My Protector by Flora Ferrari

Chapter Five

Becky

Dillon fills more than the doorway, and I already know he’s gonna be the focus of attention all night, which is good in one way and bad in another.

Good for me, because I’ll have the best view in the house, with the bar facing the door he’s minding.

Bad? Because every other girl who works here stands a way better chance than me of keeping his attention, let alone catching it.

The sight of him earlier than I expected makes me nervous, fidgety, and clumsier than usual.

I watch my hands tremble as I log on to the computers and fire up the credit card reader. Wondering how I’m gonna stay focused for the whole shift if I’m losing it already.

Then there’s the whole, where am I gonna live in two days’ time thing too.

Ugh. I hate it, but Dillon here seems to cancel everything out when I see his lips curling in a smile.

His eagerness to get started and his whole body tight with anticipation is so thrilling to watch, I almost forget I have any problems of my own at all when he’s in my sights.

Showing him around doesn’t take long, with the bar area and front lounge the only places we’re supposed to be at all times.

I don’t mention the back room, the one through the unmarked door in the other lounge and Dillon surprises me by not asking the obvious.

“What about that door though?” he does ask, jutting his chin to the wooden door behind the bar.

“Oh, that’s just the cellar. Drinks and stuff. Plus a bathroom, if you could call it that.” I offer, figuring that he might as well know now upfront about the bathroom situation.

“We’re not allowed to use the guest’s bathrooms,” I tell him, blushing as I look down.

He scans the place again and looks unsatisfied.

“Where do you go when you need to...” he starts to ask, making me feel terrible because I have to tell him, but also because he’s making me want to hide by talking about it.

“The one downstairs, but don’t tell Mr. Sawyer. He’d freak,” I plead, wanting to reach out and clutch at him but pulling my hand back before I get halfway there.

Dillon looks pissed. And not because I reached for him.

“I’ll have to have a talk with Mr. Sawyer,” he growls low, making me gnaw at my lower lip again.

“Please don’t,” I beg him, letting my hand shoot out again, touching his large forearm, which feels more like an athlete’s whole leg under my grip.

“You can’t work so long without a proper bathroom break in a proper bathroom,” he tells me. Tells himself.

But I get the feeling Dillon isn’t gonna like a lot of what he’ll see on his first shift.

I shake my head, laughing like an idiot. “It’s no big deal, really,” I stammer, feeling my legs press harder together.

Damn, I really do need to go now. Or is it just the other feeling I get when Dillon’s around?

Nope. I definitely gotta tinkle.

Dammit.

“Look,” I tell him, moving as close as I dare and lowering my voice. “I’ll show you where it is, but I need to go use it first, okay? All this talk of—”

But I stop mid-sentence.

Something I said has him looking like the happiest man alive.

“I’ll watch the door,” he rasps, and I hear his neck pop as he flexes it, adjusting his thin black tie at the top of his collar.

“Just tell Sawyer or anyone else I’m getting some more booze if he happens by, alright?” I ask, practically gasping now as the pressure between my legs feels like I’m about to burst.

He growls low as he nods, his smile broadening as I turn down the stairs to the basement.

I can feel his eyes on me, boring into me from behind.

With each step I feel a whimper in my throat, realizing it’s not the bathroom I need to use.

Not something I need to let out of my body, rather it’s something. Someone I’m craving to have inside me.

My whole body’s trembling by the time I get to the bottom of the stairs. The light dim in the basement, stacked with boxes of alcohol and kegs of beer.

The grimy curtain and sagging rod jutting out from the wall which is the ‘door’ to the only bathroom I can use.

Hell, there’s not even a sink to wash my hands, I have to use the tiny one by the dishwasher behind the bar whenever I have to.

I can’t just stand here though, the thrill in my chest is unbearable, knowing that Dillon is keeping watch so I can go. But there’s a bigger thrill, deeper inside me.

I’ve never felt this way at work, or anywhere. Not ever.

I rip the curtain back, almost pulling it off its rings, not even bothering to close it fully behind me.

Biting my lip again, I hitch my knee length skirt up and tug my black tights down, spreading my legs wide as I sit myself down on the toilet.

My whole hand covering my drenched pussy, stifling the primal groan that swells inside me.

The coolness of the basement air gives no relief though. It only proves just how wet I am, how much I need real relief.

Real instruction from the one man I know can give it.

My body shudders, and before I know it, I’m grinding my clit hard while trying to keep quiet.

The whole time thinking about Dillon just feet away.

The creak on the stair, his huge shadow looming over the sheet of dim light through the curtain barely registers.

Part of me just needs to come, right now. Another part of me knows he’s there and it’s the one thing that’s making me so fucking horny I feel like I’ll scream if he doesn’t come to finish me off himself.

