The Bar

35. His Girl

Clara was stuck with the day shifts again. She knew her dad would be at work and wouldn't try to come by the bar in the afternoon. Flint was wary about letting her come back but he knew that keeping her in his home might as well be kidnapping. So, with his hands balled into fists, he watched his girl wipe down the tables, getting his bar ready to open.

"Im surprised you let her come back, especially today," Najeem says as he cleans a few glasses. His dish rag gave them a shine, perfectly displaying Najeems OCD.

"What do you mean?" Flint asks absent mindedly watching Clara as she bends to reach the other end of a table. Her jeans hug her perfectly fit rear so tightly that Flint clenches his jaw.

"That explains it... you forgot," Najeem says with a swift eyeroll. He normally showed only respect for his friend but when they weren't in front of other employees, Najeem would tease his friend like they were in grade school. With a smirk on his face, Najeem couldn't help but enjoy the idea of his friend having a mental breakdown due to his carelessness.

"What are you talking about?" Flint asks again absent from the conversation.

Najeem couldn't help but chuckle. He decided to wait. Focusing on cleaning the front of the bar, making sure the bottles of hard liqeuer were full and that the POS was running smoothly.

After several minutes of keeping himself busy, chuckling to himself, Najeem decided that since the clock was ticking towards 1, he might as well tell Flint the truth. Najeem made his way to the backroom, approaching the back office door only he halted at an odd sound.

Moaning.

Of course, the scottish man couldn't keep his hands off of his girl for more than a few minutes.

Najeem quickly turned away, not wanting to interupt and thus signing his death certificate in the process.

_______________________________________

Clara was leaning over Flint's desk. His hand fisting her hair as his hips thrusted back and forth.

He was balls deep in his girl. Hearing her moan continuously as she gripped the desk for support. He felt satisfied just by the way her tight core coated his shaft. The way she tried desperately not to scream. Her trembling body was a sign that she was close to the peak of her orgasm.

His thrusts were relentless, punishing almost but he was careful not to hurt her. He felt his own release rising within him, the spine tingling sensation of pure ecstasy. Crying out, Clara reached her peak, feeling her chest tighten and her legs grow weak.

Only the sounds of panting was left for several moments.

"Fuck," Flint let out a breathless whisper as he leaned over her. His hands carefully caressed her back, down the ridges of her scars. He leaned further to kiss her neck, then her shoulder blades. Her body limp on his desk, barely able to lean up.

"You okay, baby?" He asks softly.

"Yea... you tire me out sometimes," she says almost laughing.

"Let me..." he trails off, he focuses on not hurting her as he pulls out. Her core was so tight that he worried about giving her pain. Once he could take a step back from her, he grabbed a few tissues from the box near his desk lamp. After cleaning himself up, he began to do the same for her. His hands caressing her thighs, they were so soft and thick. His grip grew tight on the back of her thighs, prying her legs apary a little more.

"Fuck, I can never get enough of you," he groans.

Slowly he begins to glide his finger up her lower lips. The slickness, the soft and warmth of her core. The feeling made him want nothing more than to plunge himself deep within her again.

"Do you feel any pain?" He asks, tossing his dirty thoughts aside.

"N-no," she stammers almost moaning.

"Your heart doesn't hurt?" He double checks. His fingers slowly withdraw from her core. Her juices still coated his first two fingers.

"No," she sighs, wanting to feel him fill her again.

She hears him suck on his fingers, tasting her longingly.

"I could fuck you all day, baby, but I'm pretty sure we'd break the desk," Flint says almost intrigued, the challenge. He leans down and grabs her underwear, which had been dangling on one foot. He lifts her leg to fix the garmet and then pulls it up to cover her exposed body.

"I don't think I can stand just yet," Clara says suddenly, almost laughing.

Flint sits on his desk chair, rolling the chair until he is behind her again. He grabs her hips and carefully places her on his lap.

Clara leans back, breathless still. Her heart beating rapidly. She is quiet for a minute, taking in deep breaths so that the pain in her chest subsides.

"You're lying," Flint says nuzzling against her neck.

"It doesn't hurt. Not anymore..."

He clenches his teeth, grinding the dentin together. He tries to relax, inhaling her sweet orange scent.

"Maybe I should fire you. Lock you up in my office so that I can use you all day then take you home at night. No one will be able to hurt you or take you from me," Flint thinks aloud.

"That is kidnapping. I like the idea of you tying me up though," Clara giggles.

Her laugh makes his heart thump faster.

"I do have to go to school in two weeks though," Clara reminds him.

He groans. The idea of her being out of his reach. The idea that the church could send someone to take her away while she was at school. Again, the though of locking her away resurfaces.

"What do you need for school?" Flint asks changing the subject.

"I have money for that. I was going to go shopping with a friend of mine thia weekend, if thats okay?"

"I prefer you not go alone but... yes thats fine," Flint says reluctantly.

"Ill text you every second I'm shopping. Ill even send you pictures of the clothes I buy," Clara's voice turns sedictive. "My friend, Josie, she said that since I have a boyfriend now, that I should shop at some store called Veronica's something. I'm not sure whats in that store but she made it sound interesting."

"You mean Victoria's Secret?" Flint chuckles.

"Yea! Thats it."

Flint can't help but laugh. The roaring of his voice makes Clara shift in his lap uncomfortably.

"Its a lingerie store, sweetheart," Flint explains.

Clara shapes her lips to an O and nods embarassingly.

"Black lace," Flint suggests, he grins at the idea of coming home to her in black lace, spreadeagle in his bed, vut his grin soon disapeared as soon as he heard large group of people enter the bar.