It starts with a brush of his hand. Subtle. Low. Hidden beneath the bar where no one else can see. His fingers skim the inside of my thigh and I shoot him a warning look, but it only makes his lips curl into that slow, dangerous smirk.
“You keep doing that,” I whisper, “and I swear I’ll scream.”
“Yeah?” he murmurs, leaning in so only I can hear. “That a threat or a promise?”
Across the bar, Sam laughs at something Charlie says. They’re seated at the corner table, completely unaware. The jukebox plays something low and twangy. The bar's full but not loud. Just enough voices to cover the sound of breathing.
Just enough danger to make this stupid.
Which is why I don’t even blink when Will nudges his stool back and murmurs, “Bathroom.”
I hesitate for all of half a second.
Then I slip off mine, smooth my skirt, and walk casually down the hallway past the office, past storage, and into the narrow, dimly lit bathroom at the back.
The second the door clicks shut behind me, I hear the lock slide.
Then his hands are on me.
“You’re insane,” I breathe, already turned and pressed to the sink, my breath fogging the mirror.
“You started it,” he growls, dragging my skirt up. “Sitting there looking like a wet dream while your brother talks about rib rubs and whiskey flights.”
His voice drops to a rasp. “You know how hard it was not to bend you over the bar?”
He hooks his fingers in my panties and yanks them down, so rough I gasp.
“And now,” he mutters, undoing his fly, “I’m gonna fuck you so hard you have to bite your hand to stay quiet.”
“Will,” I moan, already aching.
“You think Sam would still be laughing if he knew his little sister was in here getting railed by his best friend?”
I whimper, fingers clutching the edge of the sink.
He leans down, mouth at my ear. “Tell me to stop.”
I don’t.
So he pushes in. All of him, at once.
I have to slap my hand over my mouth to keep from crying out. The stretch, the pressure… it’s almost too much.
“Goddamn,” he grits, grinding in deeper. “So tight. So fucking perfect. You were made for this, Phern. Made for me.”
His hips slam into mine, hard and fast. No mercy. No patience. Just raw, possessive need. Every thrust sends me forward, the mirror rattling in time with our rhythm. I’m a mess. Hair falling, legs shaking, lips parted around silent screams.
“You gonna come for me?” he pants. “Right here? With your brother twenty feet away?”
“Yes,” I whimper. “Yes—please—don’t stop?—”
“Good girl.”
He slides one hand between my thighs, rubbing fast, dirty circles that send me flying. I come with a silent scream, trembling so hard my knees nearly give.
He groans, curses, then spills inside me with a rough thrust, holding me so close it’s like he wants to bury himself in more than just my body.
We breathe.
