The sexual tension in the air is so thick you could cut it with a chainsaw.
She’s just sitting on a barstool, hand in her hair, pen in her mouth as she fills out her tips sheet.
I saddle up behind the bar and roleplay like the bar is still open.
I have a soft accent, but this time I pull out an exaggerated southern drawl.
“What’ll it be, Miss? Nice-lookin’ gal like you, I think I can give you somethin’ on the house.”
She smiles at me, playing along. She exaggerates her tone so she sounds like a damsel in distress.
“Oh, Sir, I’m mighty flattered, but I’m engaged now. I can’t be accepting drinks from strangers. Though you are quite handsome.”
I don’t say anything as I put the finishing touches on an expertly made surprise cocktail for her. It’s gin-based, and the final garnish is a jasmine flower.
“I won’t say nothing if you don’t,” I say with a cocky smirk, setting her drink on the bar.
“Well, I suppose one drink can’t do much harm. If that’s all it is...a drink.”
I sip my whiskey neat, and she sips her drink.
We lock eyes, and don’t break eye contact.
“What on earth is this deliciousness?”
“It’s a little something I made up, special for you. I call it the Jasmine.”
“Oh? What’s in this?”
“It’s a secret,” I say with a wink. “Bartender code. I can’t tell you.”
“Sir,” she says, letting out a loud breath. “I can’t help but feel like you’re eating me alive with those gorgeous eyes of yours.”
“Oh?” I wiggle my eyebrows. “Is that so?”
She nods as she looks away, leaning in to take another strong pull of her drink.
I run my fingertip over her chin, and she looks at me with big, wide eyes.
“I know I said we’d talk about what all this means,” I say in a low voice. “But not right now. Right now, I have other plans.”
“What plans are those?”
“The plan to hold up my end of the bargain.”
“I’m not sure I follow,” she says, her voice quivering. “Sir.”
In one of the sexiest maneuvers I’ve ever seen her make, she raises her eyes to me, lowers them, takes another sip of her drink, and runs her tongue over her lips.
“When we got fake engaged, I swore an oath to you that I would give you all the benefits.”
With her elbows on the bar, she leans forward until her lips fall into mine.
We kiss, softly at first.
I pull back, to look at her once more. To etch this memory fully into my storehouse of ‘hot Clarissa memories.’
“You taste like whiskey,” she purrs.
The next instant, we’re making out feverishly. She moans, takes off her glasses, and sets them aside.
I don’t know how it happens exactly, but her body ends up on top of the bar, and the next thing I know, we’re making out on top of the bar.
I run my hand up her leg and cup her ass, and she lets out a moan full of pleasure.
“Like I said, it’s time for me to hold up my end of the bargain,” I announce, jumping off the bar. I spin her body so her legs are spread, facing me.
I pull her panties off and run a finger over her clit.
“Already wet,” I say. “Why am I not surprised?”
“Because you make me so wet,” she says between hurried breaths. “And you know it.”
“I do. But just because I’m about to go down on you, don’t think I’m not getting benefits out of this too.”
“You are?”
“Yes. The honor of hearing those sweet, lively moans as you cum are what I live for.”
“Oh God, Mason.”
She arches her chest out and leans back on the bar as I lick down the side of her leg, my beard rubbing against her skin.
“You ready for this yet?” I tease, hovering close to her opening.
“Oooh, your beard tickles.”
“So you’re saying you like this, or you don’t? I’m confused.”
“Keep doing whatever you’re doing. Oh God, that beard feels so damn…”
She trails off, and I smile.
“Glad someone finally appreciates this thing. Tell me when you’re ready.”
“Mason, I’m so ready,” she breathes.
“You sure?”
“Stop teasing me!” she runs a hand through my hair.
I hoist her up on to the bar, and she moans as my tongue finds her clit, and I run it lightly over her slick opening as she writhes on top of the bar with her legs dangling down.
Her light, soft breaths are all the fodder I need to keep licking her. Damn, she tastes sweet, sweeter than a honey cocktail.
“Fuck me, Mason...oh my God,” she mutters, and I run my hands from her thighs, under her clothes, and up her stomach.
She trembles, her torso twisting, and I love everything about this moment. It’s so wrong, so raw, so incredibly hot.
I run my hands around to her ass cheeks as her screams reach a fever pitch.
I slip a two fingers inside of her, and she screams louder.
God almighty, I love how this woman writhes. How she pants. How she tastes.
I run my free hand over her stomach and up to her cheek. Her skin is hot to the touch, and it’s so damn smooth.
She brings a hand to my head and carves it through my hair. I feel her tighten.
I’m the conductor, commanding her to feel pleasure with my mouth and my fingers.
Her legs shake and she comes with the strength of a thousand whiskeys.
When it’s over, she gasps on the bar top.
“Holy shit, Mason. You are two for two.”
I stand up, running my tongue along my lips.
I shrug, and in my super fake southern accent, I say, “I hope your fiancé’s okay with that.”
I wink.
“I think we’ll just make this our dirty little secret, Sir Bartender,” she says, falling right back into role.
Clarissa likes to role play. I did not see that one coming.
But that is certainly noted.
