Page 47 of The Bartender's Baby

Suck hard.

Use your hand.

Faster.

Normally, I didn’t need him telling me what to do. Hated being micromanaged. But here on my knees with his eyes boring into mine, like he was afraid he’d lose me if he blinked, I’d do whatever he told me to.

“I’m close,” he said, voice low and ragged. “Fuck, Tabby, I’m so close, but I don’t want to come in your mouth. Back up.”

When I didn’t move fast enough for him, he nudged me back to replace my mouth with his hand. I watched with rapt attention as he worked his fist up and down his cock, already slick with my spit, the fingers of his other hand in my hair, holding me in place. He didn’t say anything, merely breathed hard out of parted lips, grunting as he jacked harder, faster, eyes glazing over.

I was fascinated by his sounds. By the way he looked. The fine sheen of sweat on his skin.

Never had I wanted to watch a man come, but I couldn’t take my gaze away from him if I tried.

I didn’t want to.

After a few moments, ropes of hot liquid spurted out of him, landing in jagged lines across the tops of my breasts and neck. He exhaled harshly, slowing his hand until he emptied himself, smearing the glistening tip over my lips.

It was filthy.

And perfect.

Being covered in him.

With his come still warm on my skin, it occurred to me that this might have been his way of possessing me. To make up for what he hadn’t really been able to do.

He left his physical mark on me in the only way he could.

“Why’d you do that?” he asked, not bothering to put his softening cock back in his pants before he helped me to stand.

“Because I owed you from this morning.”

He obviously didn’t believe me, and when I turned, searching for my T-shirt, he snatched it up before I could. He tried again. “Why did you do that?”

I shrugged. “Pregnancy hormones.”

He squinted, mouth tense, clearly unhappy with my lies. He knew the truth, but he wanted to hear it. I got it.

And yet, I couldn’t let it out.

I wasn’t good with words. Never had been. I needed more time to be able to admit it all out loud.

“I just…” I dragged my hands through my hair a few times then tied it back in a ponytail. “I wanted to make you feel good like you make me feel good.”

I suspected he didn’t believe that was the truth, but accepted it, nonetheless. He held my T-shirt out to me. “Arms up.” I raised them up, expecting him to wipe off my chest, but he didn’t. Only tugged my shirt down my arms and settled the hem at my hips, a smug smile plastered on his face. “You’re gonna go out there and work your shift with my come on your skin.”

He pulled me to him, kissing me soundly, his tongue reminding me of what he’d done to me this morning. I started to move, aiming to circle my arms around his neck, but he stopped me, pivoting me so my back was against his torso and my chest against the door, making a mess of my T-shirt.

He scratched his beard along my temple and down my jaw. “Then tonight, when I get home, I’ll clean you off with my tongue.”

He didn’t let me turn or glance over my shoulder, pressed so close I couldn’t budge even a centimeter, a foreboding yet delicious threat. He bent to kiss my throat sweetly then unlocked the door. “Don’t forget to eat your dinner. I’m gonna check on you in a little bit.”

With a gentle push, I headed out to the floor, where I attempted to put what we’d done in the office out of my mind.It was easy when we were so busy, a few groups of college kids here, as well as the usual happy hour crowd. Spring was in the air, and our sales were proof of that.

Nate did indeed check on me, made sure I drank enough water, and forced me to take a break so I could eat the dinner he’d packed me. Then I worked with Bran, answering any questions he had for me about managing the bar, picking my brain for tips and tricks.

Once eight o’clock rolled around, Nate was waiting in the office with my coat and purse, a knowing smile on his face.

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