Page 27 of Rut Bar

What the…

The panties I lost last night are in my drawer, and I know for a fact I’m not the one who put them there. Now that the drawer is open, the scent that soaked into them last night is permeating the room. The first hint of orange and coconut sunshine and tart cherries assaults me. It won’t be long before Brendan smells it too. Before he learns what I did last night.

I slam the drawer shut, then realize that’s only a stopgap measure. It’s only a matter of time before the smell leaks from this drawer and the entire bar knows what I did last night after the rest of the crew left.

I have to destroy the evidence.

Brendan glances at me and frowns as I jerk the drawer back open and ball up the cum-stained panties. Dammit. My skirt doesn’t have pockets.Why the fuck does women’s clothing not come with motherfucking pockets?I fight back the urge to release a primal scream.

If I blast them with nullifier, he’ll hear the mister nozzle and wonder why I’m spraying down my desk drawer. Palming them and walking them out would make less noise. Will he scent it, though? How good is his sense of smell? He’s an alpha. His sense of smell is as good as mine.

I’m taking too long. I have to get them out of here. It’s worth the risk.

I palm the pheromone-soaked panties and hide them at my side and try to walk nonchalantly toward the door. For a moment, I debate whether I should make up some excuse about why I’m leaving the room. Then I realize that’s silly because this is my bar and I’m the boss and I can do what I want.

And that includes fucking my own employees, I guess. Since that’s something I do now. Fuck. I’m such an idiot. A horny, stupid idiot.

My heels click clack against the stairs, and Anthony glances up from his cutting. He eyes the hint of pink in my clenched fist, then leans over and says something to Emma. His lips curl into a grin and she nods.

What is he telling her?

My stomach drops like it’s in free fall. This was a huge mistake, and now I’m going to pay for it. Emma takes her apron off and heads to the back of the bar. I stalk around the bar counter, slap the panties against Anthony’s chest, and shove him backward so he stumbles into the tiny storeroom where we keep the extra cases of imported beer and bottles of liquor.

“If you want to play seven minutes in heaven, all you have to do is ask, baby,” he says, his eyes half-lidded and sultry.

I shush him before someone can hear us and grope for the door, closing it behind us so nobody will overhear our conversation. “When we’re at the bar and someone might hear you, I’m the boss, not baby. Got it?”

He arches one brow, but wisely stays silent.

“How the fuck did my panties end up in my desk drawer?” I ask. “Because I know for a fact I didn’t put them there.”

“I stole them and brought them home, and then I used them to jerk Jamie off. Then I came to work early so I could put them in your desk before anyone got here. For safekeeping. You’re welcome. Don’t worry, I know how to take care of you.”

For the second time this morning, I flush, but this time it’s with anger. “I don’t need to be taken care of. I’ve been doing it all by myself since I was fourteen.”

Anthony’s face softens with pity, and the expression makes my rage turn incandescent. “You don’t have to do it alone anymore,” he says. “We want to help. We care about you.”

“I don’t need you to take care of me, Anthony. I need you as a bartender, yes. But not… Last night was a mistake.”

“You don’t need us, but you need nullifying spray the minute you get to work?” he asks, calling me out.

My jaw snaps shut, and Anthony leans forward, crowding me. My back hits the closet door, and he traps me with an arm pressed above my head. I’m caged unless I grope for the doorknob and open it, which will send us both tumbling.

“What did you need the nullifying spray for? Were you thinking about last night? About how I fucked that sweet little pussy until it quivered on my cock? How we made Jamie watch me fuck you? Your pussy sliding over his cock? How good his mouth felt when he ate up all your delicious slick? Did you think about us every single time you sat down today on your sore little bottom?”

The flickering overhead bulb gives his face and tattoos shadows that make this conversation feel even more dangerous. He’s too damn attractive for his own good. Or mine.

“That’s none of your fucking business,” I protest a little too weakly. My body has no qualms about his closeness. My nipples tighten and press against my bra until they’re aching. My panties will be as wet with slick as last night’s pair was if this doesn’t stop.

“I think it is. I think your pussy’s wet right now from thinking about it.” His hand brushes my thigh and slips up my skirt, rucking up the tight fabric, and I shimmy my legs to dislodge him. All my wiggling does is make his grip firmer. More insistent.

“We can’t do this,” I tell him. His hand shoves its way higher. He brushes the seam of my sex, and I nearly whimper from that minimal contact.

“Then use your safe word… baby.” He curls his hand to cup me, and my pussy throbs against his hand. “Because your pussy is calling you a liar. I can feel how much you want me with every throb.”

My breath catches when he strokes a single finger up and down my seam with a teasing, featherlight touch. “Someone could walk in, Anthony, we have to… to stop. You can’t. I can’t. Oh, God.”Why does this feel so good?

“I sent Emma to the store to buy more oranges. We’re gonna need them for tonight’s special cocktail. Do you want to hear what it is?” He caresses my slit through the fabric from top to bottom until the damp material clings to me.

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