She runs her hand down my chest, and leans forward into me, putting her head against my shoulder.
“Clarissa,” I say, running a hand through her hair.
“Yes?”
“That was fun. Monday, I want you to sleep over so we can do that again.”
She pulls her head off my shoulder and looks up at me with hopeful eyes.
“You do?”
I whisper directly into her ear. “Of course, baby.”
She smiles from her eyes, and sinks into my chest, wrapping her arms around me for a hug.
I hug her back, and we stay like that for I don’t even know how long.
I zone back into reality when I hear a bird chirping.
“Shit. What time is it?” she asks.
I shrug. “Past 4 AM.”
“I have a shift at the retirement home at 10 AM. I should go and get some sleep.”
I nod, and help her off the bar counter.
We put our clothes back on and I walk her out.
“My next shift at the bar isn’t until Wednesday. When will I see you again?”
“Monday night—let’s check out the new bar. We need to start planning the design. Sound good?”
“Perfect. Do we have the loan for sure?”
“I haven’t heard. But we should proceed as if we have it. Deal?”
“Deal.”
I kiss her once more, and she leaves in the darkness of the early morning.
20
Clarissa
The Dark Night
Homecoming Night
As we walk into Stacy’s party, we’re overcome with music and the buzz of the voices of a hundred high school teenagers enjoying themselves without parental supervision.
I hold tight on Mason’s arm. He’s smiling, affable as always, meanwhile I feel nervous as I wonder if I’ll run
into Rex, my homecoming date who dumped me.
On the other hand, Mason is ten times handsomer than Rex, so what do I care?
We stride through the living room where I see classmates from Blackwell High chugging beers or shots and generally getting messed up. Yelling, screaming flirting, fighting.
I suppose that’s what happens when you stroll into a party at midnight, when it has already been up and running for a few hours.
Once we arrive in the dining room, Mason opens the fridge and asks me. “Do you want anything to drink?”
I hesitate, and he senses it.
“Water? Juice?”
“Water’s fine,” I say.
“I feel the same way,” he agrees. “Be right back.”
I feel a little bit alone, almost instantly. Most of the people here are seniors, and Mason is trying to navigate to the other side of the crowd of people in the kitchen to pour us drinks.
“Uh, Clarissa?” a hand taps me on the shoulder from behind. I clench my stomach up upon recognizing the voice.
I spin around. “Hi Rex,” I say in a sort of painful tone.
“What the…what are you doing here?” He says, confused.
I glance over at Mason, who is on the other side of the kitchen, grabbing the water cups and pouring us drinks.
“Just here enjoying the party. And you?”
He scratches his head. “I didn’t see you at homecoming.”
“I skipped it. Mason took me to a baseball game.”
Rex furrows his brow, seeming quite confused. He takes a huge swig of his beer, and burps.
“I see,” he says. “You guys are…going out now?”
“Nothing like that. He just heard about how I got dumped at the last second by some asshole.”
I glare at him as I say the word. It’s funny though, after the game with Mason I don’t even feel upset that Rex dumped me.
“Sorry, that was dumb of me. And that’s what I wanted to talk to you about, actually.”
“You wanted to...talk?”
“Yeah. I feel bad. Let’s go somewhere quieter.”
Before I can react or raise a stink, Rex grabs my hand and pulls on my arm, threading through the crowd.
“Rex, I really don’t think this is a good time to talk about this,” I say, my blood boiling. “Besides, I’m here with Mason. And what’s there to talk about?”
He doesn’t respond, half dragging me up the stairs in protest. I continue.
“I’m happy you dumped me. I don’t really like dances anyway. Too crowded. Where’s your date?”
“Stacy fell asleep already,” Rex says, a creepy smile spreads across his face as we reach the top of the carpeted stairs.
Reminder to self: never leave my future home on homecoming weekend and allow my kids to have unsupervised parties.
I try to twist out of his grasp, but he grips my arm so hard it leaves a mark.
“Oh. I see. So did you ‘score’ like you planned on?” As much as I try to stay neutral, the vitriol in my voice seeps out when I ask him the question. “Let go of me!”
He ignores my plea. “God, what a mistake it was to break up with you. I wish I took you to the dance instead. You look so hot tonight,” Rex says, as he guides me to an empty room upstairs.
I start to panic.
What the fuck was I thinking?
Come upstairs for a talk?
“Let me go!” I scream, but he pushes me inside the room and locks the door.
After he locks the door, he takes a step closer.. My heart dives down to my ankles, and my body shakes. His breath smells like way too many Busch Lights.
I scoff, trying to stay strong. Trying to pretend this isn’t happening right now. Maybe I can talk my way out of this. “Are you serious right now? You dumped me, and now I’m ‘looking hot’ because you couldn’t score with your ‘sure thing to put out?’ You are such a creep, you know that? I’m so glad we’re done.”
Undeterred, he lays a hand on my hip. “This is the guest bedroom,” Rex says. “Do you want to be my guest?”
“No!” I say strongly, in a panic.
Rex grabs my wrists and forces me up against the wall.
“Well that’s too bad,” he growls. “Because we’re doing this one way or the other. Have you ever had sex, Clarissa?”
