The Bar

36. Bruised

When Cavenaugh showed up at the bar, Flint's memory was refreshed.

The bar had been booked for the day by Callum Cavenaugh for the fight of the century. All day fights would be shown on TV until the last epic boxing match of the night. Of course Cavenaugh had booked Flint's bar specifically to annoy him.

The projector was shining on the back wall on the second platform of tables. The tables now gone and instead more comfortable chairs were set up. The first fight of the day hadn't started yet but Cavenaugh's men seemed very ancy, wanting violence.

"Once the fight starts they'll calm down," Cavenaugh says with a shurg.
"Besides, it's not like they'll scream and start a fight on their own," he laughs.

"Just make sure they don't break anything or do anything stupid," Flint warns.

Callum nods. Lifting his beer to his lips, taking a nice swig before continuing.

"No Clara?" He wonders.

"She's in the back. I forgot you reserved the bar since Najeem takes care of reservations. If I had remembered, she would be far away from here."

"You act as if I want to hurt her. Jesus! Am I not allowed to be excited that my friend has finally met the girl of his dreams?"

"It's not you, it's the people you surround yourself with."

"My men know your rules. Their men of honor. If anyone of them touched Clara their hand would be cut off," Cavenaugh explains before taking another gulp of beer. "Let her earn some tips. The men won't touch her, I'll make sure of it."

Flint shakes his head.

"No way. They'll see her and swarm her like sharks to a bleeding corpse."

"Morbid aren't we?"

"Realistic. I'm protecting my woman, is that so hard to understand?"

"Sometimes things happen that we cannot prevent. I wish... nevermind," Cavenaugh trails off shaking his head
He gulps down the rest of the beer.

"I'm gonna get something stronger," Cavenaugh mumbles before stalking towards the bar.

Flint moves around the bar for several minutes, trying to grasp what he should do. Let her serve these dangerous men? Let her go home, only to have her be pissed off at him at the end of the night?

He took the latter, but only because he knew that he could easily beat any of these men to a pulp if they so much as winked at her. He was sure that she'd be safe, Cavenaugh's men knew the rules and Cavenaugh said his men wouldn't do anything. Sure Cavenaugh was as sneaky as the devil, slithering like a snake, but he was loyal to Flint. With these thoughts in mind Flint walked back to his office.

Swinging open the door he heard Clara loudly warn him not to enter. He smirked and did so anyway. She barely had her jeans up her legs when be entered. Her ass was on display due to the brazillian underwear she wore. He shut the door behind him, his eyes never leaving her rear even after the jeans slipped over it.
As she buttoned her jeans, her eyes shifted worriedly towards him. Relief overcome her, a sigh withdrawing from her plump pink lips.

"I thought someone was with you," she says chuckling slightly.

"You act as if I'd allow someone to see you," he says laughing slightly.

She turned around, bending over to look under the desk in search of her shirt. Her breasts, even though covered with a bra, was still on display for him. His mouth watered as he watched her search for her shirt. Switching his gaze from her chest to her rear when she bent over.

"You are way to distracting," Flint says trying to avert his eyes before he was caught with a raging hard on.

Too late.

Clara was putting on her shirt when she noticed Flint's struggle. A sly smirk came across her face, shaking her head in disbelief.

"I swear, you're unsatiable," she says laughing.

"It's not my fault. You're the one who waited until the last minute to get dressed. What were you doing in here for a half hour?"

"Resting. You tired me out," she says nearly whining.

His lips curve to simper, thinking of the previous hour. His thoughta were soon interupted by Clara's hesitant, slightly afraid voice.

"My... my thighs hurt... I think it would be best if we waited a while before we have anymore fun."

"Was I too hard?" He asks worriedly.

He walks to her but she turns from him. Avoiding his gaze, she searches for her shoes.

"Clara," he warns.

She shakes her head trying to reassure him. Slipping on her heeled boots one at a time, she thinks it over, telling him the truth. 

After Flint had left to find out who had entered his bar, a mere 30 minutes ago, Clara had lounged in his desk chair, pain running through her thighs. She thought maybe it was just the soreness from their affairs earlier that day or the previous night but she was not expecting bruises on her inner thighs, on the back of her legs. She feared the worst, Flint subjecting himself to abstinence yet again, a punishment of hurting her. She feared he would end things, that he would deem himself too vile for her. 

Upon further inspection of her body, she fount more bruises. Bruises on the back of her neck from when he took her form behind. Bruises on her hips. Bruises even around her rear. She did her best to hide them, pulling her hair down to cover the back of her neck. She wasn't in pain, she wouldn't have even noticed them had she not been looking. She knew what it may seem like, as if Flint abused her, but that wasn't the case. Accidents happened, and to be honest she enjoyed his rough play in the bedroom (and in his office) but to others there would be doubt. 

"I'm just sore, that's all. Don't worry," She says stalking towards him. Her hips purposefully sways seductively, a grin on her lips, a twinkle in her eye. She ran her hands up his arms, over his shoulders and down the front of his rock hard chest. She gripped his shirt, pulling him closer to her. Even with heels she had to push herself on her toes to kiss him. 

Theirs lips intertwined, lovingly, soft then harsh and punishing. She wanted this kiss to sedate his (exposed) lust. Although his hands only gripped her arms, her's ran through his hair, pulling and pushing. She moaned into the kiss, dying for some sort of release. She felt Flint's hands begin to wonder and that is when she knew she had to stop. Slowly she released his lips from her own, pulling away reluctantly. 

"Just a little more," he pleads. 

Clara shakes her head, grinning yet again. The seductress within her had a plan. 

"Nope, not until after my shift," She says shaking her head. 

A growl was sent through Flint's throat, almost angry to wait. 

Clara turned away from her man, swaying her hips again as she walked to the door. She felt his eyes on her with every step. Slowly she made her way to the door, opening it, ready to start her shift. Before leaving, she turns to him, smiling, she tilts her head teasingly. 

"I gotta keep you on your toes, keep you wanting more, don't I?" 

Flint can't help but smile at her attempt to seduce him, but the carnal lust within him was killing him.

A/N: 

Sorry for the slow updates, I plan on writing a ton during Thanksgiving and during my workouts. I have officially settled on an ending and have it planned out in my head, I just need to write. 

Thanks for reading! 

Comment on what you think will happen if Flint finds out about the bruises? Do you guys have any ideas on how book 1 will end?

Don't forget to vote, follow, and comment. 

Lots of love 

- Annelie Leddy