My Protector by Flora Ferrari

Chapter Nine

Becky

Well. That went well.

Not.

I feel terrible for being so cold with Dillon after he’s been nothing but kind. More than kind.

He’s the only person let alone man to even notice me, ever it feels like, and here I am basically brushing him off in the heat of the moment.

It’s not because I don’t want him. Far from it.

But at work? In the forbidden bathroom of all places?

Well, that’s part of it. The rest I can’t even bring myself to even think most days let alone say it out loud to someone as amazing, mature, and experienced as Dillon.

It’s complicated. And despite what Dillon might think it has nothing to do with him or anyone else.

There is no one else, there never has been, case in point. If only we weren’t at work and not just chewed out by the boss, then I could explain things better.

Trembling for all the wrong reasons now as well as not having eaten all day, I make my way back to the bar.

“Still here?” Chimes witch faced Barbie, her smug expression changing to disappointment when it’s clear I haven’t been fired.

“Still here,” I pipe in over her, deliberately cheerful and rolling my sleeves up to get back to work.

Marco rolls his eyes, mumbling something about needing to take a dump anyway before he struts off.

Only Marco could get away with abandoning his post like this, but Dillon appears just as he’s leaving so I can breathe again.

Noticing Dillon completely ignore the Barbie doll waitress makes me feel better still.

I was telling myself they’d be all over him, that he’d probably be taking at least two home, but he seems to bat her away like a fly.

Something that’s a pest and not something he truly wants.

He heads straight for me again, asking me again in a low tone so only we can hear.

“Becky. Tell me what’s wrong. Now,” he pleads.

I feel myself swallow hard, knowing I can’t lie to him but also knowing that now isn’t the time or place.

“Can we talk after work?” I beg him. “I promise I’ll explain everything, just…”

He frowns and takes in a heavy breath before glancing at his watch.

“I can’t stand here for another eight hours wondering this or that,” he says firmly. Not messing around anymore.

I feel awful, my heart feels like it’ll break if he’s gonna be like this for the rest of the shift.

I hear myself tell him something else, something to tide him over.

Something I’m shocked to even hear coming from my own lips.

“If you wait until after we finish work, I’ll sit on your face and you can show me how you drink my come,” I coo into his ear after he lets me pull him down to my level by his collar.

His expression changes and he makes a low sound of pleasant anticipation.

I jump and then gasp when I feel his hand between my legs again, but it’s only for a moment before he brings his fingers to his lips again, showing me he’s well aware of how I taste already.

More than capable of lapping up anything I can serve him.

The next few hours are a blur, with Dillon finally satisfied (a little better anyway) that I can serve our members and still be only his, we make it through the shift.

It’s around five by the time I finish up with the computer and paperwork. Credit card receipts and reconciliation, not to mention cleaning up behind the bar ready to do it all again tomorrow.

Dillon offers to help, but I let him know he really can’t.

I only have to direct my eyes to one of the dozen CCTV cameras to remind him.

“You probably shouldn’t even be here seeing as we’re closed,” I remark, noting the pain flick across his face at my words.

“Because I’m driving you home is why I’m still here,” he tells me, a matter of fact.

I wince at the thought, and then a part of me softens.

The way he just takes control, telling me he’s gonna do this or that, it’s so sweet and I know it’s only so he can be there to watch over me.

To protect me.

But the thought of Dillon seeing my apartment. That’s not something I’m looking forward to.

“Plus,” he drawls slowly, easing back on a barstool and making a smacking sound with his lips.

“You owe me a drink, remember?” he says, letting his voice become deeper and more commanding again.

Not asking me, but reminding me I have an appointment with his handsome face.

The thought makes me quiver and I almost drop the glass I’m holding.

“What happened to your hand?” I ask him, moving closer, knowing he must’ve cut his hand up when he crushed that heavy glass earlier.

But there’s no sign of injury, and I know from my little experience with him that although his hands are huge, they certainly aren’t rough.

They’re warm and smooth. Everything a girl wants, with their own built-in guidance system that puts them in all the right places every time.

“You still here?” Marco groans, moving through to finish his own closing up.

We always come in and go out through the main entrance of the bar. Something else I never told Dillon, but he seems less interested in this place by the minute.

“I’m waiting to take Becky home,” Dillon growls, standing up and moving towards Marco.

“Okay, okay. Keep your shirt on big guy,” he says jovially, holding both his palms up flat in mock surrender.

