Page 26 of Rut Bar

Either I’mbloated from preheat or I need to lay off the bread because this skirt is so tight it scrapes across every single bruise that Anthony spanked into me last night.

Such a fucking tease walking around in those tight skirts and high heels.

His words from last night haunt me this morning. I realize my hips are swaying suggestively as I walk, and I force myself to stop as I reach the back door of Rut. The door’s propped open with an empty keg and music is blasting, but it’s not the kind we play for customers.

A guitar riff with a heavy bass and lyrics that seem more like warbles than words assault me. I slide my sunglasses up onto the top of my head and let my eyes adjust to the dark.

“Why is the door propped open?” I ask.

Anthony looks up from his prep station where he’s busy cutting up fruit. He gives me a lazy smile. His bright blue eyes drift toward the bathroom door, and then he looks back down at his knife where he’s making his cut. “Thought you’d want to make sure it was all aired out.”

Guess we’re not pretending it never happened.

A blush heats my face and neck. Mentally, I curse. When was the last time I blushed? I’m losing my edge. I turn away before he can get a good look and tease me. I ignore him and make my way up to my office. In my distraction, I plop down into my seat and hiss through my teeth.

Ouuuuch.

How the fuck did I forget my ass got spanked until it was black and blue? The initial burst of pain blooms into a dull ache that radiates through my entire pelvis. My clit throbs, and I drop my head back and groan. It’s been way too long since I played that hard. I’ve become a newbie again. I’m making rookie mistakes here.

I kick my heels off under my desk and curl my legs up, which takes the pressure off the worst spots, although the extra tight skirt makes it not as comfortable as I’m used to. But I refuse to stand all day. I’ll have to whiteknuckle through it.

There’s over a dozen emails already waiting for me, so I work through them until footsteps on the stairs make me look up. The IRS agent Brendan appears at the top of the stairs.

“Good morning,” I say. “I’m surprised to see you here on a Saturday. No days off with the IRS?”

He straightens his tie. It’s navy, with tiny gold dots patterned across it. “I could say the same for you.” Brendan smiles as he sets his briefcase down on his borrowed desk, then sits.

“No rest for the wicked,” I answer blithely. “Weekends and holidays come with the territory. You’d be surprised how packed we get on Easter.”

I think of the set we did with the alphas dressed as bunnies, complete with floppy ears and fuzzy cottontails glued to their white thongs. The omegas went completely feral over the egg hunt. One out of every ten eggs contained a solo dance token they could redeem from the dancer of their choice. The fire department shut us down that night for overcrowding, and we were packed for a solid three months afterward. It was the best publicity we didn’t have to pay for.

“Easter? Sounds blasphemous.” His grin softens the words so they’re teasing instead of judgmental.

“Jesus wasn’t the only thing rising that night,” I say suggestively. The second the words are out of my mouth, I’m flooded with horror and shame.What if he’s super religious?

“Oh my God. I’m so sorry.” I press my hand to my mouth to stop myself from making it worse and saying anything else. I have a terrible sense of humor, and sometimes it comes out at the absolute worst moments.

Fuck.I’m going to fail this audit because of bad erection jokes.

Brendan unbuttons his suit and slips the jacket off, swinging it so he can drape it over the back of his chair. He unbuttons his sleeves and rolls them up his forearms. “It’s fine. I went to Catholic school.”

Fuckityfuckingfuck. My IRS agent is Catholic, and I made a dead Jesus boner joke. If I believed in it, I’d say I’m going to burn in hell.

“It’s fine, really. I do have to fail your audit now, though.” His smile slips and his face changes into a serious mask.

I squeak and scramble out of my chair, slapping my hands down on my desk. Adrenaline floods my system, but it doesn’t know if I’m about to fight him or fall to my knees and blow him. Maybe if I suck his soul right out of his cock, he’ll rubber stamp my audit and give Rut a pass. God knows I’ve done worse things for Rut than a BJ.

Brendan holds his hands up in the air. “Kidding! I’m kidding. You’re fine. I’m a lapsed Catholic. Too much kneeling for my bad knee.”

The air and fight go out of me at the same time, and I sink into my seat hard, only to wince and hiss in a breath.

“Are you okay?” His brow knits with worry and something about his eyes sharpens. It’s such a distinct alpha move. Like he’s scanning for danger as if a predator broke into the bar and he needs to find a spear. He probably doesn’t realize he’s doing it.

“I’m fine. It’s…” I can’t tell him I fucked both my bartender and my lead dancer last night and got my ass spanked black and blue. “I have cramps.” Alphas never argue with an omega about cramps.

“Oh.” He clears his throat and then he busies himself with work. He pulls a manilla folder of documents out of his briefcase, and I can’t stop staring at the jutting veins on his bare forearms.

Oh, fuck me.There’s nothing sexier than a guy in a business shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. My clit throbs in time to match the smarting of my ass and I flail blindly for the drawer with my new extra-strength nullifier spray. The drawer contents rattle around as I jerk it open a little too hard. I reach for it, but my fingers brush against fabric instead.

---