Chapter 10
With a knee nudging between my legs, Brock spreads me wider until I’m fully open for him. I grip the edge of the bar, knuckles white against the sticky wood.
A position I never thought I’d be in. Naked. Bent over the bar I’ve worked behind for two years, waiting for a man to fuck me.
This must be how every girl felt when I had them like this, right before I pushed in. I’ve always been the one in charge, setting the pace. Now I finally know what it’s like to be on the other side. The waiting. The wanting. The giving yourself over completely.
I can’t believe it took me so long to get here.
Brock’s hands grip my ass, thumbs spreading me open, the blunt head of his cock resting against my clenching hole.
Not pushing. Just holding there, letting me feel the heat and weight of him.
Letting the reality of what’s about to happen sink in.
The idea that, in a moment, this big, muscular football player’s going to be buried inside me.
“Still feeling reckless?” he murmurs.
“More than ever.”
He leans forward until his chest is flush against my back. His warm breath brushes my ear. “Good.” And then he starts to press in.
I’m not ready for the burn. My body is fighting the intrusion with everything it’s got. Tensing up. Refusing to yield. I grit my teeth, trying to breathe through the stretch, but it’s not working. It hurts. More than I thought it would.
“Damn,” I grunt, dropping my forehead against the bar. “This is harder than it looks in porn.”
That makes him laugh, a deep rumble that vibrates through my whole body. He stays perfectly still, letting me adjust. “Patience.” His hands smooth over my back in slow circles. “You’re fighting yourself. The trick is to relax into it.”
“Easier said than done.”
“Breathe out when I push in. One, two…”
I exhale slowly, and as I do, he pushes forward, the head of his cock popping past that tight ring of muscle with a wet pop.
“Fuuuuck!” My whole body jolts. The burn is sharp, the stretch impossible. My hands fly to the bar, scrabbling for purchase.
“There you go,” Brock murmurs, rubbing my hips. “Hardest part’s over.”
“Yeah?” I pant, forehead slick with sweat against the wood. “Because it feels like the biggest part is still to come.”
“It is,” he says, “but once your body learns how good this feels, it’ll stop fighting.”
That’s the thing, though. I don’t know if my body will learn. I feel split open. Invaded. I’ve always been the one watching the other person fall apart beneath me. I don’t know the first thing about letting go like this.
“Just give it a minute,” Brock says, as if reading my mind. “Let yourself adjust to me. Then you’ll feel it.” He leans in, lips brushing against my shoulder blade. “I promise.”
I take a shaky breath and try to relax. Focus on his hands gripping my hips, the solid warmth of him behind me, the low rumble of his voice. I force my hands to unclench, my shoulders to drop, let the tension bleed out of me.
And slowly, the burn starts to fade. It’s still there, a dull ache, but it’s not the sharp, biting pain it was a moment ago. Underneath it, a new sensation is starting to bloom. A fullness.
“Better?”
“Yeah,” I say, surprised it’s true. “Actually, yeah.”
“Told you.” He presses a kiss between my shoulder blades. “Ready for more?”
“Give me everything you’ve got.”
“Getting mouthy again.” He laughs. “That means you’re doing just fine.” His grip on my hips tightens, and he starts to push again, giving me an inch at a time.
It’s slow. Torturously slow. Each inch is a battle between my body’s instinct to clench tight and my brain telling it to let go. But as he sinks deeper, the ache of fullness grows into a deep thrum of pleasure I’ve never felt before.
“Halfway there,” he murmurs against my ear.
Halfway. Jesus Christ. He feels endless.
“Keep going,” I rasp out. “Don’t stop.”
“I won’t.”
He keeps pressing forward, and I breathe through it, my body finally surrendering, until I feel the coarse hair at the base of his cock against my ass. He’s all the way in. Buried to the hilt.
We stay like that for a long moment, just breathing, my forehead pressed against the sticky wood, him draped over my back. I can feel his heart hammering against my spine, feel the tremble in the muscles of his thighs against mine. We’re both shaking.
“Damn, Calvin,” he breathes. “You feel… fuck, you feel good.”
“So do you,” I say. “I feel so full.”
“You are. Full of cock.”
“Poetic.”
“Hey, I’m a football player, not a poet. I’ve got other talents.” He rolls his hips, a slow grind that hits something deep inside, and my knees nearly buckle.
