BreakMeIn

by Sara Brookes

  She caressed each handle, her gaze directed at him as she made no move to hurry her work along. When she’d finished filling several pitchers, she slowly made her way around the bar, swaying her denim-covered ass as she walked. Gaze on his, she popped the button of her shorts, toying with the fob on the zipper. She continued to roll her hips as she inched the shorts over her thighs, allowing the fabric to fall to the floor with a soft whisper of sound.

  Her hand dipped between her legs, a soft groan escaping his lips as her fingers parted her labia and flashed those pink lips toward him. “You want this, don’t you, baby?”

  He licked his dry lips as she dipped her index finger into her cunt. The sweetness of her scent teased his senses, rousing him even more. The pain of the metal pushing against his flesh only made him more excited even though it defied logic.

  “Yeah.”

  She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “Manners, manners. Bad subs aren’t rewarded.”

  “Yes Ma’am.”

  “That’s a good boy.” Anne planted her feet on stools positioned on either side of his hips, the glistening wetness of her hot folds taunting him. Her fingers parted her flesh again, dipping into her opening as she teased both of them. Placing one hand on the bar, she pressed her knees against his shoulders. “And what does the good boy want?”

  “Sit on my face. Let me taste your pussy and give you pleasure.”

  Her heat covered his mouth and the first glorious taste of her drenched pussy stabbed through him like the sweetness of the most intoxicating wine.

  Whoa.

  He shook off the shocking daydream, hiding his flushed cheeks by pretending he’d spilled peanuts on the floor. Knowing he could only stall so long, he raised his head again and promptly found Anne staring directly at him.

  She winked, exaggerating her hip movement, much as she’d done in his lurid little fantasy. Swallowing, he shifted on the stool, trying his best to not think about the erection making his pants uncomfortable.

  She delivered their pitcher with a teasing smile aimed at both of them. “You boys pace yourselves, all right? I could use some handsome company at the end of the bar tonight.” Even as she moved away to wait on other customers she aimed a few more lingering glances over her shoulder to where Dade and Alex sat.

  “When is the last time you got laid?”

  “Now it’s my turn to tell you to mind your own business.” Alex leaned against the bar, hoping to cover his visible erection as he poured two beers.

  “Gotta admit. You’ve got good taste. First Elena.” He gestured to where Anne was flipping a few liquor bottles, showing off her bartending skills as she prepped someone’s drink order. “Now her.”

  The thought of one particular error in judgment instantly soured his mood. “Sometimes my taste leaves something to be desired.”

  “Moody and morose is my game, Conners. Don’t try to steal it.” They continued to pound back beers and tequilas as they watched Anne tend to a steady stream of customers, always keeping her signature smile in place. Even when she pulled her long hair up into an elastic band to keep it out of the way as the crowd grew thicker and more demanding, she flirted with abandon. Sam certainly knew his business, and his clientele, when he’d hired Anne to give him a hand on the weekends. The sports bar had already been doing brisk business during the summer months. With the second pair of hands—very attractive ones—added, business during the winter months had skyrocketed.

  Seeing the long column of her throat exposed, her creamy white skin seemed to taunt Alex. He shook his head, beating back the edges of another daydream threatening to take hold.

  “Why don’t you go for it?”

  “My track record isn’t exactly shining.”

  “Ohbullfuckingshit.” Dade’s glass thudded against the bar top. “You’re just caught up in your own head. You’re a free man. Have a little fun with your life, you ass.”

  The harsh tone was enough to make him snort. “Funny. Coming from a man who just bolted from an engagement party where he could have easily slaughtered the entire room with just his eyes. What the hell was all that about anyway?”

  “Told you to mind your own business, man.” Dade scowled as he downed a shot, then another. “Besides, my situation is different.”

  “What situation?”

