m doing that to him. I’m making this hard, ruthless man grip that table because he’s helpless against my lips and tongue.
And I can’t help but giggle.
This is as free and alive that I’ve felt in a long time.
“Lie back,” I whisper. “I want to ride you.”
He raises an eyebrow. I’m sure he had other intentions — he probably wanted to bend me over and fuck me from behind. But I up the heat in my glare and say, louder, “My bar, my rules.”
Crash does as I ask. Laying back on the table and I climb atop him. I can feel the heat and firmness of his cock right at the entrance to my pussy. For one moment, I hold him there, admiring the naked desire on his face, his cock shaking in my firm grip as he vainly tries to thrust himself into me.
He wants me.
This cold, ruthless, warm-hearted, caring criminal wants me.
He wants me so bad that he can’t control himself.
Then I lower myself.
Slow at first. It’s been so long I have to go easy. But the heat and the pleasure makes even the gentle pain worth it.
Besides, it’s hard to feel bad when you’re riding the cock of a man who’s made you come harder than you have in years; my body is still tingling.
And that tingling only grows as I take him fully and rock my hips against him; it grows, and it grows further as his cock presses just the right spot inside me and my still-sensitive clit rubs against him with perfect pressure.
“I love your cock,” I moan. “I love it and I love how you make me come.”
The tingling in my body grows, until I feel like I’ve stuck my finger in an electrical socket, the sensation so strong and overwhelming that all I can think about — all I can focus on — is forcing my burning legs and my hips to ride him harder, faster, in just that right spot, until I break.
Then there’s a smack. Hard. A cracking blow to my ass that makes my eyes open wide and sends a pleasant jolt through my body. It feels good. So good.
“Again. Smack my ass again,” I moan.
“Your bar, your rules,” he says. And he does just as I ask.
I clench and release as that sharp thrill surges through my body and the stinging memory of his handprint tingles my ass.
“Harder.”
He doesn’t hesitate. He cracks my ass hard enough to make me yelp in delight and my entire body clenches in pleasure. Inside me, I feel his cock swelling and, through the pleasant pain that fogs all my senses, I hear him moan and hear the deep breathing that I know means he is so close to his climax.
“Again. Harder. I am so close, Crash. I want to fucking come on your dick while you come inside me,” I moan.
Another crack on my ass sends me over the edge, spiraling into ecstasy. Deeper still I fall when I feel him let go — when his hard, deep thrusting gives way to the moaning spasms of orgasm.
When I come down, he’s beneath me, grinning. And I put both hands on his chest, pinning him beneath me, keeping him inside me, and I return his smile.
“Four years. Four fucking years since I’ve had that. And I think it was worth the wait.”
He laughs and smacks my ass again. “Maybe mixing business and pleasure isn’t so bad.”
I answer him with a deep kiss that feels so good that I’m shivering when I come up for air. My entire body is alight, and goosebumps cover me from head to toe. It’s the best I’ve felt in so, so long.
“No, maybe it isn’t so bad,” I say. And then I stand, sliding off him and stretching. “But, now that pleasure is done — for now — it’s time to get back to work.”
“Now who’s the one always focused on business?” He says, chuckling.
“Most everything I have is tied up in this place, so if I don’t work, I don’t eat,” I say.
Already, I’m dressed, and he’s barely off the table and pulling his shirt on by the time I’m back behind the bar, doing opening prepwork. In less than an hour, I’ll be opening my doors and it’ll be a night like any other.
“Just like that? Back to work?”
“Yeah, just like that. This keeps me centered, keeps me from going off the deep end and spiraling, even though my best friend has been taken by some monster. And tonight, because I will be running everything on my own since I don’t have any help except for my cook, Emilio, I will be tired as hell when we finish. Which is a good thing, because it’ll mean I can actually get some sleep instead of being up all night worrying about my best friend.”
Crash is dressed, now. And his hair is mussed, and he’s wearing a smile that I’ve never seen on him before. The man is so handsome it’s dangerous.
“You’re not without help. You’ve got me.”
“Oh, so you will be my waitress?”
“Fuck no. Yeah, I can pour drinks and, yeah, I can run them to tables, too. But you sure as shit ain’t calling me a waitress.”
