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Stake my claim on Becky and fill her with my seed as soon as possible.
Chapter Five
Becky
Dillon fills more than the doorway, and I already know he’s gonna be the focus of attention all night, which is good in one way and bad in another.
Good for me, because I’ll have the best view in the house, with the bar facing the door he’s minding.
Bad? Because every other girl who works here stands a way better chance than me of keeping his attention, let alone catching it.
The sight of him earlier than I expected makes me nervous, fidgety, and clumsier than usual.
I watch my hands tremble as I log on to the computers and fire up the credit card reader. Wondering how I’m gonna stay focused for the whole shift if I’m losing it already.
Then there’s the whole, where am I gonna live in two days’ time thing too.
Ugh. I hate it, but Dillon here seems to cancel everything out when I see his lips curling in a smile.
His eagerness to get started and his whole body tight with anticipation is so thrilling to watch, I almost forget I have any problems of my own at all when he’s in my sights.
Showing him around doesn’t take long, with the bar area and front lounge the only places we’re supposed to be at all times.
I don’t mention the back room, the one through the unmarked door in the other lounge and Dillon surprises me by not asking the obvious.
“What about that door though?” he does ask, jutting his chin to the wooden door behind the bar.
“Oh, that’s just the cellar. Drinks and stuff. Plus a bathroom, if you could call it that.” I offer, figuring that he might as well know now upfront about the bathroom situation.
“We’re not allowed to use the guest’s bathrooms,” I tell him, blushing as I look down.
He scans the place again and looks unsatisfied.
“Where do you go when you need to...” he starts to ask, making me feel terrible because I have to tell him, but also because he’s making me want to hide by talking about it.
“The one downstairs, but don’t tell Mr. Sawyer. He’d freak,” I plead, wanting to reach out and clutch at him but pulling my hand back before I get halfway there.
Dillon looks pissed. And not because I reached for him.
“I’ll have to have a talk with Mr. Sawyer,” he growls low, making me gnaw at my lower lip again.
“Please don’t,” I beg him, letting my hand shoot out again, touching his large forearm, which feels more like an athlete’s whole leg under my grip.
“You can’t work so long without a proper bathroom break in a proper bathroom,” he tells me. Tells himself.
But I get the feeling Dillon isn’t gonna like a lot of what he’ll see on his first shift.
I shake my head, laughing like an idiot. “It’s no big deal, really,” I stammer, feeling my legs press harder together.
Damn, I really do need to go now. Or is it just the other feeling I get when Dillon’s around?
Nope. I definitely gotta tinkle.
Dammit.
“Look,” I tell him, moving as close as I dare and lowering my voice. “I’ll show you where it is, but I need to go use it first, okay? All this talk of—”
But I stop mid-sentence.
Something I said has him looking like the happiest man alive.
“I’ll watch the door,” he rasps, and I hear his neck pop as he flexes it, adjusting his thin black tie at the top of his collar.
“Just tell Sawyer or anyone else I’m getting some more booze if he happens by, alright?” I ask, practically gasping now as the pressure between my legs feels like I’m about to burst.
He growls low as he nods, his smile broadening as I turn down the stairs to the basement.
I can feel his eyes on me, boring into me from behind.
With each step I feel a whimper in my throat, realizing it’s not the bathroom I need to use.
Not something I need to let out of my body, rather it’s something. Someone I’m craving to have inside me.
My whole body’s trembling by the time I get to the bottom of the stairs. The light dim in the basement, stacked with boxes of alcohol and kegs of beer.
The grimy curtain and sagging rod jutting out from the wall which is the ‘door’ to the only bathroom I can use.
Hell, there’s not even a sink to wash my hands, I have to use the tiny one by the dishwasher behind the bar whenever I have to.
I can’t just stand here though, the thrill in my chest is unbearable, knowing that Dillon is keeping watch so I can go. But there’s a bigger thrill, deeper inside me.
I’ve never felt this way at work, or anywhere. Not ever.
I rip the curtain back, almost pulling it off its rings, not even bothering to close it fully behind me.