The memory of his thick bulge brushing against my arm, the most recent sight of him in his tight pants and work shirt. His muscular frame underneath his shirt flexing in time with every little movement.

“Uh… Oooh… Mmm…”

I feel my badly needed climax rushing like a foaming river. A pulse of heat straight to my clit as my fingers work overtime as I’m sure I’m whimpering aloud by now. Begging him in my mind to make me come.

When I suddenly stop.

My heart freezing in my chest.

There’s a low, drawn out, and very pleased sounding growl from the other side of the curtain which takes my breath shiver. My fingers are wet and still half inside me as I feel my urgency subside.

Replaced with the adrenalin racing through me, the thought in my mind that this is actually happening.

I’m in the basement bathroom at work, fingering myself, and the hottest man alive is listening.

Watching over me while I do it.

I want to finish. I need to.

I want him to finish me off, with his hands, his mouth. With that huge bulge of his I know he has in those pants.

But something makes me stop.

The old, self-conscious me that gets embarrassed when she sees herself naked let alone does anything like this.

Panting, trembling, I stand shakily and begin to pull up my tights.

A little gasp escapes me as the fabric of my panties brushes my swollen nub, begging me to finish what I’ve started.

What he’s started.

“You haven’t finished,” Dillon says firmly. Almost annoyed, which makes me jump even though I know he’s been there the whole time.

I try to swallow, but my mouth is so dry, managing to pull my tights up and my skirt down, I finally clear my throat.

“All done,” I try for chipper. Making out like I really did just need to pee but he’s not buying it.

The curtain swishes back, and I let out a cry of disbelief.

Dillon is standing inches from me, his length at full attention, twitching with a thick line of clear liquid dripping from it.

One of his hands is gripping his shaft, squeezing himself so hard it almost looks like he’s in pain.

His other big hand shoots out and grabs mine.

He drags me closer to him with it, lifting my fingers to his face, to his nose.

A deep groan fills the space between us, his lip and nose quivering as he draws in my scent.

Inhaling deeply myself I shiver and gasp loudly. My thighs pressing together now, aching for relief as he smells me, feeling my panties fill with my own cream when he slips both my fingertips into the heat of his mouth.

The smooth warmth of his tongue on my fingers as he tastes me is too much.

“Oooohhh, Dillon. I need to… I’m gonna…” I whimper again, my knees giving out as I struggle to even stand.

“You’ll come when I tell you to. And you’ll have this make it happen,” he tells me firmly, freeing his hand from his cock to grab mine, which needs no encouragement.

I struggle to fit half of my hand around his huge, swollen head, gasping aloud at the size, the heat, and smoothness of it.

It’s perfect.

I want to fall to my knees, while I finger myself, and taste his warm dick until he squirts all over me.

But he has something else in mind, I can tell.

Leaving my hand to grip him as best I can, he pushes my pussy soaked fingers from his mouth to mine.

“This is what you taste like… for now,” he says in a commanding tone.

“Your sweet little cunt belongs to me now, Becky. I’ve tasted it, heard you playing with it. But it’s mine. Understand?” he rasps in a smoky voice.

I feel my jaw drop but there’s no use pretending anymore.

“I know what you need, Becky. I felt it as much as you did when we first met. You need this, don’t you?” he asks me gruffly, forcing my hand to his swollen member.

“You want this.” He reminds me, making me grip him harder than I’d ever dare.

“You won’t break it.” He grins, growling low again. Asking if I agree with him or not.

“Well? Do you want my cock inside you or not?”

My head stabs a nod, easily agreeing with every word he says.

Bringing up his hand, his precome-soaked hand, he makes me taste that too.

“This is what you’ll taste like when I’m done.” He groans, watching me greedily taste both of us with my tongue sliding over his thick digits.

He sucks some air through his teeth, clenching his jaw as I watch his cock start to twitch and jerk on its own.

Another thick line of his juices escaping, which he lets me hurry to catch in my palm, eager to bring to my lips to taste more of him.

The man grinds his jaw in a supreme effort not to waste a drop of what I know he has for me.

For me.

Holy cannoli.

A man, a real man. The most amazing man alive actually wants me.

If I had any doubts, even if I thought he was only after one thing, his mouth suddenly hard over mine tells a different story.

It’s a firm, powerful kiss. But it’s also tender, filled with more than any of his gruff talk or slightly rough handling.

There’s a softer side to Dillon, I can feel it in his kiss.

But as quickly as it starts, he’s done. His intense dark eyes cautioning me to focus on them, warning me in advance that this is no game.

Dillon’s playing for keeps.