“Because he knows something,” I say, my hand never leaving the small of her back. “We don’t owe anyone answers, though. He has no proof.”
She pinches her lips together slowly then raises her gaze to me. “What if he took pictures? What if he’s got video?” She glances down at the pinewood floor. “Why does this have to be so complicated?”
“It doesn’t have to be,” I say, sliding her hand in mine as I guide her toward the long hallway down the back end of the distillery for a breath.
She’s hesitant at first, her steps small and reluctant, as the sounds of folks chatting and music playing fall into the background the further we get down the hall.
Her fingers tighten around mine as we pass the office. I’d planned to sneak in there for a moment to breathe, but my brothers are in a heated discussion about something. It’s probably the deal with the rednecks. I should probably join in, but I have more important things to do right now, so I head directly for the storage room instead.
It’s not a huge space, but it’s large enough that it holds our jarred surplus, as well as our condiments and paper products, with plenty of room left in the middle. As a bonus, the room smells like cherries, thanks to three club sized jars of maraschinos ending up on the floor last week.
“What are we doing back here?” Violet asks, staring up at me the sweet innocent way she does.
I lean into her lips, my hand around the back of her neck, a growl in my throat as I say, “I can’t stand being out there with everyone’s eyes on you. I need them all to know you’re mine.”
“You’re jealous?” Her eyes search mine. “Why would you be jealous? You’re like… the hottest guy here. I’ve seen at least twelve women look at you since we walked in.”
“They weren’t looking at me. They were looking at you.”
She tilts her head to the side. “And why would they be looking at me?”
“Women do that, you should know. They look at women they’re envious of.” I drag my gaze over her curved frame, the short, black dress she’s wearing still too revealing in my opinion. “Look at you. You’re gorgeous.”
She laughs. “And you’re delusional.”
“Tell me you don’t want to go to Dallas with Andrew.”
“What?” Her forehead wrinkles as she stares up at me. “Why would you think I would?”
“He’s your age, and as much as I hate it, he’s handsome. Plus, your dad likes him. Life would be easy.” I scratch my hand down over my beard as I talk, knowing full well if she tells me she wants to go with Andrew, I’ll probably have to murder him.
“No,” she lifts onto her toes for a kiss, then grabs my cock with her free hand, “I don’t want to run off to Dallas with some meathead. I love you, Cash. I want you.”
Relief hits me like a sucker punch as she slips her hand into my slacks, stroking me through my briefs. Her tiny little hand, wrapped around my cock, pumping slow and steady as she looks up at me with a moan in her throat.
I’ve had her twice today. I should be able to control myself, but the thought of her tight, little asshole on display as she bent over in the dressing room haunts me.
Bright and pink, tight and puckered.
Fuck.
Heat rises in my chest, and my thoughts narrow to instinct, sharp and immediate, as my cock stiffens at the memory, and without thought, I have her bent over the whiskeybarrel in the corner, her panties pulled to the side, her ass plump and waiting.
“Princess, tell me what you want again.” I grab the canola oil inadvertently placed on the back shelf and slide my fingers into the organic lube before rubbing them in circles around her tight, little asshole.
“I want you,” she pants. “I want you everywhere. In my mouth, in my pussy, in my ass. I need it, Cash.”
Tonight is really fucking important and I know I should be out in the bar, mingling with guests, thanking locals for their support, helping my brothers with the dozen things that need doing. Rationally, I know this.
I know how stupid it is to finger Violet’s little asshole in the back room, two rooms away from her father. I know how destructive it is to slap her ass and demand she’s louder. I know how fucked up it is to stroke my cock with oil and inch inside of her, desperate to feel the stretch.
If I could stop myself, I would.
Pulling my fingers from her back hole, I tighten my grip around her waist and lean in, biting her ass cheek with a groan. The anticipation is killing me as she looks back, mouth open, lips swollen as she grips the whiskey barrel for dear life.
Her ass lifts as she shakes it back and forth tauntingly, like she’s ready for adventure, and I know what’s happening. The last shred of composure I’d been holding onto is gone.
“This is going to hurt.” I spread her ass cheeks wide and smooth my cock over her tight, little hole, my head dizzy as I press in slightly.
