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And with the tall mirror running the full length behind the bar, I can watch him even when my back’s to him.
Watching him watch me. Feeling his eyes where I want his hands to be, having to look away when it makes me too hot and horny.
No bathroom breaks for a long time yet. Plus Dillon’s told me in no uncertain terms I’m not to play with myself without his say so.
I’ve never even touched myself like that, not ever. Never had any real reason to.
But it’s something the man does to me, just by existing.
The thrill is short-lived though because a few hours into our shift I can see how unsatisfied Dillon is with me talking to other men.
Innocently too, I might add. Just making small talk and serving drinks. It’s what I do as a barmaid.
I catch a few of his sour looks until he finally steps between a guy and his next drink.
“Think you’ve had quite enough for one night,” he snarls, gripping the glass and dragging it back across the bar away from the guy.
The man’s a regular. Comes in twice a week, drinks for a few hours then goes home. He’s been in the back a few times but knows when he’s had his fill.
I open my mouth to intervene, but the fella, Dave I thinks his name, seems to think it’s a bit of humor on the new doorman’s part.
“Yeah, I’ll make that my last I reckon,” he agrees, smiling with shining eyes up at Dillon while he reaches for his drink.
But his face falls once Dillon squeezes the short glass so hard in his hand it shatters, making me scream out loud.
“Dillon! Oh my god, your hand are you—” I try to get out, but it’s too late.
Dillon’s already got the guy by the throat and in less time than it takes me to get out from behind the bar, he’s got him outside.
The whole front lounge and bar go so quiet you could hear a pin drop.
But it’s more than a pin Dillon’s gonna drop if I don’t stop him in time.
I rush to the door, heaving it open and throw myself between Dillon and the poor guy he has a balled fist drawn back on, ready to take his block off.
“Dillon, No!” I shout, putting my hands over my own head in case it’s too late.
But he doesn’t do it. Dillon stops, his whole body charged with tension as he loosens his grip on the man, who staggers away, shouting something about telling Charlie all about it.
“What the hell are you doing?” I shriek at him, looking up, my own hands balling into fists as I pummel his abs.
“You’ll get us both fired. That guy’s a regular. He wasn’t doing anything,” I explain, but Dillon’s shaking his head.
“I won’t have anyone looking at you like that. Not here, not anywhere.” He grunts, making me close my eyes and shake my head in disbelief.
“Like what?” I ask him. “Like someone who’s having a drink at a bar?”
I growl at him, unable to contain my own rage right now. The last thing I need is to lose my shitty job on top of everything else.
Maybe Mr. Perfect isn’t so perfect after all? I mean, he must have a screw loose to go off on somebody like that for no reason.
I make my way inside again, cheerfully announcing that the next drinks are on the house, trying to calm everyone down. Let them know it was a one-off thing, that everything’s fine.
But nobody’s cheering for a free drink.
People can afford their own, come here for their own reasons, and not to be manhandled by someone the size of Dillon.
“Better keep your boy on a leash,” somebody murmurs.
“A short one,” seconds someone else.
“Charlie’s not gonna like that,” another chimes in, making me gulp hard because I know they’re right. All of them.
Dillon saunters back in, eyeballing everyone in the place, daring them with his body language, begging to know who’s next.
I serve up a few free drinks to the regulars I know are most upset about it, then rush over to Dillon.
“You can’t do that,” I hiss, noticing his eyes narrow. His head shake.
“Why the fuck not?” he retorts.
“Because this place works differently. Didn’t Sawyer explain anything to you?” I ask him, pleading really.
Until I realize. I’m the one who is supposed to be showing him the ropes.
Remember?
But no. I don’t remember, because I was too busy trying to get myself off and then way too busy trying to play with his huge dick in the basement.
Oh yeah… That’s right.
Nice going genius.
You really have screwed yourself after all.
As if things couldn’t get any more awkward, the old front doorman, Marco appears from the back lounge. One of the Barbie doll look alike waitresses pointing at me and Dillon, murmuring as she gives me the stink eye.