“Do that again.”
“This?” He does it again, pulling back just a little before grinding in deep. And there it is. That spark. That bright, shocking jolt of pleasure that shoots up my spine. My cock jumps, trapped between my body and the bar.
“Yeah. That. Fuck”
“You’re getting the hang of it.” He pulls back farther this time, then drives back in harder.
The drag of his bare cock against my insides is unreal.
Every ridge, every vein. I can feel all of it.
My rim stretches tight around his shaft with each thrust, the friction making me shake.
He’s hitting that spot inside me over and over now, and I’m pushing back to meet him, spreading my legs wider, arching my back.
And just like that, I’m getting fucked.
Actually fucked. Bent over my own bar with Brock’s dick buried in my ass, and it’s goddamn incredible. My whole body is alight, every nerve ending firing, a current running from the soles of my feet to the top of my head. I can’t get enough. I want more.
“Listen to that,” Brock groans, slamming into me. “Your greedy little hole is sucking me in.”
“Yeah,” I pant. It’s obscene, actually. The squelch of lube and precum. The wet slap of his balls against my ass. The needy, desperate sounds I’m making. I’ve never been the noisy one with girls. But I can’t help it now. My cries echo through the empty bar.
“So loud.” He punctuates the words with a deep thrust. “So responsive. I knew you’d be like this. All that swagger, just waiting for someone to bend you over and fuck it out of you.”
I can’t even argue. He’s right. Every thrust is wiping me clean. Stripping away the layers. Calvin the Player. Calvin the Bartender. Calvin the Straight Guy. All gone. All that’s left is a nerve-wracked body pinned to a bar, begging for more.
“Harder,” I gasp. “Fuck me harder.”
“You got it.”
He grabs my hips, fingers digging into my flesh, and really lets loose.
Glasses rattle on the bar top with each brutal thrust. The barstool behind us scrapes across the floor.
The neon beer sign above us swings on its chain, casting shifting blue light across our sweating skin.
He’s not holding back anything anymore. He’s using my body the way I’ve used so many others before.
Pounding into me the way I’ve pounded into them.
And I’m taking it. I’m taking all of it—every hard, punishing inch.
My cock is a steel rod, leaking steadily onto the floor. Each thrust grinds it against the edge of the bar, the friction sending sparks through me. I’m sure if he keeps hitting that spot inside me, I could come like this. Untouched. Don’t even need my hands.
But I don’t want to come. Not yet. Because coming means this ends, and I don’t want it to. I want to stay right here, suspended in this moment where nothing exists but him inside me and the relentless, driving beat of his hips.
I catch our reflection in the dark mirror behind the bar.
Brock’s eyebrows pulled together in concentration, muscles gleaming with sweat as he drives into me.
Me, bent over beneath him, flushed and trembling.
My blond hair, usually gelled to perfection, is mussed, my cheek pressed against the bar, mouth open and panting.
It doesn’t look like two strangers fucking. It looks like his body knows exactly what mine needs. Like his hands were made to grip my hips, his cock designed to stretch me open, his chest the perfect wall to brace myself against.
It looks so fucking good.
He must see the same thing because his eyes lock on mine in the glass, and we just stare at each other, both panting, as he keeps fucking me. Watching each other in the mirror as our bodies move together.
“You see it too, don’t you?” I breathe.
“Yeah,” he grunts, never taking his eyes off mine. “I do.”
“It looks…”
“Perfect.”
“If you keep looking at me like that, I’m gonna lose it.”
“That’s the whole point, Calvin.”
“No, I want…” I’m gasping for breath, the words barely forming. “I want this to last.”
“This doesn’t end here. We’ll do it again." His breathing is ragged, the rhythm of his thrusts turning more desperate. “And again. You didn’t think this was a one-time thing, did you?”
“I’m not really thinking at all.”
“Good. That’s where I want you.”
“But it feels—ahh, fuck—so good to look at you. At us. At you splitting me open on your cock.”
“I’m gonna lose it if you keep talking like that.”
“Yeah? You gonna paint my insides? Mark your territory?”
“Calvin—”
“You’re gonna fill me up so I can feel you dripping out of me for days?”
“Holy shit.”
“Come on, big guy. Give it to me. Everything you’ve got. I know you want to.”
He pulls back until just the tip is inside, then slams home, grinding deep, making a choked sound. I can feel the way he swells inside me, the tremble that runs through his whole body.