  “No.” Dade grinned, shaking his head as he refilled his shot glass then Alex’s. “We ain’t talking about me. You. You need to get laid. Hard. And you need to nail her equally as hard.” He pointed to where Anne was wiggling her ass to the beat of the country song pouring from the speakers mounted on either side of the bar. “Best thing a man with your kind of problems can do sometimes is bury himself in a woman and forget the rest of the world exists. And she is certainly someone worth testing the theory out on.”

  The way she shimmied certainly made his mouth water. As exciting as the prospect sounded things were just too damn complicated for him to worry about sex right now. Especially considering what he wanted to mix with his sex.

  Except he knew he wouldn’t mind if Elena was part of the complication. In fact he knew if he could convince her, sex was a complication he wouldn’t mind in the least. Right now he would welcome it. Maybe it would take his mind off the fact the rest of his life was nothing more than a shitstorm.

  “What I need is to get drunk.”

  “Drunk first.” He pointed to Anne. “Then laid.”

  “Hard. I know.” Alex clapped Dade on the shoulder. “You, my friend, have sex on the brain too much. You need a woman. Or a man. Or both. What the fuck is all that about anyway? Can’t make up your mind? Or do you suck dick and eat pussy with the same enthusiasm?”

  Dade glared at him. “Elena can use you as her watchdog all she wants. It ain’t gonna work. So just leave it alone, Conners.”

  “Had to try.” Not as though he’d thought it work in the first place.

  “Yeah.” Dade poured the last of the tequila into their shot glasses, gesturing to Anne with the empty bottle. “Yeah, I know. Fucking mother hen sending other people to do her dirty work. Don’t know who is worse, her or your brother.”

  Alex knew the answer. “My brother, definitely.”

  “I think you may be right.”

  * * * * *

  Elena brushed a strand of hair from her face, her lower back aching from moving some of the lighter furniture out of the storage area discretely hidden away on the far wall of the warehouse. Damn Ryan for whisking Beth away for a six-month honeymoon.

  She hoped their boat sank.

  Doubtful. Ryan Flynn was one of the finest handcrafted boat builders in the world. A category-five hurricane couldn’t sink one of his creations. He put so much of his heart and soul in every single sailboat and people paid a premium for them without batting an eyelash.

  Anything more than the basic floor plan of Sanctuary would just have to wait until Patrick returned and she could get some muscle to help her since Dade seemed to have vanished into the night.

  Alex too.

  So much for pulling the damsel-in-distress card. Not as though she ever would. Most of the time people accused her of not asking for help because of her determination to exist on her own. Growing up as she had, with her parents more interested in fixing other people’s problems instead of their own, she’d been forced to only count on herself.

  Shutting off the lights, she set the sophisticated alarm system and locked the heavy-duty industrial door. As she dug out her car keys she remembered she’d parked a few blocks away to hide her vehicle from sight.

  She wasn’t dressed for the hike.

  She bent over to unzip her boots. The corset binding her torso creaked as she moved. Ugh. Sometimes these things were more trouble than they were worth. But damn if she didn’t enjoy being laced into one. It was nearly an orgasmic experience all by itself. Like a pair of strong, comforting arms wrapped tightly around her, holding her in an embrace that wouldn’t end.

  The things she did for a little
thrill.

  Pretty much the only action she was getting lately thanks to the incident at the club. And wasn’t that just the saddest damn story of them all. Her. Elena Mitchell. Wallowing over the fact she hadn’t gotten anyone off recently.

  She was treading very close to pity-party territory.

  A loud whoop echoed off the surrounding buildings. Couple of fools out for the night, not done with their partying. Stupid tourists. She hoped they skied off the side of the mountain tomorrow. Shaking her head, she turned the corner and ran smack into a solid male chest.

  Dade caught her arm as she wobbled. “Steady there. You drink too much at your own party?”

  “Just clumsy. And tired.” She sniffed, wrinkling her nose at the overwhelming stench of smoke and liquor emitting from his leather jacket. “Brogans?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Explains where you disappeared to.”

  “Met Alex there for a few drinks.”

