Three weeks later…
“Oh… oh my… fuck!”
The shelf rattles with each thrust, the contents shifting, dangerously close to tumbling down.
I grip the edge tightly, my knuckles white as Samuel’s cock drives into me from behind, his hands holding my hips with a firmness that leaves no room for doubt—he owns me in this moment.
“That feel good, baby?” He takes one hand from my hip, reaching around to squeeze my breast.
“So goddamn good.”
We were supposed to be doing a quick inventory before the shift started. But then we both realized at the same time that there was no one in the storeroom but us, and the walls are very thick.
I grab the sides of the shelves, gripping them for dear life as he drives into me again and again.
“Yes, yes,” I gasp, my head dropping forward as the pleasure builds with each thrust.
His grip tightens, his pace relentless as he leans in, his lips brushing against my ear. “Come for me Erin. Come all over my cock.”
He moves his hand from my breast, his fingers finding my clit with unerring precision. I cry out, my body arching as he works me with an intensity that leaves me breathless.
“Oh my god, Samuel,” I gasp, clutching the shelf harder as my body clenches, the orgasm crashing over me like a tidal wave.
“That’s it. Come for me, baby.”
I do, the pleasure tearing through me in waves. Seconds later, he follows, a low, guttural groan escaping from his throat, his hips jerking as he spills into me. The shelf wobbles again, and I let out a breathy laugh, pressing my forehead against the steel to steady myself.
“You’re gonna owe the storeroom a makeover if that thing breaks,” I say, still catching my breath.
Samuel leans back, his hands running up and down my sides before he turns me to face him. “Let it break,” he mutters, his lips finding mine in a slow, deep kiss that makes me forget what we were even talking about.
“You know,” I whisper, “we should probably get back out there. People are going to start asking questions.”
“I doubt they would question me, but yeah, we probably should.”
As we start to redress, the reality of our situation settles in. I watch him pull his shirt back on, his movements easy and casual, like we didn’t just defile the club’s storeroom. I tug my jeans back into place and re-button my flannel.
“So,” I start, my tone nonchalant, “are we ever going to be open about this? About us?”
He pauses, glancing at me as he adjusts his belt. “You in a hurry to announce it to the world? Is that what you want?”
“Not the world, but maybe not sneaking off to storerooms, either.”
He laughs. “Sure, we can make it common knowledge. That way, instead of sneaking off, we can tell the whole staff you and I will be screwing in the storeroom if anyone needs us.”
I can’t help but laugh. “You know, there’s a happy medium between a secret and TMI.”
He steps closer, his fingers brushing my chin as he tilts my face up to meet his gaze. “I like keeping you to myself,” he says. “But if you want more, we’ll figure it out.”
I nod, not entirely convinced but willing to let it go for now.
The back hallways are dimly lit, the hum of the overhead lights echoing softly as Samuel and I walk side by side. It’s silly, really, how much these moments mean—the stolen glances, the quiet touches, the easy silence between us.
He stops suddenly, turning to face me. “I’ve got to handle some stuff in the office before we open.”
“Okay. I’ll finish getting the front ready.”
He doesn’t let me go right away. Instead, he steps closer, his hand sliding to my waist as he pulls me in for a deep, slow kiss. His cock is hard again, and I press against it through his slacks, moaning just a little bit.
When he pulls back, his smirk is wicked, his hand coming down lightly on my ass in a playful swat. “Get to work,” he says. “And try not to get too distracted.”
“I could say the same to you, boss.”
I flash him a quick grin and a wink over my shoulder as I head to the front. My cheeks are warm, and it’s not just from the kiss.
By the time I reach the front, I’m already thinking about the night ahead. Mark is behind the bar, crouched down fiddling with something under the counter. He glances up as I approach, his expression bewildered.
“Hey, where’s the rum?” He stands back up, wiping his hand on a bar rag as he glances at my empty hands.
I blink. “The rum?”
“Yeah,” he says. “You know, the thing you went to the back to get? Quite a while ago, might I add.”
Shit. Minor detail. “Oh, uh,” I stammer, then force a laugh. “Right, I did, but then I had to, um, meet with Samuel about something. Got a little distracted.”
My face gets hot. God, for someone who’s used to lying constantly about her past, this particular secret sure as hell seems hard to keep.
Mark raises an eyebrow. “In the storeroom?”
“Yeah,” I say quickly, already backing away. “Inventory stuff. Uh, anyway, be right back with the rum!”
I don’t wait for his response, spinning on my heel and heading back to the storeroom before he can ask any more questions.
