My Stepbrother Banned My Fish Fry, So I Made Him Beg novel · Chapter 5 of 24

Chapter 5: The Bar Top

The tavern was dark on Monday night except for the beer signs.

Karl had already locked the front door when I came down the back stairs.

He stood behind the bar with two glasses and a bottle of his father's brandy.

He did not pour either one.

"Rules," he said.

"You first."

"Nothing during service. Not a look, not a hand, not a word. Friday is war."

"Fine." I walked the length of the bar with my fingers trailing on the wood. "Nobody knows."

"Nobody knows."

"And no first names, Hartmann. If you say it, you mean it."

His eyes darkened.

"I won't say it by accident," he said.

I stopped in front of him.

The bar was between us, six feet of polished walnut that his grandfather had bought secondhand in 1958.

It had sixty years of glass rings worn into the top.

I put both hands on it, boosted myself up, and sat on the edge.

"Terms agreed," I said. "Take my shirt off."

He came around the end of the bar.

He took the hem of my shirt in both hands and pulled it over my head, slowly.

He dropped it on a stool.

I wore a plain black bra, and he looked at it for a long moment.

"Look at me," I said.

He looked at my face.

"This isn't the dry store. I want to see you the whole time."

"Good," he said quietly. "So do I."

He reached behind me and unhooked my bra with one hand.

He slid the straps down my arms, and my breasts came free into the cool air.

His breath went out of him.

He cupped them, one in each palm, and his thumbs brushed my nipples until they stood up hard.

Then he bent his head and took one in his mouth.

I gripped the edge of the bar and arched into him.

His tongue circled slowly, and then he sucked.

His other hand rolled my nipple between two fingers until a bright heat shot straight down my body.

"Hartmann," I breathed.

He lifted his head.

His eyes were wild.

"Say it again."

"Hartmann."

He kissed me, hard and deep.

He got his hands under me and lifted me just enough to strip off my pants and underwear.

Then I was naked on the dark wood of his family's bar.

My heels were hooked on the rail, and the cold seeped through my skin.

"God, look at you."

He stepped back and pulled off his own shirt.

He was broad and lean, with a dusting of dark hair across his chest.

A long scar ran low on his ribs, from a keg that had rolled when he was seventeen.

I wanted to put my mouth on it.

I wanted my mouth on every part of him, and I wanted him inside me first.

"Take the rest off," I said.

He unbuckled and shoved down his jeans and his shorts in one motion.

His cock sprang up, thick and dark and wet at the tip.

I took it in my hand and stroked it twice, slowly, base to head.

His hips jerked.

"Not yet," he said, through his teeth. "Let me look at you first."

He knelt on the floor between my knees.

He put a hand on each of my thighs and spread them wide, and he looked at me in the light from the beer sign.

"You're pink," he said. "You're pink and wet and I haven't even touched you."

"Touch me, then."

He ran one finger up the center of me, light, from the bottom to my clit.

I shivered.

He did it again, and then he leaned in and kissed me there, once, softly.

"I love how you taste," he said.

He licked me then, slow and flat, and I fell back on my elbows on the bar.

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