Chapter 16
MERRICK
Watching Marietta work with the customers is both fun and maddening.
She’s easygoing with them, flirty and lighthearted. She doesn’t know many drinks, so she has them explain them to her, which everyone seems to find funny or endearing.
But they look at her. Her ass, her legs, her cleavage. I spend most of the night in a state of rage.
Yeah, there’s no way she can dance at the bar. I’d murder everyone in the building.
During the slow periods, while she’s chatting up customers in her bright, naive way, I look up removable poles. They’re easy to get, about a grand, and are no problem to set up and take down.
I order one to be delivered in a few days, and that’s that.
My groin tightens just thinking about it. The red outfit she described. Her on my stage. Dancing for an audience of one.
The warning flags ought to be flying. We have to play this right by the club. We can’t make any sudden moves.
But we’re inching toward this thing.
She heads toward me, a swing in her step. She likes it here. “So, what’s Sex on the Beach?” she asks.
“Vodka, peach schnapps, and some juices.”
She leans on the bar. “Ooooh, sounds good. I guess I don’t get to drink on the job.”
“It’s nearly one. It’s about to go totally dead.” I already sent Neil and Jake home. There are only two tables occupied.
“Can I have one, too, then?” Her eyes are bright as she asks.
“Absolutely.” I mix two, putting one on her tray and keeping one behind the bar.
“I’ll be there in a sec. I think this is their last round.” She flounces off, making a big show of swinging her hips and holding the tray overhead like a showgirl cocktail waitress.
I shake my head. I could watch this all day, too.
I can’t fathom for the life of me how she got this far in her life without a long-term relationship.
But then, I’ve never had one either.
When she returns, she slips behind the bar. “I can’t wait!” She picks up the drink and takes a sip.
Her eyes go big over the rim as her lips take the straw.
She wiggles her body like she’s about to take off dancing. “So good!” She sucks down another swig.
I have an itch to see her drunk. Really drunk. Hanging onto me, not worried about anything other than what her next funny thought is, following her every wild impulse.
And no doubt about it, the woman has some oats to sow. She craves recklessness. It flashes out of her like she’s a disco ball.
We both lean on the bar, the quiet conversations at the tables easily lost in the harsh beat of the music from the sound system.
“What makes you hold back?” I ask her.
She drinks deeply until her straw makes empty sucking sounds. She lifts the glass like she can’t believe she finished it already. “What do you mean? I believe I flashed your bar once, announced my virginity on your whiteboard, and joined a motorcycle club.”
“But you haven’t thrown yourself at anyone. You could have popped on any of the Wild Hair from the first night. Hell, you could have probably had them all at church that day.”
She rattles the ice. “No way. Iron Jack is all over this situation. He has the entire Wild Hair by the balls.”
I glance out at the bar, as if someone from the club might have come in and heard. “Don’t say that too loudly.”
“See, that’s what I mean.” She tries to drink again, then remembers it’s empty.
I take the glass and decide to fix another one. She’s already going to be too far gone to drive back to the clubhouse. I’ll have to take her. “Club hierarchy is critical to keeping things running.”
She attempts to slam her fist on the bar, misses, then connects with it the second time. Yeah, the drink is hitting. That girl has the alcohol tolerance of a goldfish.
“That’s why I’m writing it for about…” She pauses, lost in her words. “I’m writing about it for my thesis.”
“Still doing that, eh?” I pass her the fresh drink.
“Yes, if my adviser approves it. And thank you.” She toasts me with the drink. “Booze is fun!”
“It is until it isn’t.” I dump the ice from the first glass and set it in the dishwasher.
She has more trouble finding the straw this time.
I hold back my smile, noticing both sets of customers are headed for the bar. I wander past her to meet them.
“We’re closing out our tabs,” one says.
I take a minute to run their tickets. By the time they’ve all left, Marietta has plopped down onto an upturned bucket behind the bar, her glass empty again.
I walk up to her. “You okay?”
She tries to get up, almost falls, and I grab at her to keep her steady.
“Why did this happen so fast?” she asks. “Betz can drink ten whiskeys and be fine.”
I take the empty glass from her hand and set it next to the register. “Betz has a lot of years of practice.”
“Well, I’m getting started!” Marietta says. “Tonight is the first night of my new alcohol tolerance.” She aims a finger toward the sky, but instead knocks herself off balance, and I have to catch her again.
She falls against me. “You’re strong,” she says. “I like strong people.”
“Do you?”
“Notice I didn’t say strong men. Strong women are good, too.”
“You like women?”
She smacks my arm. “No, silly! I mean, I do, as best girlfriends. But I don’t think I want to lick a cooter.”
Okaaaaay, time to sober her up. “Let’s go sit somewhere,” I say.
“But I like it back here. I feel important.” She hangs on to me and looks out over the bar. “I’m not just a customer.” She lifts her chin to peer up at me. “I’m part of the place. Part of your world. With you.”
I look down at her face. Her blue eyes watch me.
“I’m glad you’re coming here on Wednesdays,” I say.
“You are?” Her face lights up. “So you like me, at least a little bit?”
I swallow. “I do.”
She’s so close. Her mouth is inches from mine. Her body is pressed against me.
There’s no one here.
Her breath eases along my chin. She doesn’t seem to want to go anywhere, so we stay there, close together.
“I remember my first kiss,” she says, and that tells me she’s thinking about it.