  Another loud shout echoed off the building. Peeking over Dade’s shoulder, she saw Alex stumbling down the street using anything he could find to help his forward motion. “More than a few it seems.”

  “He seemed to be overdue to blow off a little steam. He kept eye-fucking Anne while she worked, but when she cleaned up after him a few times when he got sloppy, pretty much shot that plan to shit. Figured Patrick’s place is closer than his since I don’t have a vehicle with me. Thought I’d drop him there to let him sleep it off.”

  Alex launched into an off-key rendition of Queen’s We Are The Champions.

  If he hadn’t been so stinking drunk, she might have laughed at the picture he made stumbling down the street, butchering the words to the song. This was getting to be a pattern with Alex. A pattern she didn’t like. “I don’t have Patrick’s house keys with me right now. Doubt he does either, or could even pause in his opera long enough to tell you.”

  A car alarm pierced the cold night. They turned to see Alex standing on the roof of a car, his hand down his pants as he grabbed his crotch and started shouting about his desperate desire to fuck anything with two legs. His explicit ranting was interspersed with the lyrics of The Time Warp from The Rocky Horror Picture Show.

  When he started to thrust his hips wildly she and Dade both snorted. “Dr. Frank N. Furter he is not. And he is obviously not a quiet drunk.”

  “Going to be hurting in the morning. Which reminds me…” She glanced at her watch. “He needs to open Perfect Shot in a few hours. Think you can help me get him there?”

  * * * * *

  Elena leaned against the office door. Sometime in the past hour Alex had pushed away the blanket she’d covered him with. His gaunt form was exposed to her critical gaze. She frowned at the outline of his bones under the surface of his nearly translucent skin. He hadn’t been taking care of himself for the past year, perhaps even longer. His once muscular form had lost shape and definition. He was lanky to the point of sickness.

  It was as though he’d given up. As though he’d shut down completely after the divorce. Though perhaps not. If he’d given up completely he wouldn’t have opened Perfect Shot with Patrick.

  But he’d certainly given up on the rest of his life.

  He’d probably gone into business with his brother because he felt as though he owed him something. After everything the Conners family had been through she wouldn’t be surprised. Their father had ruled the house with an iron fist, physically abusing both the boys and their mother for years. Patrick had taken the brunt of the beatings, his baseball career ending before it ever really began thanks to the damage of one of those fights.

  As the older brother Alex no doubt felt guilty as hell for every bruise, black eye and fracture rib they had lived through and he’d done nothing to stop the incidents. Her throat tightened in frustration. Her body nearly moved across the room of its own accord, her fingers itching to smooth the lines on his forehead that had formed even as he slept off his drinking bender.

  She was worrying about him far more than she should have, but she couldn’t help it. She wanted to curl up against him and hold him tightly against her as though it would make all his problems vanish into the ether. Alex stirred with a heavy groan and she folded her arms in front of her, grateful she hadn’t given in to her impulse.

  “It is safe to come near?”

  “What?” He drew out the question, his voice heavy and thick with sleep and excessive amounts of liquor. In a different situation she might have even thought it sexy.

  She perched on the arm of the ancient couch Patrick had stuffed in the office, balancing a fresh cup of coffee on her knee. “Well, in the few blocks Dade and I carried you here, you propositioned me twice.”

  “Shit.”

  “And Dade once.” Alex groaned and covered his eyes. “It was actually kind of cute. He would adjust his hold because you were still gyrating around like you were some Broadway star then you’d try to grab his ass. When you were just about to pass out, he had to shift his hold to pick you up. You evidently saw an opportunity and kissed him. Tongue and everything. Never really thought two guys going at it would be erotic. He said for me to tell you he’s flattered and even though he swings that particular way, you aren’t really his type.”

  His fingers separated so he glared at her through the openings. “You’re making this up.”

  “Am I?”

  “I can’t remember a thing about last night. Crap.” He continued to eye her warily as he accepted the coffee she offered. “Strong stuff.”

