Sixteen

 

Conner

 

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Declan’s hand falls heavily on my shoulder, holding me in place. I’d made it halfway across the bar before he stopped me.

“We’re out of vodka,” I say automatically. It’s what I always say when I’m about to get laid in the Ladies’ room.

“God damn it, Con—” Declan takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, shaking his head. “That chick reeks of money. Money means trouble.”

“Don’t worry about me, I’m a big boy,” I say, shrugging out from under his grip. “I can handle myself.”

“Fuck you—what about me? Da? Patrick? This bar belongs to him. We’ve already dodged one lawsuit.” Declan takes a step back and jams his hands into his pockets while he takes a look around. The place is packed, and with the two of us standing here, there’s no one behind the bar. “You don’t even care, do you?”

He’s wrong. I do care. I care a lot. But I’m reaching critical mass here. I need to take the edge off.

Before I can tell him to fuck off, he yanks his hands out of his pockets to wave me off. “Fifteen minutes. You and that dick of yours better be back to slingin’ drinks before—”

I didn’t even bother to listen to the rest of it. Just turned away from him, heading for the hallway the redhead disappeared down.

Fifteen minutes. I can get it done in ten.

She’s waiting for me, leaning against the wall next to the ladies’ room, like she knows that’s where we’re headed. My reputation must precede me. Probably fucked a friend of hers. Probably came looking for me. Her head’s tipped down, that long fall of dark auburn hair, hiding her expression. She has her cell phone pressed to her ear, and even though I couldn’t see her mouth moving, I can hear the quiet murmur of her voice. I should stop. Wait for her to finish her phone call, but I don’t.

“Yes… yes… okay. I will.” She sighed softly a moment before her head kicks up, sliding the curtain of hair away from her face. “I’ll be fine,” she says, staring up at me with those big doe eyes, the tip of her tongue peeks out to touch her upper lip for just a moment before disappearing again. The erection I’ve been sporting goes from stiff to rock hard the second our eyes connect.

The bathroom is about three feet from where we’re standing, which is entirely too far. I step into her, my hands dropping to her hips, fisting themselves in what feels like silk to yank it up around her hips. I’ve got it halfway up her thighs, my hand coasting up the inside. I can feel the heat of her, the warm push of breath she lets out when my fingers skim along the cleft of her lace covered pussy. From the corner of my eye, I can see the bar crowd beyond the hallway. Hear the clink of glasses. The clack of pool balls. The rise and fall of voices. People can see us. Anyone of them could stumble down the hall at any minute.

Don’t. Fucking. Care.

“I… I love you too.” She looks right at me when she says it, and for a second I think she’s saying it to me.

Then it hits me.

She’s married.

I look at the hand holding the cell to find it bare. No ring. Maybe not married but at the very least involved with someone else, and I can pretty much guarantee he isn’t a mechanic/bartender who lives over his shop and has to scrub for forty-five minutes just to get the grease from under his fingernails. Whoever he is, he has money. Power. Influence. Declan’s words came back to me.

A lawsuit would ruin all of us.

I can see it play out. Little Miss Moneybags goes slumming for some rough sex and finds exactly what she’s looking for… and then she gets caught. Cue the waterworks and accusations. Fast forward to my Da, brother, and cousin losing everything they’ve worked their entire lives for and me sitting in an 8x8 waiting for a trial date.

I drop my hand and smooth her skirt back into place.

She ends the call and tries to slip the cell back into her purse but her hands are shaking, and she can’t work the clasp of it open. “I’m sorry, that was my—”

I take them both from her and undo the clasp with a quick click. “I don’t care who it was, Daisy,” I say, dropping the phone into its dark interior. There’s a hard edge to my voice that stops her mid-sentence. “Husband. Boyfriend. Favorite grandmother who bakes you cookies and tucks you in at night.” I gave her the Gilroy grin in full force. “None of my business.”

“Does it make a difference?” she says it quietly, taking her purse from me before catching her bottom lip between her teeth.

Making up my mind, I wrap my hand around her wrist, pulling her further down the hall toward the storeroom we use as an office. There’s a surveillance camera in there. Not exactly what my big brother, the Peeping Tom, had in mind when he had it installed but not fucking this chick isn’t an option. Not even a choice, really.

I’m a junkie, and I need my fix.

I could hear the click of her expensive heels as she hurried along beside me. Practically feel her breath, quick and shallow against the side of my face. I have the key dug out of my pocket and shoved into the lock before I can change my mind. Giving it a twist, I open the door. “Last chance to change your mind, Daisy,” I say without bothering to look at her. “You step through this door, I’m gonna fuck you, and I’m not going to be nice about it.”

