by Olivia Chase
I take a moment to steady myself.
I can handle this. I’ve had flirty, inappropriate customers before. Conor believes he’s charming, and next time he comes in here, I’m certain the gestures will be more overt. That’s the kind of guy he is. I have to prepare for it. Try to find that line that keeps him spending but not show too much interest. And besides, I’m sure Hudson can take care of anyone who gets out of line.
But can I handle myself with Hudson?
The last customer shuffles out of the door, and I dash over and turn the sign to CLOSED.
It’s been an absurdly long work day, a full sixteen hours (though the first half was the dead zone), and I’m so tired I could cry. But the last chunk of the day was also crazy successful.
Way more than I would have imagined.
Maybe I underestimated Hudson.
Maybe I’m wrong about a lot of things.
My skirt pocket is weighed down with the thick fold of my tips. I earned enough in one night to potentially make the next leg of my cross-country trip. Far more money than I could have dreamed would happen so soon.
But I don’t want to leave. Not yet. I can’t stop thinking about what happened in the back room. Getting caught up with Hudson is a big, big mistake, but I can’t help myself. He’s like a drug. The way he looked at me across the room all night after he fingered me, even his jealousy when I talked to other men in the bar, all of it turns me on beyond belief.
We’re all quiet as we finish cleaning and getting prepped for tomorrow. It’s just after two in the morning, and no doubt they’re as drained as I am. My feet hurt so badly that I don’t know how I’m going to walk home. I can barely move as it is.
“Wow,” Hale finally says in a hard exhale after he puts the last chair on top of the table so the floor can be swept. “That was crazy.”
Axel grabs the broom and starts at the far end. “Yeah. That went way better than I thought.”
Hudson’s in the back room, counting up the money and balancing everything out. But I know he’s pleased.
He doesn’t always speak his mind, but already I’m getting a sense of when he’s content and when something is wrong beneath the surface.
And tonight, I can tell everything went better than planned.
I love the fact that I was a part of it, in some small way.
I go back to washing glassware, running back and forth between the back room and the bar to restock.
But no matter what I’m doing, I keep thinking about him.
Hudson. He won’t seem to get off my mind.
I’ve had boyfriends in the past. Well, a couple. One semi-serious guy in college, the guy who took my virginity. And even that was a pale shadow of the emotions and eroticism Hudson is bringing out of me. I’m feeling too much for this man, despite my better judgment.
Cleaning is done, finally, and I lean against the bar top. “I’m ready to pass out.”
The guys nod their approval.
“Hey,” Hale says, walking over to me. “You did good today. Thanks.”
Axel nods as he puts away the mop. “Couldn’t have handled that crowd without you.”
The approval of these men warms my face. I grin and wave them away. “You guys. I’m gonna think you want to be friends if you keep that up.”
Hale snorts and rolls his eyes with a laugh.
Hudson emerges from the office and looks at me. There’s a dark heat in his eyes. “I’ll give you a ride home,” he says.
I want to. But I also don’t know if I should be alone with him right now. “You don’t have to do that. I’m just a few blocks—”
“It wasn’t a question.” Hudson presses my lower back and nudges me toward the door. “You need to drive here. Walking even a few blocks after a long shift is going to kill your feet and back—not to mention it’s too late for you to be walking alone.”
I bristle. Why does he keep acting like I don’t have a brain? Like I need him telling me everything to do? I start to gripe back but see a warning look in Hale’s eyes, the subtle shaking of his head. He’s visually telling me to just shut up and take the ride. So I exhale my protests. “Okay.” At least the trek on my car won’t be too bad or wear it out. And now I have money to get the tune-up I need.
We get in Hudson’s car, a nondescript sedan, and the air is thick with tension between us as he drives. I can’t look over at him. I’m still too aware of the fact that he had his hand inside me not long ago. That I’m sitting on his car seat and wearing no panties.
