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I want this woman bent over a bench in Protocol. The check has been paid, and we’re ready to go, but the lure of that short hem is making me want to see whether she has underwear on or not. With how tight that fabric hugs her ass... it could go either way.
Hand in the small of her back, I lead her out to the car in the open parking lot, opening the door instead of bending her over the hood. She casts a playful glance back over her shoulder, and my resolve frays like shiny ribbon on freshly sharpened scissors.
Before she can breathe my name, she’s bent over the trunk, her skirt shifted up over her hips, perfectly plush peach-shaped ass on display. It’s sensory overload. What do I do first? Do I spank her, lick her, or fuck her?
“What are you waiting for?” She wiggles her hips with a giggle. “Or would you like for me to get on my knees for you Thor?”
By the time she finishes my name, I’m balls deep inside her, thrusting hard and fast while she just takes it like the good girl she is. She didn’t caution me against strangers this time, or the fact it’s illegal to fuck her like this... maybe my girl has a little of the exhibitionist in her after all. And I’ll stoke that fire until it’s a blue flame she can’t contain, desperate to take me everywhere and anywhere the mood strikes.
I need to get my shit together. I need to fuck her senseless, drive her to the club, and worship her until her soul leaves her body when I’m not so frantic and aching to fill her. My brain swims with options, ideas, things I’ve wanted to do to her that I couldn’t because we didn’t want to wake Matthew, or because I didn’t want her to be incapacitated in case he needed her.
My mouth waters at the sight of her ass. By the time I’m done with her in Protocol, my dirty girl isn’t going to be able to sit down tomorrow, and I can’t wait.
* * *
Nervous energy radiatesfrom my kitten as we enter the club. While this place is my second home, somewhere I’m comfortable within my own skin, this is the first time—I think—that she’s been here with someone other than her girlfriends.
Essentially, it’s her first time. I’m going to let her set the bar, decide how fast or slowly she wants us to take things. If she just wants to go to the viewing rooms to watch someone else do their thing, I’m down. If she wants us to be the ones being watched, I’m here for that, too.
Slade jerks his chin at me over the bar, a teasing glint in his eyes. I grabbed red wristbands on the way in from the new kid at the coat check. I don’t care how comfortable Addison may feel within these walls, she’s mine.
Mine.
It’s not a discussion we’ve had yet, at least not explicitly, we touched on it a little in the car. It’s just been knowing glances, and Slade calling her my girl. But I feel it,shefeels it. I think I’m afraid to put a label on it in case she doesn’t meet me there, or in case labeling it is going to be the thing that ruins it.
This, what we have right now, it’s easy. I have no idea how, all things considered. We’re in a comfortable routine. The three of us together, working as a little—dare I say it—family unit, and there has been minimal drama.
Matthew seems to be settling in. His school says that the disruption at home hasn’t derailed his schooling much, though some days it’s tough to get him out of the car and through the door to the building.
Addison is such great company, I can’t imagine her leaving next week. I just can’t. Not only because I don’t think I can function as the single parent of an additional needs child. But because she’s made me think that maybe this one-woman-man thing wouldn’t be so bad if she was the one woman. On the way here, asking her to stay, that was me staking my claim. She staked hers right back.
“Where do you want to go?” My voice is low, and she shivers as my breath skims the sensitive skin underneath her ear. “Do you want a drink?”
The bartender working tonight isn’t quite as good as me, but I’ll give him his dues, he’s not bad. She shakes her head, her curls swinging around her jaw. “Please.” She leans into me. “I’m nervous.”
“What are you nervous about, Addison?” I could take a guess but I don’t want to presume.
“It’s just... intimidating.”
“I know, kitten. I know. But you have no reason to be afraid. We have red bands, Slade is here, we have people here to keep our patrons safe, and even if we didn’t, you’re here with me. I’ve got you. We can do as much or as little as you want. If you want to leave, we can do that, too. There are no rules right now for what we need to do or not do. This can be whatever we want it to be.”
Slade hands me a non-alcoholic beer and a fruit juice for Addison before I even ask, cracking the top off the plastic bottle for her. “Thanks, Slade.” Her smile is fragile, timid, and while I know my lioness is in there somewhere, I’m not thrilled that she’s shaky right now.
“We don’t need to go downstairs if you don’t want to, Addison.” I try to inject extra conviction into my voice. She needs assurance, and that’s what she’s getting. If my girl is truly uncomfortable I will throw her over my shoulder and haul her ass out of here if I have to.
Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe not having her friends at hand for comfort has her a little anxious.
It feels like she needs a dose of that female empowerment women seem to be so good at. I wish I could figure out how to tap into that. For all my experience with women, I don’t have that. I don’t have the “light her up like a goddess from the inside” kinda vibes.
She squeezes my hand before she nods at me. “I’m okay, Thor. Really. Just nervous, but not a bad nervous.”
I’ve felt those nerves before, those fluttering sensations through my body as energy churns through my muscles. Being on the edge of something new brings all kinds of new feels, and it’s sometimes hard to tell the difference between fear and fun.
We finish our drinks in silence, Addison’s eyes roaming the crowd, scanning over the patrons who are filtering in for the night. While she people watches, I duck out of the club and text Austin, just to check in. Mackenzie said everything was fine, and I trust our friends. But there’s a voice in the back of my head that tells me I’m a parent now, and my primary focus should be Matthew.
How do parents do it? How do they go out and enjoy themselves with this tug in their chest to return to where they’resupposedto be? Is this my life now? Constantly torn between having a little fun, and dragging my ass back to the house just to watch my son play NHL on his game’s console because it’s the most fascinating thing I’ve ever seen?
The little stitch of concentration between his eyebrows as he focuses on passing the puck on the screen. The way he mutters to himself under his breath as though he’s talking to the players in the game.
