“Yeah, I bet Roxy wouldn’t be too happy to find cum stains when she opens up tomorrow.”
“And I have to do the rest of my closing routine.”
“Right.” He grabs a bar towel. “What needs doing?”
I walk him through it while we clean. Wipe down every surface. Collect the glasses. Run the dishwasher. Restock the fridges. Take out the trash. Lock the liquor cabinets. Count the register. The whole time we’re working side by side, bumping shoulders, stealing kisses between tasks.
It’s the most domestic thing I’ve ever done, and it’s with a guy I met a few hours ago.
When we finally finish, it’s almost three in the morning. The bar looks cleaner than it has in months.
“I don’t think I can walk anymore,” I say, gripping the counter, trying to find a position that doesn’t make my ass throb.
“Lean on me.” Brock wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me against him.
“Where are we going?”
“My place.”
“What about my car?”
“I’ll bring you back for it tomorrow.”
“But I don’t have a change of clothes.”
“You can borrow some of mine.” He kisses the top of my head. “Anything else?”
“No,” I say, a smile spreading across my face. “I think you’ve covered it.”
“Good. Let’s get out of here. You deserve a soft bed after the night you’ve had.” His hands slide down to my ass, and he gives it a squeeze. “Though I can’t promise you’ll get much sleep.”
“Is that a threat or a promise?”
“Both.”
We head for the door. I grab my keys and flip off the lights, glancing back one last time. Chairs upside down on tables. Bottles lined up. Everything in its place. Looks like every other closing.
But as I turn the lock and follow Brock out into the night, I know nothing will ever be the same again.
EPILOGUE
FOUR MONTHS LATER
“Your boyfriend’s destroying them out there,” Roxy says, shoving a handful of popcorn in her mouth.
I lean forward in my seat, watching Brock throw another perfect pass for a touchdown. The crowd goes wild. “That’s my quarterback.”
“Look at you. So proud.” She nudges me. “Though I guess you’re used to watching him dominate.”
“Seriously, Rox?”
“What?” She grins. “He’s good at taking control. On the field and off, I’m guessing.”
I shake my head, smiling. She’s not wrong. He wrecked me this morning in the shower, left me so sore I’m sitting on an extra layer of padding just to make it through. Clearly gave him the energy boost he needed, judging by how he’s playing out there.
But for all the ways he can be aggressive and dominant in bed, he’s the gentlest person I know outside of it. Makes me breakfast. Rubs my feet after a long shift. Listens to me ramble about my night. He knows I take two sugars and a splash of cream in my coffee and brings me one in bed every morningI stay over, even though he doesn’t drink it himself. Bought a whole coffee machine just for me.
After years of chasing hookups and never feeling anything but a temporary thrill, I finally found what I was looking for. And it wasn’t a girl. It was a big, burly football player who isn’t afraid to call me on my bullshit. A guy who knows my kinksandmy coffee order, who can have me sobbing with pleasure one minute and laughing so hard I can’t breathe the next.