I murmur directions to my motel room. It’s not the best place ever, but it’s cheap. Thankfully he doesn’t comment. He pulls into the parking lot and takes a spot. When I go to get out, his hand snags my wrist, and he presses a wad of cash into it.
I blink. “What is this for?”
His mouth curves into a wicked smile that makes my insides clench with need. “This is for wardrobe and fashion expenditures. I’m going to have very specific clothing requirements for you, so I want you to be ready. We’re changing our opening time to five PM, since that seems the best adjustment to suit our clientele. You’ll go shopping tomorrow before then. I’ll text you in the morning what I want you to buy for work.”
Again, not a question. An order.
My stomach tightens and thrills at the wrongness of it all.
“Okay,” I finally say. This is an HR nightmare…but who the hell would I want to tell anyway? And I want to please him. Turn him on. Make him ache for me as much as I do him. I exit the car, my head dizzy, and then unlock the door to my motel room.
The shower I take is amazing. The weight of the today’s work settles deep in my bones, and I’m exhausted. I don’t even bother to dress, just slip into the fresh sheets I bought for the bed and sigh. Stare at the ceiling.
I haven’t talked to my mom since I left. Emotion floods me, regret, sadness, loneliness. Must be my fatigue, because I suddenly just want to see a message from her. Anything that says she misses me or is sorry about what happened. Grandma used to tell me that deep down, Mom loves me, but she’s too scared of being alone and that’s why she let my stepdad control everything, including her.
Maybe if I reach out to just her, she’ll respond.
I tap out a quick text saying I’m in Michigan and hope she’s well. Then I drop the phone on my bedside table and fall into a hard, well-earned sleep.
Red dress, fishnets. No bra. Black lacy panties.
Just like the last several days, my heart gives an excited thud when I read Hudson’s text. After my shopping spree with the money he gave me, he’s been sending me texts every day telling me the combination of clothes to wear. It’s become a strange sort of ritual, one I’ve grown to anticipate. To crave.
I never heard back from my mom. But the pain from that doesn’t shatter me as much as I thought it would. Work has proven to be the perfect distraction from the angst of my personal life.
I shower and put on the panties. Run my hands over my smooth legs as I slide them into the fishnet stockings. Shimmy into the thin blood-red dress, which dips low in the front and clings to my breasts. If I get cold…or aroused…everyone will be able to see my hard nipples. I flush all over at the thought. Dammit, I’m going to be wet before I even step into work.
A few minutes later and I’m pulling into the parking lot of Fugitives, and then walking inside. Hudson’s behind the bar, wiping off the bar top. His gaze is latent with sexual tension as he gives me a quick chin jerk in greeting.
He’s pleased with my outfit.
I return the gesture, pretending like my body isn’t buzzing, like I’m not a live wire of arousal. Pretty much the constant state I’ve been in since I started working here. I move toward the bar and situate myself behind it.
“Today I want you to show off for me. If you notice me watching you, I want you to bend over, show off your ass, your cleavage, make me want it.” His words are hot and low, under his breath, meant just for me. “But this is just for me to enjoy. When those scumba
g dudes who come into the bar just to look at you, try to touch you, you don’t give them the time of day. Do you understand me?”
Oh God. I’m already so turned on by his orders. My pussy spasms. “Yes, Hudson,” I whisper.
“You can take a break at nine. You’ll eat in my office, sitting on my desk.”
I could come just by listening to his instructions. He is driving me crazy. I want to ask him why he hasn’t touched me since that first day, but I’m afraid to ruin whatever the hell is going on here between us. The tension is brewing, getting bigger every day. When is it going to explode over?
This is a game, but the consequences are very real.
Still, I don’t want to quit. I’m getting off on it. On knowing he’s watching me work. And he’s getting off on it too.
Does he think about that one brief time he touched me as much as I do?
I’ve fingered myself every night—sometimes more than once—imagining him dropping to his knees and licking me, not just fingering. Imagining him pulling my clothes off, throwing me to the ground, and taking me.