As I make my way back down the hall, my thoughts drift to what my life has been like lately. The routine Samuel and I have fallen into is something I never thought I’d have or even want. We ride to work together, ride home together, and spend most of our nights tangled up in each other.
The sex is incredible; it’s the other stuff that’s getting to me. The quiet mornings. The way he looks at me when he thinks I’m not paying attention.
It makes me nervous how much I’m getting used to it all.
I step back into the storeroom, the scent of sex still in the air. I close my eyes, letting it wrap around me.
“Okay. Rum, rum. Where is it?” I scan the shelves, spotting the box. Grabbing the rum from the shelf, I return to the bar. I set the box of Kraken down on the counter, still feeling like I’m wearing a neon sign that says, “I just got thoroughly screwed in the storeroom.”
My cheeks are warm, my hair’s probably a little messy, and I’m pretty sure I have the post-bliss glow that no amount of denial is going to hide. I should’ve made a pit stop to the restroom to make sure I don’t look totally obvious. Oh well, too late now.
Mark glances up from where he’s wiping down the counter. “There’s the good stuff.”
He comes over to help me take the bottles out of the box. He flicks his eyes in my direction as he does, as if he’s suspicious of something.
“Something I can help you with, sir?” I ask with a sly smile.
“Nope. Not a thing. Just making a mental note that the next time I ask you to run to the back, there’s a good chance you’ll forget why you went back there.” He smirks, letting me know he’s busting my balls.
“Noted,” I quip, giving him a cheeky grin. Inside, I’m silently praying he doesn’t notice how wrecked I look.
When we’re done with the box, I step around the bar to straighten my shirt, smooth my hair, and grab a fresh rag, diving into the setup like my life depends on it.
Mark and I make small talk as we finish setting up the bar. I miss Ben, but he’s supposed to be back from his trip soon. Thankfully, Mark is really easy to work with, and his funny stories about random customers are entertaining enough to distract me from my Samuel-induced haze.
By the time the first customers trickle in, I’m back in bartender mode, my grin easy and my movements efficient.
The night creeps by like most Wednesdays—slow but steady. It’s never dead, but it’s not the insanity of a weekend either. Mark and I fall into an easy rhythm, swapping jokes and pouring drinks like clockwork.
Around eleven, Samuel strides up to the bar, his dark eyes sweeping over me in a way that makes my stomach flip. He leans on the counter, his presence commanding as ever.
“It’s slow enough that one of you can go home early,” he says.
Mark looks at me, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “Rock, paper, scissors?”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Nah, you go. I don’t mind staying.”
“Really?” he asks, his brow lifting.
“Yeah,” I reply with a grin. “I’ve got it covered. Besides, I could use the extra tips.”
“You’re the best,” he says, grabbing his things and giving a quick wave as he heads for the door. “See you tomorrow!”
Once Mark’s gone, Samuel leans in slightly, his voice low enough so only I can hear. “You good?”
Like always, Samuel has a way of seeing right through me.
“What do you mean?”
“Just that after our staff meeting in the storeroom, you seemed a little preoccupied.”
“It’s nothing.”
“Sure?”
“Yeah. Just looking forward to getting home.”
“Same here,” he says with a grin. “Where we can have a follow-up meeting.”
Just the mention of more fun with him makes my core tighten. I wink, biting back a laugh as he straightens, shaking his head. He gives me one last smoldering look before heading off to make his rounds, leaving me to fend off the flush creeping up my neck.
As I wipe down the bar and start counting the till, my mind wanders, my gaze subtly moving over the rest of the staff.
Do they know? Have they noticed the little glances Samuel and I exchange, the way his voice softens when he talks to me? We’ve been careful—no flirting, no lingering looks when anyone’s around. Well, aside from just now, I guess. People aren’t stupid and we’re not exactly subtle.
Mark hasn’t said anything, but I’ve caught him giving me a few curious looks, like he’s trying to piece something together. If he’s suspicious, he hasn’t voiced it. Not yet anyway.
Once the last customer leaves and the front doors are locked, I haul the cash drawer from the register and head toward the back office. Samuel and James are already there, seated at the desk, glasses of whiskey in hand. They’re laughing about something, the kind of camaraderie that comes from years of shared history.
Samuel looks up when I walk in, his eyes lighting up in a way that makes my heart skip a beat. “You’re just in time,” he says, motioning to the empty chair beside James. “Join us.”
I hesitate for half a second before shrugging and setting the till on the desk. “Why not?” I say, sliding into the chair. “What’s the occasion?”
