Chapter 21 #2
His hands grip my ass, guiding me as I ride him, slow at first, but quickly spiraling into something desperate and wild.
“Look at you,” he pants. “Taking me so good. Bouncing on my cock like it’s yours.”
“It is mine,” I moan, slamming down harder, chasing that sharp edge of pleasure.
“Damn right,” he groans. “No one else gets this. Just you. Only you.”
His mouth is back on mine, messy and claiming, and his words keep coming.
“You wanna be full of me again, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I gasp.
“You want me to ruin you, make you mine from the inside out?”
“Yes—God, Will, please—”
“I’m gonna come so deep,” he grits, thrusting up harder, “you’ll remember me every time you breathe. Gonna fill this sweet little pussy until you can’t even think straight.”
I cry out, hands gripping his shoulders as my orgasm crashes over me.
Will follows with a loud groan, jerking beneath me, burying himself deep as he spills inside me with a final thrust that makes me shudder all over again.
For a few long moments, neither of us moves.
We’re just a tangle of sweat, breath, and everything we’ve kept bottled up finally breaking loose.
And then he whispers, “Mine.”
And I don’t even try to argue. Because I’ve never felt more claimed.
That evening I’m sitting at Flowers End, sipping on a drink that Will made me. It’s not the one, but it’s close.
It starts with a look.
Will’s behind the bar, forearms flexing as he slams the tap handle down and pours a pint for some ranch hand.
I’m sitting on a barstool at the counter, wearing his flannel tied at the waist and a skirt I know drives him crazy.
I don’t even have to say a word. I just tilt my head, lick the rim of my straw a little too slow, and his eyes darken instantly.
He mutters something to Bonnie, rounds the counter, grabs my hand.
“Storeroom. Now.”
We barely make it to the back before he slams the door shut behind us and spins me around, pressing my back to the wall, caging me in with his arms.
“You think I didn’t notice what you were doing out there?” he growls, voice rough with need. “Flirting with your fucking straw like you didn’t just ride me this morning.”
I grin, breath catching. “Thought you looked like you needed a reminder.”
“Oh, I do.”
His mouth crashes to mine, teeth, tongue, heat. It’s a kiss that says he’s past the point of patience.
“You want it rough?” he rasps, already sliding my skirt up, his hands possessive. “Here, where anyone could walk in and hear you whimper my name?”
“Yes,” I breathe. “God, yes.”
“Good. Because I’m not going slow this time.”
He doesn’t.
He spins me around, bends me over the stack of liquor boxes, yanks my panties down just enough to expose me. The air’s cool, the floor smells like whiskey and dust, and everything about this should be wrong.
But it’s not.
It’s perfect.
His belt clinks behind me, then I feel the blunt press of him at my entrance.
“You this wet already?” he groans, dragging his cock through my folds. “You love this. Love getting used like a good little slut for me.”
“Yes—please, Will—”
He slams into me with one brutal thrust, and I cry out, fingers clutching the edge of a crate as he sets a ruthless rhythm. Hard. Fast. Filthy.
“You wanted to tease me in front of a bar full of people?” he pants, slapping my ass. “Now you’re gonna take every damn inch. Right here. Just like this.”
He grabs my hair, yanking my head back so his mouth is at my ear.
“I should come in you again,” he growls. “Fill you up so good it drips down your thighs while you walk back into that bar.”
I moan. “Do it, Daddy. Mark me. Make me yours.”
“Already fucking am,” he snaps, pounding into me harder. “You feel that? That’s your pussy remembering who it belongs to.”
I fall apart around him, legs shaking, vision blurring. I can’t even warn him. I just scream his name and come so hard I see stars.
He groans like it kills him, then buries himself deep with a growl and spills into me, pulsing through every last thrust, holding my hips like he’ll never let go.
When it’s over, we’re both panting. Still tangled. Still hungry.
He pulls me back against him, breath hot on my neck.
“You do that shit again,” he whispers, “and I’ll bend you over every surface in this bar.”
I grin, breathless. “Promise?”
The next night we push the boundaries even more.
It starts with a brush of his hand. Subtle. Low. Hidden beneath the bar where no one else can see. His fingers skim the inside of my thigh and I shoot him a warning look, but it only makes his lips curl into that slow, dangerous smirk.
“You keep doing that,” I whisper, “and I swear I’ll scream.”
“Yeah?” he murmurs, leaning in so only I can hear. “That a threat or a promise?”
Across the bar, Sam laughs at something Charlie says. They’re seated at the corner table, completely unaware. The jukebox plays something low and twangy. The bar's full but not loud. Just enough voices to cover the sound of breathing.
Just enough danger to make this stupid.
Which is why I don’t even blink when Will nudges his stool back and murmurs, “Bathroom.”
I hesitate for all of half a second.
Then I slip off mine, smooth my skirt, and walk casually down the hallway past the office, past storage, and into the narrow, dimly lit bathroom at the back.
The second the door clicks shut behind me, I hear the lock slide.
Then his hands are on me.
“You’re insane,” I breathe, already turned and pressed to the sink, my breath fogging the mirror.
“You started it,” he growls, dragging my skirt up. “Sitting there looking like a wet dream while your brother talks about rib rubs and whiskey flights.”
His voice drops to a rasp. “You know how hard it was not to bend you over the bar?”
He hooks his fingers in my panties and yanks them down, so rough I gasp.
“And now,” he mutters, undoing his fly, “I’m gonna fuck you so hard you have to bite your hand to stay quiet.”
“Will,” I moan, already aching.
“You think Sam would still be laughing if he knew his little sister was in here getting railed by his best friend?”
I whimper, fingers clutching the edge of the sink.
He leans down, mouth at my ear. “Tell me to stop.”
I don’t.
So he pushes in. All of him, at once.
I have to slap my hand over my mouth to keep from crying out. The stretch, the pressure… it’s almost too much.
“Goddamn,” he grits, grinding in deeper. “So tight. So fucking perfect. You were made for this, Phern. Made for me.”
His hips slam into mine, hard and fast. No mercy. No patience. Just raw, possessive need. Every thrust sends me forward, the mirror rattling in time with our rhythm. I’m a mess. Hair falling, legs shaking, lips parted around silent screams.
“You gonna come for me?” he pants. “Right here? With your brother twenty feet away?”
“Yes,” I whimper. “Yes—please—don’t stop—”
“Good girl.”
He slides one hand between my thighs, rubbing fast, dirty circles that send me flying. I come with a silent scream, trembling so hard my knees nearly give.
He groans, curses, then spills inside me with a rough thrust, holding me so close it’s like he wants to bury himself in more than just my body.
We breathe.
I glance at myself in the mirror. I’m flushed, wild-eyed, and glowing.
And then he grins, breath still catching in his chest. “Think you can walk back out there and sit through Sam’s ‘bourbon of the week’ speech without blushing?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Then I guess we’re staying in here a minute.”
He presses a kiss to the back of my neck and slides a hand up under my shirt.
“Round two?” he murmurs.
I laugh.
But I don’t say no.
And when we finally leave the bathroom, I’m dripping with each step that I take.