“Good. Let everyone out there hear who you belong to.”
I pound into her harder, faster, her tight walls clenching down on me like she’s trying to pull me deeper. And fuck, it works. I reach around and press two fingers to her clit, rubbing fast, filthy circles.
“Come for me, baby. Now.”
She cries out, trembling under me as she falls apart, and that’s all it takes. I curse, hips slamming into her one lasttime as I spill inside her with a growl that scrapes my throat raw. We stay tangled together for a moment, the sound of our breathing the only thing cutting through the quiet.
She turns, flushed and breathless, kissing my nose like I didn’t just wreck her. “I gotta get back.”
I smack her ass lightly. “Go work, baby. I’ll be out there watchin’. Try not to give me a reason to drag you back in here.”
She winks. “No promises.”
After she disappears out the door, I start pulling my clothes back on, shaking my head and grinning like a fool. My phone buzzes on the floor. I answer without looking.
“You know, there are cameras in my office, right?” Reed’s voice is dry as a desert.
“I know, I’m part owner, fuck stick. Remember, I installed them. Delete that footage or I’ll rip out your eyeballs and make Catalina bartend your funeral.”
“Fair enough,” he mutters.
I hang up, laughing to myself. Yeah, I’m fucking gone for her.
catalina
. . .
A week later
It’s just past eleven, and the regulars are parked in their usual spots. The air is thick with the scent of whiskey, fryer grease, and stale cologne. I move on autopilot, but my mind is wandering.
I feel him the second he walks back in.
He doesn’t say a word, doesn’t announce himself like some cocky bastard looking for attention. He just slides into his usual seat at the far end of the bar like he owns the air I’m breathing. His hat’s pulled low over his brow, but I don’t need to see his eyes to know where they’re locked.
Me.
I wipe down the bar, pretending like I’m not seconds away from melting into a puddle of memory and want. I sneak another glance his way. He’s still there, still watching. That slight crook at the corner of his mouth tells me he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.
I squirm behind the bar, pressing my thighs together as I stack a few clean glasses, willing my brain to stop picturing what it feels like to ride his fat coc-
Okay, bitch you need to work,stop.
I wipe down the bar top, sneaking another glance in his direction, even though I know I shouldn’t. His eyes meet mine again, like he’s been waiting for it. The corner of his mouth tips up into the barest smile.
Just smile once for me, cowboy.
Even from across the room, I feel it. The pull and the weight of his stare. Like he’s trying to say something without saying anything at all. All the things he’s told me before—the filthy words, the soft ones, the possessive ones—I start to believe maybe it wasn’t just words.
I rinse out a glass, the warm water running over my fingers, and glance up again. He’s still watching and hasn’t moved an inch. He doesn’t need to; his presence alone speaks louder than anything.
Whatever this is between us, whatever we’re becoming—it’s real. I’ve never felt this safe, this seen. Like someone’s peeled back every piece of armor I’ve worn and still decided to stay.
It’s beautiful and fucking terrifying.
So I do what I’ve always done when I feel myself slipping, I bury it. I ignore the heat of his stare, pretending like my walls aren’t crashing down for him, and throw myself into pouring shots for drunk assholes who won’t remember my name tomorrow.
I’m restocking bottles, pretending I give a fuck when all I want to do is be with Carter. My shift is almost over, my feet are about to fall off, and if one more drunk asshole asks me if I’m ‘new in town’, I might pour bourbon in my goddamn eye sockets.