I feel the uptick in her pulse, the hard slam of it against the hand I have wrapped around her wrist. Her wrist turns in my grip, and I’m sure I was too harsh. Too crass for her delicate sensibilities. She’s decided this walk on the wild side is a little too wild, and I’m glad. I am, because Declan’s right, this chick is too rich for my blood.

Instead of pulling away completely, instead of having the good sense to run for her fucking life, Little Miss Moneybags laces her fingers through mine as she steps closer, pressing her silk-clad breasts against the back of the shirt I did an oil change in a few hours ago.

“Promise?” She whispers it in my ear, her lips grazing my lobe, her words a solid weight on my back, shoving me over the edge.

My grip tightens on her hand, and I practically kick the door open, barely managing to drag her through it before I’m slamming it closed.

The overhead lights click on, triggered by the motion sensor over the door. More of Declan’s high-tech bullshit. As soon as our love nest is revealed, she takes a look around at the floor to ceiling shelves stacked with liquor and rows of kegs lining the back wall, and I have to smile. “Not exactly the Hawthorne, is it, Daisy?” I say, making a show of turning the lock. “You sure you’re down for this?”

Her chin comes up a bit while her hand goes to her throat, fingering that high-priced collar of hers. “Maybe if we turned off the—”

“The lights stay on,” I say, my tone low, almost guttural. “I need you to say it, Daisy. I’m on a bit of a schedule.”

“Say what?” she says, her voice pitched high, eyes wide like she’s rethinking her urge to live out her fuck the hot bartender fantasy.

“I need you to say that you want me to fuck you,” I say baldly, liking the pretty pink stain my words bring to her cheeks.

She hesitates for a moment, but then the hand at her throat falls to her stomach, pressing against it as if to quell the nerves that flutter there. Her eyes take me in, running over me from head to toe. I know what she sees. She sees what they all see. What I want them to see.

Worn jeans. Callused hands. Killer smile. Tattoos. An almost indecent amount of swagger.

It’s what they want. Why we’re here. Why she chose me and not the dickhead suit who tried to buy her a drink. I’m unknown. Unpredictable.

It’s also probably why she’s about three seconds away from changing her mind. I look at the clock nailed to the wall above her shoulder. I’ve got about ten minutes before Declan comes down the hall, banging on doors. “Look, Daisy—”

She takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly before saying the last thing I expect to hear.

“I consent.”

Not okay. Not let’s fuck. Not I want you.

I consent.

It’s probably the hottest thing a woman has ever said to me.

“You’ve got about thirty seconds to get that shirt unbuttoned,” I say, reaching for my belt. “It looks expensive, and I won’t be paying to replace it.”

She nods, looking relieved that I’ve given her something to do, finally said something to her that she can make sense of. Her hands are shaking again—nerves or excitement, I can’t tell and quite frankly, I don’t give a shit. She tugs the tail of her blouse from her skirt and starts at the bottom, fumbling the buttons loose, one by one, until it hangs open, giving me another glimpse of delicate black lace.

“I’m clean.” I give her the spiel, working my belt the rest of the way open, yanking the tail of it loose from its buckle. “I get tested every six weeks, and I wear a condom every time.” As if to prove it, I reach into my back pocket and pull out a foil pack, holding it between my fingers.

“I trust you,” she says, looking up at me, her dark chocolate eyes shooting sparks of gold and copper. Her fingers find the tiers of pale golden orbs at her throat. The clasp has worked itself around to the front. It’s set with a sapphire roughly as big as a baby’s fist, surrounded by glittering white stones that have to be diamonds. Seeing it makes me wonder who gave them to her. Pearls like that aren’t something a woman buys for herself.

I shut it down. Push it aside. She isn’t mine. Under normal circumstances, I couldn’t afford to buy a woman like this a cup of coffee let alone the kind of hardware she’s got around her neck.

“Turn around,” I tell her, tugging the button of my jeans open before working down my zipper. I can feel her staring at me. Watching me with avid interest, like she’s trying to figure out what was going to happen next.

My cock practically lunges at her, and I wrap my hand around the shaft to hold it steady while I fit the tip of the condom over its head, rolling it down the shaft. When most women see what I’m working with, they get nervous. This one is no exception.

“I said turn around, Daisy,” I growl it this time. “And put your hand on the desk.”

The desk really isn’t a desk. It’s a wide plank of plywood supported by a pair of empty beer kegs. Her gaze jerks up to my face, her cheeks flaming, and she nods again, spinning in her heels to do as I say. I’m behind her before her palms make contact with wood, dropping my hands on her hips, fisting them in the soft black of her skirt. This time I don’t stop, yanking it up around her waist in the time it takes her to gather one shuddering breath. The panties are black lace to match the bra, a wide band slung low around her hips, a thin stretch of it between her thighs. I can tell, just by the feel of them, how expensive they are. My cock twitches like a divining rod, brushing against the back of her thigh and she lets out a soft, breathless sigh at the contact.