It’s late. Or early really, around five a.m. and it’s not the time for anyone to be testing anyone else about anything.

At least that’s how I see it.

“Anything for me?” I ask Marco, who produces a paper sack from behind his back making me feel a little better.

“What’s in the bag?” Dillon asks, but the grease stains and smell of ten-hour old food reach his nostrils making him frown.

I take the bag and Marco sees us both out, heaving the heavy bar and bolt across the steel door once we’re outside.

Dillon snatches the paper sack from my hands, and opening it he stuffs his nose in for a split second before tossing it into the first trash can he sees.

“Hey!” I call him out, really annoyed. “That was my—”

But I can’t say it.

Even though he can probably guess it’s the only food I could’ve had all day, I can’t bring myself to admit it, not even to myself.

“And how fucking long has that been going on?” he asks, looking madder than I’ve ever seen him so far.

I feel my lower lip tremble, and even though I’m just tired and hungry, it hurts more knowing he’s found out more about me and my crappy life.

I can’t even afford to eat let alone pay my rent on time.

“How long?” he demands again, stopping me mid-step and taking me gently by the shoulders, lifting my chin so I’m looking up at him.

“Since I started here… about three months,” I start to blub. The tears come but Dillon ignores them. He’s disappointed and not with me.

“I should’ve known…” he growls to himself, only taking a few steps away from me so he can kick at the ground and swing a fist into the empty air.

“Dillon, you’re scaring me,” I tell him, really crying now.

He grabs hold of me, pulling me so tight against him I feel my chest crushing into his ripped, hard body.

“I’m never ever gonna see you go hungry or worry about anything ever again. You hear me?” he growls, but even his voice cracks slightly.

The most emotion apart from lust and rage he’s shown since I met him.

“Do you hear me?” he repeats again, waiting until I look him in eye and agree.

“That’s better. Now stop crying. No woman of mine cries over something like this. We’ll go get something to eat and then I’m taking you home,” he informs me.

“To… to my place?” I ask, worried all over again, but he shakes his head impatiently.

“No not to your place. You’re finished there. You’re mine now, Becky. How many ways do I have to say it?”

“Mine,” he growls again, looking into my eyes with such intensity I feel every tear and fearful emotion evaporate.

Dillon isn’t just my rock, he’s a freakin’ mountain, and right now I want him more than anything.

“Now, what else was there?” he asks briskly, casually taking me by the elbow and pointing me in the direction we need to go. “My truck’s parked down here,” he says.

“What else?” I ask, sounding stupid instead of just naive and innocent.

He tsks to himself, sounding short of patience.

“The other thing you had to tell me?” he almost barks. “The reason you wouldn’t let me eat your sweet cunt, my cunt, in the bathroom back there?” he says sounding like it’s happened just now instead of eight hours ago.

Oh. That.

I go quiet, but he doesn’t press it any further.

His huge hand travels from my elbow to softly grip my hand in his.

Dillon’s only other real tender display of affection so far, but enough for me to know he’s not really angry with me. Just impatient.

Just a man who knows what he wants and is tired of waiting so long to get it.

“Is that your truck?” I ask, not meaning to change the topic but noting his grunt as I do.

He shoots me a look as he lifts me up like I weigh nothing. Settling me in the passenger side on the huge bench seat.

Big man, bigger truck. That’s how it works, I guess.

It’s big and black with tinted windows and huge wheels.

There’s a gold logo on the side, making it look a little like a police truck, but it’s something else.

“...security,” I read before I’m whooshed into my seat.

He shuts the door in silence, and letting himself in his side I ask him what the logo is.

He puffs some air out of his cheeks, taking the time to gather his thoughts. Both of us so wound up for each other but also feeling the draining effect of a ten-hour shift.

“I guess I haven’t told you everything about me either,” he smiles, giving a single dry laugh.

“I own or rather owned a big security company. This truck and the house is all I’ve managed to keep hold of, and even that could change any day now,” he says looking past me, out into the night.

It starts to rain, but I can’t hear it inside the truck.

“What happened?” I ask, more than curious now. A lot like Dillon, I need to know everything now. Half-stories or little cryptic comments just won’t wash anymore.

I totally get that and decide to tell him everything.

But I want him to go first.

“You go first,” he says, cocking a brow. An impish grin spreading across his lips.

The first real smile I’ve seen from him, and it makes me smile too.

Even though I’ve been dreading telling him, telling anyone.

There’s no real way I can keep something like this from him, is there?