My eyes bulge. I try to knee him in the balls but he forces his hips against me.
“Baby, why do you have to make this so difficult? Just relax and enjoy the ride. I can’t wait to be your first.”
I scream as loud as I can, but he covers my mouth, then wraps his hand around my throat.
I try to hammer my hands against him, but it’s in vain.
His evil expression will be forever seared into me.
“Stop,” I manage to say. “Why are you doing this?”
Tears roll down my cheek.
“Don’t scream,” he says. “Even if someone walks in,if the cops catch me, it doesn’t matter. My Dad’s the police chief in Blackwell. We were dating anyway. Who do you think people are going to believe when I tell them you ran into me at this party and couldn’t keep your hands off me? So I brought you up here and did you rough, like you like it.”
“Please,” I say, feeling so small and helpless as he peels my shorts off. “Don’t do this.”
“Stop being such a prude,” Rex says. “If you weren’t maybe you’d be more popular, and I wouldn’t have dumped you for Stacey.”
Rex’s hand still firmly on my chin, I glance around the room for anything that could be used as a weapon. My cell phone buzzes.
I can’t reach it. A sense of futility sets in, and I’m overcome with sadness. Powerlessness. Resignation.
Rex takes off my shirt.
He unzips himself.
Rex lets out an ugly groan, and I try to wrap my hand around his neck.
“Oh?” he smiles. “You like it rough? I can do rough.”
He raises a hand and right as he’s about to hit me, I hear the door knob jiggling.
“Clarissa! Clarissa, you in there?!”
It’s Mason’s voice. A rush of hope overcomes me.
“That lock is ironclad,” Rex says. “I checked.”
It’s like a dream. I try to scream, but no words come out. I hear voices talking.
Mason and his friend Liam, I think. I hear mumbling, and the last bastion of hope in me starts to wither away.
Then as Rex slips his hand to my waist, I hear counting.
“One. Two. THREE!”
Mason and Liam let out a yell and the top half of the door splits open.
We make eye contact, and as Mason processes what’s happening, I’ve never seen a look like that on a man’s face before.
He snarls, like a feral dog, and jumps into the room.
One second later, he and Rex are on the ground, rolling and fighting.
“Shit, Clarissa, did he do this to you?” Liam asks, glancing at my wrist.
Tears running down my face, I nod.
Liam grabs my clothes. “Put these on, please.”
I scramble to get dressed as I watch the fight. Mason is animalistic. He runs Rex straight into the wall, then pulls his body off and runs it into the side of a wooden dresser.
“It’s not what you think,” Rex protests meekly.
Mason slams him to the ground. “Oh really?! Then what the fuck is it! You’ve got five seconds.”
Rex stutters. “I-I-I…”
“One,” Mason growls.
“My Dad is the police chief!” Rex says weakly.
“Two,” Mason says. Rex holds his hands up helplessly over his face. Mason’s got blood on his shirt, and he’s breathing deeply as he straddles Rex’s chest.
“He’ll make sure you pay for this!”
Mason snarls. “Five.”
With that, Mason unleashes a fury of fists onto Rex. He hits him so many times, I actually start to cringe.
“Mason, don’t kill him!” I say, running to his shoulder.
&nbs
p; “Holy shit man, yeah,” Liam says. “We should go.”
Mason looks up at us, blood spattered all over his shirt and face.
“Did he hurt you?” he asks me.
Tears stream down my cheeks. “Almost. He wanted to.”
He snarls again, and fear runs through me.
Not for Rex, but fear that Mason might do something stupid.
I’d never known he had this animalistic rage inside him.
I hear someone run up the stairs.
“Cops! Cops!” the guy says, and then peaks into the broken door. “Holy Shnikes. What the fuck happened in here?”
“Get the fuck out of here, man!” Liam booms, and the guy shrinks away.
“Go,” Mason says, standing up. He’s bloody.
I stand, frozen, looking at him. “I’m not leaving you.”
“Just go on! Get out of here!”
“No.”
Liam watches the action, unsure of the dynamic between us.
Mason steps forward, but doesn’t touch me.
“Clarissa, do you understand how connected Rex’s Dad is? You didn’t do anything wrong. Obviously. But if they come up here, and find you, what story do you think they’ll make up? About how I rescued you from an assault or a rape from the police chief's son? Or do you think they’ll say we were in this together?”
I pause. “I don’t know.”
“How do you think college applications go when you have an assault charge on your record? Just go. Get out of here. For me. For you.”
“Come on,” Liam says, taking my hand.
We hustle down and out the back door, and make it to Liam’s truck just in time to watch the cops raid the house. We can see it from a block over. A mass exodus of teenagers flee from the busted party. Cops lock up who they can.
Liam turns on the key to his engine. Of all my brothers’ friends, he’s always been the least emotional, a man of few words. But he sees me.
“You okay?” he asks.
“No,” I reply. “I’m not.”
21
Mason
Butt - Funnel
Present Day
I wake up on Monday morning in a cold sweat, straight out of a nightmare.
It’s one of those types of dreams where I don’t remember what it was about, but I just know it was a bad one.
Bartender with Benefits Page 12