“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you’re ready first,” I say, cupping her perfect, lace-covered ass cheeks in my hands, running my callused thumb up the seam of her damp, lace-covered pussy. “Spread your legs.”

She does as I tell her, giving me room to find her clit and I circle it with slow, teasing strokes. She’s soaked through the lace of her panties, the warm, heavy scent of her arousal wraps around my cock, making it jump again. “You’re wet.”

She nods, teeth clamped around her lower lip, eyes closed. Hips tilted back against the pressure of my hand between her legs.

“Who are you wet for?” I say, fighting the urge to bury my face in her. To taste her. Which is weird because I’ve never felt that before. I’ve got this shit down to a science and it never includes oral. “Say it,” I tell her, stroking the pad of my thumb against her clit until her knees buckle and she lets out a moan. I stop stroking, my thumb hovering above her. “Who are you wet for?”

“You... oh god…” She pushes against my thumb, working her hips. Riding my hand, her need making her shameless. “I’m wet for you.”

Suddenly ten minutes isn’t enough time. Ten days wouldn’t be long enough.

“Looks like we’re taking the scenic route Daisy,” I tell her, stroking her again.

“I don’t—” she says, looking at me over her shoulder, mouth parted, cheeks flushed. Brow furrowed like she’s trying to figure out what I’m talking about.

Instead of moving her panties to the side, I use them to fuck her. Stroking her with my cock, I slide it along her quivering cleft, rubbing the delicately textured lace against her clit in slow, even strokes.

“Ohhh…” Widening her stance even more, she lets go of the breath she’s been holding in a low moan. Cheeks flushed, that full, lush mouth of hers parted slightly.

“Tell me,” I say, the head of my cock hits her in just the right spot, again and again. “Tell me how it feels.”

“Oh god…” she breathes softly. “Please…”

“Tell me, Daisy.” I work my cock, the length of it sliding across her wet, swollen clit until she collapses onto the desk, face pressed against billing receipts and last months’ electric bill. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want you to fuck me,” she says in a low, desperate tone. Her choice of language stains her cheeks, the bright pink of them nearly has me undone. “Please fuck me.”

I replace my cock with my hand again because I’m not ready for it end and I don’t trust myself not to fuck her. Straddling the crotch of her panties, I slide two fingers inside her pussy so deep she gasps before I pull out, each stroke opening her slit wider. Stretching her so she can take me in. Fucking her with my fingers, I can feel how tight she is. The grab of her pussy, the way it contracts around me. Pulling me deeper and deeper with each thrust.

“Is this what you want, Daisy?” I say, pulling my fingers out to rub them against her clit on the backslide, making her moan. This time I don’t make a return trip, instead I skim them along the quivering seam of lace between us.

“No…” she says, even as she tilts her hips toward the desk, her drenched slit against my hand, working herself against it, trying to get my fingers back inside her.

“Then what do you want?” I say, running my fingers up the seam of her pussy, pushing that wet, black lace against her core. I drop a hand on her hip, use it to guide her, grinding her against the ridged line of her panties.

“Oh, god…” she moans it softly, her breath coming in quick, quiet pants. “I want you…” eyes squeezed shut. “I want your cock inside me.” More foul language, she whispers it right before catching her bottom lip between her teeth. “Please—”

I don’t usually go for all this who’s your daddy bullshit. I’m all business. I give them the hardest orgasm of their lives, take what I need and I move on, but something about the way she says it… I don’t move her panties to the side. I don’t pull them down.

I rip those fuckers to shreds.

Tearing the barrier of them away from her slit, I grip her ass cheeks, spreading her wide. She gives a small gasp, the sound of it morphing into a long, shuddering moan when I slam into her, my cock plunging into her quivering pussy, so deep and fast I’m seeing stars.

Holy shit.

Suddenly, I’m the one who can’t breathe. She’s tighter than I thought. Almost too tight. My balls instantly tense up, the tingling at the base of my cock telling me that I’m on the verge of coming. She moans, grinding herself against me, urging me to move. Silently begging me to fuck her.

I don’t. I can’t. One stroke inside her and I’m done.

Instead, I reach around her hip, taking her clit from the front, giving it tight, hard strums, plucking it, relentlessly driving her toward orgasm.

She goes wild, raising herself up on her hands again, pushing back, moving against the pressure of my cock. The closer she gets, the harder it is to hold on. I grip her shoulder, trying to keep her still but it’s no use. The walls of her pussy squeeze around me until my own orgasm is nearly impossible to fight off. “I need you to come for me, Daisy,” I say through gritted teeth. “Come for me now.”

