I’m stretched and full. Dutch pounds faster, faster. I’ve never felt more alive.
“You want more of me inside you? I’m never pulling out when it comes to you, baby. I’m going to fill you again and again until I take root.”
“Fuck, Dutch.” I clench my inner muscles. Parts of my body that I’ve never felt tighten are now taut and ready to break. “Please, yes, cum in me again. Inside me, I want to feel it again.”
He digs his big hands into my ass. Greedy and aggressive. “You like being my little fuck toy, don’t you? Dirty with me. Dripping. Reminded who you belong to.”
“God, yes.”
“Milk me then. Show me you deserve this cock.”
I scream out his name, the effort of the word making my throat hoarse and raw. He holds me steady as he thrusts in and out, like I’m an object that exists only for his pleasure. I love every curse word and filthy phrase, every slap of flesh on flesh, every moan.
My orgasm builds, builds, as I start to lose myself in the furious sprint toward my bliss.
“‘Milk me,’ I said.” He growls, landing a slap on my ass. Then another. The sting lights up some wonderful darkness inside of me. “Show me how much that little cum tease of yours wants what I’ve got.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, drawing my muscles tight, pulsing in time with the roars of his pleasure.
“Shit, baby, I’m so close. I can’t stop…”
My body ignites. “I’m coming, Dutch, I’m coming, please don’t stop!” I scream.
Heat engulfs me from head to toe as I feel his cock jerk inside me, hot seed releasing deep as I pant and cry out, shoving my body back as he holds himself against my cervix, pulsing and twitching as the orgasm flows through me.
He lets out this cocky masculine growl. “Squeeze, baby. Yessss…milk every drop.”
I imagine drawing his seed into me, milking him, milking him. Creamy cum painted all over my inner walls.
I’m so lost in it that I barely register the knock on the door as we ride out the waves of our climax.
But there it is again, harder now, interfering with this bliss. I suck in a harsh breath as I hear a click and Dutch pulls away, leaving my body in a gush of hot wetness. His hand darts out to push the door back, keeping it from opening, when an angry voice comes through.
“Hey, you two! There’s a fucking camera in there.”
Oh shit.
“You owe me for those fucking towels! And unless you want me to call the cops, get up, get dressed, clean that shit up and get the fuck out of there. Now.”
CHAPTER 9
Dutch
I’m still growling as I shove all the towels except the two with her virgin blood into a black trash bag. Daphne is huddled in the corner where the camera can’t see her. She looks horrified and vulnerable.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
After the pounding on the door, I looked around and saw the black camera mounted in the corner above the top shelf, aimed down. Someone was getting a full view of the moment I took Daphne’s cherry.
Rage boils through me at the thought that anyone has even seen what belongs to me, let alone watching a moment meant to belong to us alone.
“Come on, baby,” I manage, gritting my teeth, leaving the trash bag behind. I shove the two towels stained with her virginity down inside my shirt.
“What the hell are you doing with those?” she asks.
My little sassy doll gives me a snarky look but I’m not playing. I grab her hand. “No one is getting those but me.”
Back out in the main floor of the bar, I see an older guy glaring at us. Dead ringer for whoever was banging on the door. I head his way, pulling Daphne close behind.
As I approach, he leans on locked arms behind the bar. “You clean that shit up?”
“Yeah,” I bark back. “Now, you tell me something. You record what happened in there?”
“Yeah.” He gives me a hard stare. “My place. My security. My cameras. My evidence.”
This motherfucker has no idea who he’s dealing with. But he’s about to find out.
I turn to Daphne. “Go wait at the table, baby. I’ll be right there…” I give her a kiss on the top of her head as she starts to protest, then I see James coming up from behind, looking tense.
“Where you two been? There was some sort of a fight, some massive biker dude with a beer belly the size of Arizona spilled his drink down this girl’s dress. I couldn’t see properly but I was worried you two were caught up in it all. I’ve been looking all over…”
“Nowhere,” Daphne interjects, turning away to hide her soaked dress. Her cheeks flush as she looks to me for support, and I get it. Talking to her brother about losing her cherry in the back room of a bar is not on her list of sibling bonding moments.
I point toward the table where our coats still hang on the backs of our chairs. “Just go sit, both of you. I gotta take care of something.”
“Nothing to take care of,” says the owner, watching the two of them head for our table. “Time for you to go.”
“Not yet,” I reply, and make a beeline for the door back down the hallway that says STAFF ONLY.
“Hey! You can’t go back there!”
I hear him, but I don’t give a fuck. He saw what was happening, and I know how guys work. There’s probably a huddle around the footage right now, and the idea of a bunch of horny assholes getting off watching the moment I took Daphne as mine has me ready to hand out concussions and remove eyeballs.
In ten steps, I’m in front of the door and I hear the hoots and laughter.
I jiggle the knob, but it’s locked. This fucking place and its locked fucking doors. But it doesn’t matter. I tighten my fists, take a step back, and then burst through the lock with my foot flat on the door.
I was right about the fucking huddle. In front of me, three guys and two girls, most of them wearing Van Dyke Racers t-shirts, spin around, eyes wide.
“Dutch?” One of the bigger guys says my name, recognition in his eyes. “Guess you’re out.”
Behind him on the screen is the video of the two of us. That sacred fucking moment, right out there in the open like some bullshit free fucking porn.
And it makes me lose my goddamned mind. I start to growl as I look at him. Like a fucking rabid Doberman. I know him, for sure. Fucking Tito, one of the guys from my old group of what I thought were friends. But he’s not in a work shirt.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I growl.
Before he can answer, the owner catches up and barges in beside me.
“Get the fuck out!” he yells. “Get the fuck out of my bar, asshole.”
“Fuck this.” I storm forward, the low-pixel footage is poor quality but it’s clear enough. There’s Daphne, with me behind her pounding away. I spin around, grabbing the first guy I see and throwing him toward the door, then pointing at the owner. I’ve got him by the throat and all I’ve got to do is squeeze. “You give me this tape right fucking now or I’m wrecking this room, then burning this place to the ground.”
“Fuck off, man. You’re the one tapping some piece of ass in the closet at my fucking bar! You get the fuck out before I call the cops.”