“Do you?”
“Mmm hmm. I was in eighth grade. We were on a class trip, and we were riding the bus after dark on the way back.”
“On a school bus?”
“Yeah. I was into public displays of affection from way back.” She pokes my chest and laughs. “I was sitting with my friend Amy, but she wanted to sit with Jerry, who was across the aisle from us. So I switched with him.”
“That’s a good friend.”
“I know, right!” She lifts her chin higher, and her hair falls back, brushing my arm where I hang on to her waist. “So I ended up sitting next to Daryl.”
“So Daryl was the lucky guy?”
“It was kind of wild. I sat down next to him, and he grabbed my face and kissed me! No hello. No, aren’t we in math class? Just kissed me!”
“That sounds like a red flag.”
“I mean, sure, I guess. But we were like, what, thirteen? Anyway, I thought it would be just one, but we ended up kissing the entire way back.”
“Not bad then, our friend Daryl. You liked it?”
“It was okay.” Her gaze snaps to mine. “I’ve been kissed by seven people.”
“Seven. Since you were thirteen?”
“Yup, that’s basically one every two years.”
“And when was the last one?” I don’t know that I want to know, but it keeps her here in my arms.
She blows out a long rush of peach-scented breath. “I don’t know. A year, probably. Just some guy I went out with twice.” Her happy bubble deflates, and she tries to pull away.
So, her self confidence until now has been tied to how men react to her. That’s clear.
I don’t let her go. “You are way more than what any man thinks of you.”
Her eyes stare into mine. “I know that. I mean, I know that in my head. But it doesn’t seem to matter what I force myself to think. Something about me puts them off when it comes time to get close.” She frowns. “I think I’m too freaky. I do weird stuff.”
“Like what?”
She pushes on my chest. “I don’t know. I wiggle. I make weird noises. Maybe I’m supposed to be more demure, or silent or something.”
“I don’t think you could do anything wrong.” And I mean it. I don’t like her talking bad about herself.
She pushes again. “You haven’t tried anything with me. I’ve been too weird. I flashed your bar. I flashed you when we were alone! I talk too much. I’m too skinny—”
That’s enough. I silence her with my mouth on hers. She goes still for a moment, like she’s shocked I did it. But I don’t pull away.
I taste her, sucking on her lips, slipping my tongue inside. She opens for me, letting me do what I want, clutching my shoulders like I might try to get away.
I drag her even closer, deepening the kiss, pressing my hand against the back of her head. She tastes of fruit juice and schnapps, Sex on the Beach, fun and sweet.
Her hips press into mine, and I know when she feels me hard against her belly. She presses against it, and a low, keening whine comes from her throat.
Is this the type of sound she means? Because I’m keyed into her like a honing signal. I shove her skirt higher so her legs can move and lift one of her thighs so I can grind against her body.
The long, high pitch returns, a sound of need and desire. I work hard not to heed the call of it, remembering this isn’t someone I can plow into against the wall. She’s new to this, and protected, and there are rules surrounding everything about her.
But I clasp her ass and press her against me. I won’t do anything I shouldn’t. No fingers. No penetration. But I will work her however she needs, to whatever capacity is safe.
She gasps against my mouth, her hips moving with me. She’s caught by what is happening, the friction against her. The skirt shifts up and out of the way. She lets me move her in those thin panties, hard over the bulge in my jeans, the roughness of the denim, a terrain that is working for her.
Her hands claw at me as she sucks in breath after breath. “Merrick!” she cries. “Oh, my God!” She moves with me, going faster, and I match that pace. I listen to every sound, feeling out what she likes, adjusting.
She’s wet, that’s for sure, as I can feel the dampness seeping through my jeans. She shifts forward and back, her eyes closed, her body undulating as she rubs against my crotch.
Then the high cry comes out. Her fingers dig into my arms. She shudders against me, gasping for air.
The keening cry goes higher, turning jagged, stuttering as her shoulders shake.
I hold on, drawing it out, letting her hang on as long as possible, holding back a smile as I watch her chest and neck blossom pink from the orgasm.
She exhales at last, and I slow our movements, letting the shuddering ebb, watching her descend. Her head falls onto my shoulder.
I carefully lower her leg to the floor and release her hair. I wrap my arms around her waist and wait her out.
She breathes hard against me, gradually regaining control. Then, muffled against my shirt, she says, “That was an orgasm, wasn’t it? From nothing. Nothing went in me.”
I nod against her hair.
She pulls away, her eyes alight. “That’s not against the rules, is it?”
I shrug. “No cherry was popped.”
“Did you like it?” She frowns. “No, of course not. It was nothing for you.” She glances down at my bulge. “Should I lick it? Something.” She reaches for me.
I take her hand. “Not now. Let’s take our time, so you can figure this out.”
Her eyes lift to meet mine. “But I want you to want to do it again.”
I chuckle at that. “I’m happy to be of service.”
“Next Wednesday?” Her voice is so hopeful.
“Next Wednesday.”
She steps back and adjusts her skirt. “That was…wow. I didn’t even know such a thing could happen.” She straightens her tank top. “Okay. I, uh, guess we need to close up?”
I chuckle again. “We do. Go gather those glasses and we’ll finish here.”
She hurries off across the bar. As I watch her ass twitch while she walks, I adjust my crotch. We’re playing with fire here.
But fuck all if it isn’t fun.