Like I flipped a switch, I can feel it, trembling up her thighs, tightening in her belly. “That’s it,” I say, grinding her back against the base of my cock while her pussy clenches and pulsates around me. “Come for me.”

“Oh!” she screams it, hands fisting on the desk, crumpling papers and scattering pens, something heavy hits the floor. I think it’s her purse. Neither one of us care, panting, her hips bucking against mine. “Oh god—”

A heavy-fisted pounding hits the locked door. “Times up. Get your ass out here,” Declan shouts at me from the other side. He sounds pissed.

Too bad. I’m not even close to finished.

Not giving her time to recover, I reach down, grabbing her by the collar of her open shirt, yanking her into a standing position. Fitting her against me, my hand streaks up her torso, pushing up the lace cup of her bra until I find soft, yielding flesh, the nipple at its center stiff and swollen under my fingers. I roll it, tugging at it while I run my tongue up the taut cords of her neck, nudging the skin-warmed pearls strung around it. She even tastes expensive. Delicate, like honey and roses but there’s something else, something darker, deeper. I don’t know what it is, but when the taste of her hits the back of my tongue, it snaps whatever shreds of self -control I’ve managed to hold on to.

“Ah, fuck,” I groan against her throat, my hand tightening around her breast, my other hand, still between her thighs, swirling against her juice-slicked clit. “You’re gonna come for me again, Daisy.”

She shakes her head, her head tipped back against my shoulder, her silky auburn hair rasping against the stubble on my chin. “I can’t…” she whimpers, even as I feel the tremble start to build along the curve of her spine and her hand clamps around my wrist, urging my fingers to work her clit even faster. “I can’t…”

“Yes, you can.”

I fuck her hard, my hips pumping against her from behind so fast I can feel my balls clap against her cleft, hear her knees banging the keg I’ve got her pinned against. I stop fighting it, letting myself feel the tight, urgent grip of her pussy around my shaft. Her swollen nipple pushed against my work-roughened palm. The juice-slicked glide of my fingers along her slit.

“Conner…” My name a hoarse shout torn from her throat as her pussy clamps down on my cock again. My own release barrels down on me, and this time I let it.

Declan’s banging for real now, jiggling the doorknob against the lock, shouting something about calling Da for the spare key but I’m too far gone to care.

My hand locks around her breast, pinning her against me as her arms reach up and back to tangle around my neck, pulling me even closer, thrusting her breast against my palm, the other one bouncing with each hard stroke. Her fingers in my hair, tightening. Urging me to move faster. To take what I want.

To have her.

With a rough shout, I give her a final stroke, pressing my hand against her pelvic bone, angling her so she can take every last inch of me. The orgasm hits, my testicles contracting a second before my cock starts to spasm. Still holding her tight against me, I can feel it jerking inside her pussy, filling the condom I’m wearing. I bury my face in her hair, breathing in the smell of roses and the sweet scent of honey, my hand splayed across her chest, over the rapid knock of her heart.

“God damn it, Conner,” Declan bellows at me, banging on the door again.

I squeeze my eyes shut and pretend he’s not there, pressing my lips to the side of her neck. No kissing. That’s one of my rules, but I come perilously close to breaking it. For some reason, the way her skin feels against them seems more intimate than everything else I’ve done to her.

Declan kicks the door. “I’m not kidding around asshole. Open—”

“Fuck off, Declan,” I bellow back, the sound of my voice quieting him for a few moments. “He’s not kidding,” I say to her, feeling oddly exposed. How many women have I done this with? If I sat down and made a list, it would take me days to write all their names down.

I let her go, stepping back and I have to grit my teeth against the sensation of sliding out of her creates. She feels so good I want to dive back in. “He probably has his cell phone—”

That’s when I realize she’s not saying anything. She’s not trying to engage me in small talk. She’s not trying to give me her number. Ask me to see her again.

She’s as done with me as I am with her.

Usually, a chick like this is my Holy Grail but something about the way she’s dismissing me tightens the back of my neck. Makes me angry.

I watch her smooth her skirt back into place before fixing the collar of her shirt. “What’s your name?”

The hands working her buttons go still for a moment before they resume, fitting the last of them through its loop. “Daisy,” she says, turning around to look at me, her eyes dark and unreadable. “Thank you, Conner—it was lovely.”

Before I can say anything else, she’s pushed past me. I can hear her thumbing the lock and opening the door, the dull roar of the pub sharpening to a fever pitch.

I stuff my cock back into my pants and turn just in time to see her skirt around Declan. “Excuse me,” she murmurs to him and then she’s gone.