“Marissa,” he murmurs, pulling me away from my runaway thoughts.
“I’m here, sorry,” I say with a chagrined smile.
Hudson’s brothers come clomping in, slugging each other in the shoulder and yelling about something. Hudson rolls his eyes, and I laugh. I’ve noticed all three of them do a lot of ball busting. Well, Hudson less than any of them. The other two brothers seem closer to each other.
Hudson is different. Quieter. Fewer things to say…but when he does talk, my entire body snaps to attention. He commands it from me.
The day is bustling. Since that first opening day, we’ve had a steady stream of neighborhood people coming in. Granted, they’re rougher clientele than I’m used to working with. My grandma’s bar wasn’t like this at all. These guys skirt the edge of the law. We’ve even had a couple of fights break out, which is strange and if I admit, kind of exciting…especially to see Hudson walk quietly over there and break it up. People listen to him. Respect him.
I do as Hudson asked of me. I make sure to pay special attention to when he’s looking at me as I work. I bend over farther than necessary, making sure he knows it’s just for him, turning my backside to him and bending down to get things I don’t even need behind the bar.
But with the customers I’m even more professional than usual, friendly but a bit less flirty.
I want Hudson to know I’m only for him.
“Marissa,” an older man who’s come every night so far says, “can I get a refill?”
“Sure!” I pour him a fresh one and catch Hudson’s eye. He raises a brow as Hudson watches me, his eyes dark and hungry.
I lean forward a touch as I slide the beer across the bar top.
My tits are jutting out, cleavage spilling over as I hand the older customer his beer. He’s looking for some pretzels we keep in a bowl by the bar and doesn’t even notice the game I’m playing with my boss right in front of him.
And I can’t believe how turned on I am by such silliness.
Hudson turns away and walks into the back room and I feel like I can hardly breathe, just from having him watch me.
When my break comes a little while later, Axel takes over the bar. I grab my bag from the back room, where I packed a sandwich, chips, and a soda, and head into Hudson’s office. I settle down on the corner of his desk, crossing my legs.
A few minutes later, while I’m sipping my Coke, Hudson steps into the room. He’s quiet. Moves to the seat, inches from my right thigh, and sits down. He doesn’t look at me, doesn’t touch me. Just works away at his books while I eat in silence. The scent of his cologne fills the air around us.
My heart kicks up to my throat as I unfold my legs and shift on the desk. I’m desperate to nudge my thigh over, brush his upper arm a fraction, to see what he’ll do in reaction. He’s not looking at me, but I can see the tightness in his body. The pulse throbbing at the base of his neck.
I want him to be as aware of me as I am of him.
I make a soft sound as I eat my sandwich to see if it’ll get his attention. The corner of his mouth twitches, but that’s all I get.
Ugh, this guy is so hard to read. He’s driving me crazy. Why is he denying both of us what we want? Is it that he doesn’t want me as much as I do him?
Is he just playing mind games with me as some sort of distraction?
Maybe that night in the back room was something he regrets, and that’s why it hasn’t happened again. But then, why give me instructions on my clothes, down to my bras and panties? Or lack thereof?
I’m going crazy trying to read and interpret him.
But I know I can’t make the move. He has to. I’ve been throwing him all the signals, obeying everything he says, down to the smallest details.
Well, screw it. Tomorrow, I’m going to shake things up. See what happens if I stop following orders and push back. Will he stop torturing me and touch me again? Or will he end this game and I’ll be left without any of this?
I need to take the risk. I can’t keep going in this strange limbo anymore.
When my break is up, I slide off the desk, taking a moment to adjust my dress hem. I keep my face forward, but glance at him out of the corner of my eye.
He’s looking at my legs.
A feminine flush rushes over me. I want to push him, break his careful self-control. I want to see the side of him I saw that first night, when he was angry and wild and needy for me. I want him to control me…
I want to know what the hell is happening between us.