“Fine,” I say, smiling. “Your new job title is ‘bartender’s assistant’ and your duties include pouring beers — because, no matter how much experience you think you have, your mixology skills are nowhere near my own, and I am not letting you even touch my custom mixed bitters and liqueurs — and waitressing duties. Does that massage your ego enough?”
“Well enough,” he says. “Now, let’s get to work, boss.”
“Don’t forget, I keep a bat under the counter and I know how to use it. So keep your attitude to yourself, assistant.”
He laughs, and then we settle in to work. Cleaning, setting up, chopping garnishes, righting furniture, and going over every inch of this place until it looks like last night’s nightmare never happened. At the outset, I was worried that it’d be hard or awkward working with Crash, but it turns out to be easy. He’s dropped his harsh exterior, and I have fun with him. At one point, just before we open the doors, we’re joking around and throwing limes at each other — which we quickly clean up before our first customer arrives. Crash pulls double duty that night, not only as my assistant, but as a bouncer as well, and his intimidating scowl is enough to keep all of my customers on their best behavior.
By the end of the night, I’m exhausted, but I’m happy and I’m able to keep the terrifying thoughts about Kendra in the back of my mind instead of letting them overwhelm me.
When the door shuts behind the last customer and I start wiping down the bar and getting ready to call it a night, Crash comes over to the bar and he puts a big handful of cash down on the bartop.
“What’s this?” I say.
“Tips. They’re yours.”
“No way, you earned those fair and square.”
“Maybe, but I’m not taking them. If you won’t take them, at least put them aside for your friend and her daughter, Josie.”
I pick up the cash and shove it in my pocket. “I will. Thank you.”
Then I pour us each a glass of bourbon. Crash picks up his, we tap glasses, and then we each take a long drink.
“Tonight went better than I thought. But I’ll be damned if I know how you stay on your feet the whole time, day in and day out.”
I lift my leg up and put my foot on the bar. “Good shoes, and even better insoles. These things might look like shit, but you have to pick comfort over style. I feel like I’m walking on a cloud.”
“And you’re flexible as hell.”
“Don’t you know that already? Or do you need another demonstration?”
He finishes his bourbon and then helps himself to a refill. “I wouldn’t say no.”
I lean across the bar and kiss him. Then again. After, I fill my glass and take a satisfying sip, letting the silky smooth burn slide down my throat.
“Tonight’s been a lot better than
I would’ve guessed. Thank you.”
He shrugs. “No problem.”
“Can I ask you something?” I say, hesitantly.
“You just did.”
“Don’t be an ass. I’m serious.”
“Shoot.”
I finish my glass and pour myself another refill of liquid courage. “Why were you such a dick to me earlier? And don’t say it’s for business purposes, because the only people whose job actively requires being a dick are debt collectors and divorce attorneys.”
“You speak from experience?”
I hold up my left hand and point to my ring finger. “I’ve been free for the last four years. But before then, yeah. He was an asshole, he was jealous that I had a better job and made more money than him, and then he cheated on me. Several times. After the divorce and after I moved out here to start this bar, he knew I would be hard up for cash. So he took out a couple credit cards in my name and ran up an enormous debt, trying to sink my dreams. Even from states away, he found a way to hit me.”
“Son of a bitch.”
“Yeah, he was. But he’s given up, now. In the end, he was just a petty coward who didn’t like that he couldn’t control me,” I say as I stare into my glass. Surprisingly, I don’t feel any reluctance to talk to Crash about my past. Or any regret about how things have turned out, either. “But I’m happy where I am, now. Excluding what’s happened to Kendra. I have friends here, Carbon Ridge is a mostly great place to live, and my bar makes more than enough to support me and my friends. And I get the satisfaction of knowing it’s all mine. Now, enough about me. It’s time for my assistant to talk.”
Crash goes quiet and, for a while, I worry that his icy shell will return and he’ll open his mouth just to shoot me down like he did when we first met. But then, with a sigh and a big drink of bourbon, he speaks. “I was in a long relationship. For a long time. Over a long distance. Her name was Rosa, and what we had was real good. No questions, no demands, just an understanding and a whole lot of sex whenever we saw each other. And then things changed. Recently. And she started making some demands. Maybe it was age, maybe someone started whispering things in her ear, but she started changing. It hurt like hell to let her go, but she was putting me in a spot where she wanted me to choose between my club and her. And that’s not a hard choice to make, because I will choose my club every single time.”
