Page 46 of The Bartender's Baby

He kissed the tip of my finger. “Yes, ma’am.”

I smirked. “Good boy.”

He groaned, closing the little bit of space between us, his hands sliding from my hips to my ass. “I love when you call me that.”

“I know.”

He gave my backside a good squeeze. “I’ll be your good boy all day, as long as you let me eat you out every morning.”

“Could be arranged.”

With a smacking kiss to my lips, he said, “Remember, done at eight.”

I nodded and hung up my coat. I was only scheduled for a few hours a night anymore. I didn’t hate it. As much as I’d like to keep working full time, the bigger I became, the harder it was to be on my feet. In a few weeks, I doubted I’d want to be behind the bar at all, but I would cross that bridge when I got there.

As I turned the corner into the kitchen, he stopped me one last time. “I packed you a dinner. It’s in the fridge in the kitchen. Leftovers from last night, some fruit, and?—”

I attacked him.

Straight-up jumped on him.

“Hey, yo, all right.” He chuckled, cupping my ass as I licked and nipped at his throat while he backed up into the office, shutting the door behind us. He set me down only after he locked the door, and I slid my hands up his T-shirt, running my fingersover his abs, the hair on his chest. I’d yet to see the guy naked, and I was suddenly desperate to get the whole picture. His arms were tattooed, but I always wondered if they extended beyond.

“Take your shirt off.”

“You take your shirt off,” he responded, and I didn’t hesitate. I whipped the thing right over my head. His gaze sizzled, his pupils dilating as his tongue swept over his lower lip.

He tried to reach for me, but I jerked my chin in silent instruction for him to take his shirt off too. As soon as it landed on the floor, I had my hands on him, exploring the hard planes of his torso, from the slight rise of his pecs that were clear of ink to the thick slab of muscle that made up his stomach. I skated my hands up his forearms, his left tattooed with armbands, his right with random geometric patterns. His biceps were covered in more classic designs, roses with thorns, a butterfly, a heart with a sword through it. All of them black. I’d been able to view them before, but seeing them now, with him like this—shirtless with his arms relaxed at his sides while he watched me touch each one—was different.

It was a whole new side of him.

I would need more time to properly learn each and every inch of him, but for now, it was enough to be able to look my fill. He didn’t have defined lines like Hollywood celebrities or models on social media, but he was pure muscle with a fair amount of hair on his chest and small, flat nipples. I raked my fingernails over them as I dragged my fingers down his abdomen to his jeans, unbuckling his belt.

“What’re you doing?” he rasped, his breath hot and fast.

I shook my head. I didn’t know what I was doing, only that I wanted to show him how much I appreciated him. How grateful I was for everything he’d done for me, during the time we’ve known each other, but especially in the last few months.

I needed him to know that while it was difficult for me to verbally express exactly how much I loved the fact that he’d packed me a dinner, I would show him.

“Tabby,” he murmured, reaching for my face, but I evaded his kiss and instead lowered to the floor, staring up at him. “Shit, Tab, your knees. Don’t kneel on the floor.”

“I’m fine.” I popped the button of his jeans to pull down his zipper.

“You—” He cut himself off when I tugged his navy-blue boxer briefs down to reveal his cock, semi-hard. Until I wrapped my hand around it and he went fully erect, the head thick and red. I licked the tip, right over the slit, and he wrenched away. “I don’t think we should do this. The baby?—”

“Is fine,” I told him, leaning forward to trace the length of him with the flat of my tongue, and he exhaled audibly, irritably, almost like he didn’t want to agree.

“You have work to do.”

“That’s funny,” I said, my lips brushing his balls. “Nowyou want me to work.”

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, shaking his head with obvious frustration then flicked his lids open, irises blazing. “Fucking put it in your mouth.”

I teased my tongue along the shaft.

“Tabitha.” He tunneled his hands in my hair, tugging on my scalp in the way I liked. “Put it in your mouth.” He thrust his hips forward, his jaw tense, abs clenched. Barely in control. Tortured. Beautiful.

When he growled my name again, I acquiesced, slipping his length into my mouth, following his directions.

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