Hudson
“Hey, Marissa!” a patron calls out. “Can we get a round of shots?”
She grins widely. “Of course, Patrick! The usual?”
I just watch in silence as Marissa does her thing. Serving customers, making them feel special, getting them to laugh and engage. I have to admit, she’s been a huge part in the success of the bar.
And the bar is doing well.
Scary good, actually.
Which is a total shock to all of us, even me. I felt pretty confident before we opened that I could make it a success—I did enough research to help me figure out how to make it so—but I didn’t realize how quickly success would arrive.
Admittedly, a big part of the speediness is that Conor McAllister and his crew have deemed Fugitives the hot new hangout spot. And because Conor and crew come from a bigger city and have a wide sphere of influence, people are traveling from all over to our humble bar.
Which attracts more people from Rock Bridge, who want to see what the fuss is all about.
It’s been just over a week now, and the bar has been packed from open to close every night. Almost more than we can handle. I can’t believe it, but I’m even thinking about hiring someone else to help out around here. Maybe even adding a small food menu for hungry drinkers with easy-to-cook appetizers. Surely there’s something we can whip up daily and have ready to go.
And in the midst of all the cash and the insanity of becoming an overnight success, I’m fixated on the woman behind my bar.
The woman who has proven to be a distraction…one that is driving me crazy with sexual hunger. What is it about her that makes me crave to control her, to touch her? I’ve resisted so far since that first night, despite it almost breaking me to do so.
But I know that I have to resist giving into her the way the other Beckett men have given into the women in their lives.
Still, I can’t stop thinking about her, watching her, interacting at any opportunity.
There’s a lull in her tasks, so I walk over to her. I didn’t have a chance to instruct her earlier on how I wanted her to behave. It’s become our thing, as crazy as it is…me giving pointed instructions on her behavior, and her trying to please me. And then every night, I go home and jack off so much that my poor dick is going to be chafed forever if this keeps up.
“Marissa,” I murmur to her as she’s washing glasses. “Tonight I want you
to call me Mister Beckett in front of the customers, any chance that presents itself.”
She doesn’t look at me. I can see a slight tension in her jaw as continues her work, not replying to my request.
“Do you understand what I’m asking you?” I say more forcefully.
That gets her attention. She quirks a brow, then finally looks me. “I do understand. I’m just not going to do it.”
The blood pumps in my veins harder as I take in the bratty look in her eye. “You will do exactly what I ask you to.”
She gives me a slow, wicked-girl grin. Her eyes sparkle with deviance. “You’ll have to make me, boss.” With those words, she steps away and moves to a young couple sitting on the far end of the bar. She chats them up, purposely ignoring me. Ignoring the rule I set up for her tonight.
Today Marissa has on a black tank top with a pair of tight black shorts, paired with high-top black boots. Her ass is so exquisitely fucking round as she bends over to get something from the bottom shelf.
And I want to spank it. Hard.
It’s clear that someone is trying to push my buttons. That much is evident by her blatant retort to my request, by the way she’s making sure to flash her goods at me as she moves. This shit is intentional. This is her testing the boundaries, seeing what she can get away with.
To see if I’ll go through with whatever underlying, unspoken threat I’ve managed to plant in our conversations.
Suddenly I’m turned on. Frustrated. Intrigued. Marissa wants to be a dirty girl. That much is clear. I’m going to make sure she knows what happens to dirty girls who don’t follow orders.
I wave Hudson over and point him behind the bar to take over. Before Marissa can say anything, I’ve pulled her back into the office and locked the door behind me. I grab her jaw, savoring the way she grows still from my actions, her pupils flaring, her mouth open, her breath ragged.
“You want to ignore what I tell you to do?” I say in a low, smooth tone. I squeeze her jaw, and she gasps. “You think I won’t punish you?” I spin her around to face away from me. “Put your fucking hands on the desk.”