“Calvin, I’m—” He can’t even finish the sentence.
His whole body goes rigid. A deep, guttural groan rips from his chest as he buries himself to the hilt, and I feel it.
The hot pulse of him coming inside me. One, two, three hard spurts, flooding me with warmth.
The wetness of it, so deep into my gut, is what sends me over the edge.
My back arches, a silent scream tearing from my throat as my own cock erupts, spattering thick ropes across the bar and floor below.
The orgasm rips through me, starting deep in my core where he’s still pulsing inside me, radiating out through my whole body.
My toes curl. My ears ring. My hole clenches tight around his cock, milking every last drop from him.
There’s cum everywhere. His flooding my ass, dripping down the inside of my thighs.
Mine painting the bar top, pooling on the dusty floor.
It goes on and on, wave after wave of brain-melting pleasure until I’m a panting, boneless mess collapsed against the wood, pinned in place by Brock’s weight draped over my back.
He doesn’t pull out. Just stays buried to the hilt, both of us shaking and trying to catch our breath.
I can feel him inside me, still thick and hard even after coming.
Feel the warmth of his cum deep in my gut, the way my hole flutters and clenches around his shaft like it doesn’t want to let go.
His chest is plastered to my back, both of us slick with sweat, his heart hammering against my spine in time with mine.
“Fuck,” he breathes against my neck, his cock giving one more twitch inside me.
“Double fuck,” I manage, my face smashed against the bar. My throat is raw. My whole body feels like jelly.
When he finally pulls out, I feel every inch of him dragging against my sensitive rim, leaving me empty and gaping.
Then there’s a wet rush. His cum floods out of me, running down my inner thighs in a warm, sticky trickle.
I can’t stop it. Can’t clench tight enough to hold it in.
My hole is too stretched, too used, too thoroughly fucked.
“Jesus,” Brock mutters behind me. His fingers trace my rim, now loose and puffy, and I shudder. “Made a mess of you.”
“Tell me about it,” I rasp, trying to push myself up, but my arms give out. “You flooded me.”
“Yeah, well.” He smacks my ass, a sharp crack that echoes in the bar. “That’s what happens when you tease me all night.”
I finally manage to push myself upright, leaning my hip against a barstool for support. My legs are shaking. My ass is throbbing. Every muscle feels like it’s been wrung out and hung up to dry.
I look down at the mess we made all over the bar.
My cum is smeared across the wood, dripping down the side.
The floor is splattered with our combined fluids.
My jeans are in a heap next to the foil lube packet and the discarded condom Brock never used.
If you didn’t know better, you’d think this was a sex club instead of a dive bar.
“We should probably clean this up,” I say, still trying to catch my breath.
“Yeah, I bet Roxy wouldn’t be too happy to find cum stains when she opens up tomorrow.”
“And I have to do the rest of my closing routine.”
“Right.” He grabs a bar towel. “What needs doing?”
I walk him through it while we clean. Wipe down every surface. Collect the glasses. Run the dishwasher. Restock the fridges. Take out the trash. Lock the liquor cabinets. Count the register. The whole time we’re working side by side, bumping shoulders, stealing kisses between tasks.
It’s the most domestic thing I’ve ever done, and it’s with a guy I met a few hours ago.
When we finally finish, it’s almost three in the morning. The bar looks cleaner than it has in months.
“I don’t think I can walk anymore,” I say, gripping the counter, trying to find a position that doesn’t make my ass throb.
“Lean on me.” Brock wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me against him.
“Where are we going?”
“My place.”
“What about my car?”
“I’ll bring you back for it tomorrow.”
“But I don’t have a change of clothes.”
“You can borrow some of mine.” He kisses the top of my head. “Anything else?”
“No,” I say, a smile spreading across my face. “I think you’ve covered it.”
“Good. Let’s get out of here. You deserve a soft bed after the night you’ve had.” His hands slide down to my ass, and he gives it a squeeze. “Though I can’t promise you’ll get much sleep.”
“Is that a threat or a promise?”
“Both.”
We head for the door. I grab my keys and flip off the lights, glancing back one last time. Chairs upside down on tables. Bottles lined up. Everything in its place. Looks like every other closing.
But as I turn the lock and follow Brock out into the night, I know nothing will ever be the same again.