“Slow night,” James says with a grin, raising his glass in a mock toast. “And apparently, good company.”
I smirk, leaning back in my chair. “Flattery will get you everywhere, James.”
“Don’t I know it.”
Samuel chuckles, taking a sip of his drink. Then he looks at James who responds with a small smirk.
“So,” James says, “you’ve been sticking around late a lot these days, Erin.”
I arch a brow. “Is that your way of saying I work too much? Or are you just getting tired of my face?”
“Just an observation,” he says. “But for the record, I think it’s good. About time Samuel loosened up a little.”
Samuel groans, rolling his eyes. “Don’t start.”
“What?” James says. “It’s true. You’ve been walking around like a broody asshole for years. It’s nice to see you acting like a human being again.”
I bite back a laugh, glancing at Samuel, whose lips twitch with suppressed amusement. “Alright, boys. I think that’s my cue to take the tips and run,” I say, rising from my chair.
“No chance,” James counters, grabbing another glass and pouring a measure of whiskey into it before handing it to me. “Not until we all have a toast. To… let’s see… to broody assholes finding their humanity.”
Samuel shakes his head, muttering something about a fucking prick under his breath, but the warmth in his expression doesn’t go unnoticed. “I suppose I’ll drink to that.”
We tap our glasses and drink. The whiskey burns in that perfect way only whiskey can. I set my glass on the desk. “Well boys, it’s been fun. But I need to finish up.”
Samuel catches my eye as I stand, his gaze lingering just long enough to make my stomach flutter.
I head to the front, doing the last bit of cleanup. After a short time, Samuel and James come out for one more shot, then we finally call it a night. James grabs his coat, giving me a knowing smile before heading out the back door.
“See you two tomorrow,” he says.
As the door clicks shut, Samuel turns to me. “Ready?”
“Ready.” I follow him to his SUV. The air outside is cool, crisp, and I breathe it in, letting it refresh me. “I’m ready to get home.”
Suddenly, the quiet of the night is broken by a strange, awful noise. It’s low, almost like a groan, and it instantly puts me on edge. Samuel stiffens beside me, his arm shooting out to stop me before I can take another step.
“Hel… Help…”
“Someone’s in trouble,” I say.
“Stay here.” His tone is commanding, leaving no room for argument.
He moves forward cautiously, peering around the side of the vehicle. Then, without warning, he rushes forward.
“Samuel!” I call after him, my heart hammering as I follow.
The fear curling in my stomach grows sharper when I see what—or rather who—he’s running toward.
Tiffany.
She’s slumped against the side of the SUV, her body crumpled near the tire. Her face is puffy and bloody, one eye nearly swollen shut, and there’s a faint, wheezing sound every time she tries to draw in a breath. I scramble forward, dropping to my knees beside her.
“Tiffany,” I whisper, reaching out instinctively, but Samuel’s voice stops me.
“Step back,” he says sharply, crouching beside her. “She’s been beaten. Let me get her into the car.”
Tiffany whimpers in pain as Samuel gently lifts her, his movements careful. Her head lolls against his shoulder, and a strangled sound escapes her lips, half-cry, half-gasp.
“Easy,” Samuel says.
I rush over to open the back door as I watch him carry her gently, placing her in the backseat as carefully as possible, but she still cries out in pain. I climb in after her, my hands shaking as I place her head onto my lap. She looks bad. I can’t believe what I’m seeing.
“You’re going to be okay, Tiff,” I say, even though I don’t believe it myself. “We’ve got you.”
Samuel gets behind the wheel. “The hospital is close, we’ll be there in a few minutes.”
Within a minute, we’re speeding through the city streets.
I look at Tiffany as we drive, my heart breaking. This pretty, young girl has been totally broken and battered, blood trickling out of her mouth, her breathing labored.
Her swollen lips part, her voice a broken rasp. “Misha,” she whispers, her good eye fluttering open just enough to look at me.
My chest tightens, dread pooling in my stomach. “What about Misha?”
Her lips tremble as she forces the words out. “He watched them do this. His men.” A small, shuddering breath. “Then they shoved me out of a moving car.”
The world tilts as her words sink in, guilt slamming into me like a fist. My hands tighten around hers.
“Tiffany,” I say, but she’s already slipping away again, her eyes falling shut as she goes limp in my lap.
The rest of the drive is a blur. All I can think about is how my past has spilled into someone else’s life, leaving pain and destruction in its wake.
And I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive myself for it.