  “I figured you could use something with a bit of punch to get your system jump-started.”

  His eyes widened in panic. “I need to open the shop.”

  Leaning forward, she pressed a hand against his shoulder. The bones shifted under his thin skin, causing her to automatically gentle her touch. He felt as though he would break under her fingers. A fine-china doll facing down a raging bull. “Relax. Michie is taking care of the last of the afternoon rush.”

  “Afternoon? Just what the hell time is it?”

  She checked her watch. “Around one fifteen.”

  “Holy shit. How did you—”

  “I never gave the key back when your mom broke her ankle.” Two years ago Sadie Conners had given them all a good scare by falling off her porch trying to kiss a suitor. But the tenacious woman had powered through her injury, running her bed-and-breakfast in Stauton with a firm hand from the comfort of her couch.

  “I’d forgotten about that.” He sipped as he settled back against the cushions, his eyebrows lifting in surprise as he swallowed. “Good stuff. Really good.”

  “Should be. It’s your premium blend.” She stood, smoothing her hands against the fabric covering her thighs. More to give her something to do because she couldn’t seem to stop the compulsion to touch him.

  But she couldn’t afford the luxury.

  “I need to get back out there and help. Just relax. If you rush you’ll just get sick again. Don’t need to make things any worse for yourself than you already have. May want to switch to water afterward to rehydrate. Otherwise you’re just going to be suffering for the rest of the day.” She paused at the door, tapping her fingers against the doorframe. “I was kidding about you propositioning Dade. And the kiss. But your rendition of The Time Warp needs some work. Good pelvic action though. Shows promise. You could probably give Tim Curry a run for his money if you keep practicing.”

  Alex blew out a slow breath after he sipped his coffee. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten so stinking drunk. College maybe? Perhaps even as far back as high school. He’d never taken much interest in slugging back drink after drink in the parking lot of the high school after a football game.

  Even less so when he’s started dating Vivian.

  What will my friends think, Alex?

  He winced at the memory. A lot of things he’d done and said had been because of her. Because she’d been so worried about image and reputation. At least he could count the time of his life as him bei
ng young and stupid.

  The excuse wouldn’t fly now.

  Finishing his coffee, he carelessly tossed the blanket over the back of the couch. He was grateful Patrick had insisted on hauling the furniture into the office to at least give them a horizontal surface to sleep on if they worked late into the night. He’d logged a lot of hours right here on this very couch during the divorce even though Vivian no longer lived at the house. He simply hadn’t been able to take the stale memories hanging in the air.

  As he grabbed his shirt he noticed something odd in the mirror. He didn’t recognize the reflection. The man he stared at blinked when he did, moved when he did, but the man looking at him was a complete and absolute stranger.

  He’d done this.

  He’d allowed himself to become something he couldn’t even distinguish.

  The hollow realization he wasn’t happy punched him in the gut. He was no better than a living shell simply going through the motions of existing. In doing so he’d forgotten how to live. Footsteps sounded outside and he slipped his shirt over his head just as someone knocked.

  “You decent?”

  “Yeah. Come on in.”

  Turning, he found Elena peeking through the crack in the door. “Feeling all right?”

  “A little worse for wear. But I’ll recover.”

  “Good. The rush seems to have thinned out some.”

  “Elena, I need some help.”

  She hesitated, but smiled. “Anything for you, Alex.”

  He hauled in a steady breath, knowing he had to do this now because he’d never find the courage to do it again. He’d accepted her avoidance once, but this time it wasn’t an option. The knowledge he’d been a coward last night would gnaw at his gut unless he did something to change his path. “Show me.”

  She blinked slowly a few times, her fingers tightening on the door. “I don’t understand. What are you asking me for?”

  “What you do. Your world. The BDSM. Whips. Chains. The club. The works.” He spoke so fast the words ran together.

  She pressed a hand to his chest, backing him into the office before slamming the door shut. “Are you still drunk?”