1-ETHAN

Ethan woke to a storm inside his chest. The sheets were twisted around his legs like restraints he hadn't asked for, and the rage hit him before his eyes even focused on the ceiling.

Dirty Angels, his bar. His blood, sweat, and late-night deals poured into every scarred beam and sticky floorboard had been ripped out from under him. At the will reading two days ago, the lawyer's voice had been flat, clinical: Lila's share, the half that should have defaulted to him, her husband of eight years, had gone instead to her younger cunt of a sister. Marisol. The name alone tasted like dirt. Marisol, with her sharp tongue and sharper eyes, who had always looked at him like he was dirt under her manicured nails. Now he was supposed to share ownership with her. Share decisions. Share the keys. Share the fucking air in the back office. His cock throbbed in furious agreement, thick and insistent against his thigh, as if the rest of his body had decided fury deserved a physical outlet.

He kicked the covers off and stalked to the bathroom, the marble cold under his feet. The shower came on scalding. Steam rose like smoke signals. He braced one tattooed forearm against the tile, wrapped his fist around his shaft, and let the anger pour out through his strokes. His mind slid, unbidden, unwanted, to the new barmaid he'd hired last week.

Remy. Twenty-three, maybe twenty-four. Sexy little thing with tits that strained every low-cut top she wore, red hair that spilled over her shoulders like spilled ink. He pictured bending her over the stockroom crates, her skirt hiked, panties yanked aside, that tight cunt swallowing him inch by inch while she gasped his name. How many nights before she stopped pretending she didn't want it rough? How long before she begged? The fantasy snapped taut. Hot ropes of cum painted the shower wall. He exhaled hard, the release doing nothing to dull the edge. He stepped out, dripping, towel slung low on his hips, and froze.

Two of the house maids stood in the bedroom doorway, feather dusters forgotten in their hands. Sofia and Camila. Both in their early twenties, both Latina, both poured into the short black-and-white uniforms he'd chosen himself, skirts barely grazing mid-thigh, blouses unbuttoned one too many for plausible deniability. Their eyes widened as they took him in: the broad chest inked with twisting vines and skulls, the ridges of muscle still glistening, the heavy length of him outlined beneath the damp towel. They looked like prey that had just realized the hunter was already inside the cage.

Ethan's mouth curved, slow and deliberate. The rage hadn't left; it had simply found a new shape. "Buenos días," he said, voice low, almost gentle. They exchanged a glance, quick, electric.

Sofia bit her lip. Camila's cheeks flushed darker. He crossed the room in three strides, close enough to smell their perfume mixed with lemon polish. He reached out, brushed the backs of his knuckles along Sofia's jaw. She shivered. "Dos," he murmured. "Perfecto." Another look between them. A tiny nod. Yes.

He let the towel drop. His cock sprang free, already thickening again, veins prominent, the head flushed dark. Their gazes dropped to it like moths to flame. He cupped Sofia's breast through the thin fabric, thumb circling the hardening nipple. She gasped. He tugged Camila closer by the waist, kissed her hard, open-mouthed, claiming. While his other hand slid up the back of Sofia's thigh, under the skirt, under the lace. His fingers found slick heat immediately. Soaked. Ready. A growl rumbled in his throat.

Camila sank to her knees first, lips parting around him without hesitation. Hot, wet suction. Her tongue swirled the underside while Sofia arched into his touch, whimpering as he plunged two fingers deep, curling them against that sensitive spot that made her knees buckle. They moved like they'd rehearsed it. Hands and mouths everywhere. They pushed him backward until his calves hit the mattress. He let them. Let them peel off their uniforms, blouses fluttering to the floor, skirts pooling, bras and panties discarded in a careless heap. Naked, they were breathtaking: full curves, smooth bronze skin, dark nipples tight with want.

They kissed each other first. Slow, filthy tongues sliding, while they watched him stroke himself lazily. "Yummy," Camila whispered, voice husky. Sofia laughed, breathy, and climbed onto the bed. She straddled him, positioned herself, then sank down in one long, greedy slide. Tight. So fucking tight. Ethan groaned, hands clamping her hips as she started to ride, hard, rolling, tits bouncing with every downward thrust. Camila swung a leg over his head, lowering her bare pussy onto his mouth. He gripped her thighs, opened her with his tongue, lashing deep. She tasted like salt and sweetness and desperation. She ground against his face while Sofia fucked him senseless. Heaven. Pure, depraved heaven. He needed more control. With a snarl, he flipped them both onto their backs, side by side. One hand collared Sofia's throat, not choking, just holding, while the other cracked across Camila's ass, leaving a blooming red handprint. They moaned in unison, arching. He ate them in turns, tongue plunging into one dripping cunt, then the other, while their fingers tangled in each other's hair, mouths fused in sloppy kisses.

When he couldn't wait any longer, he guided Camila onto all fours. Sofia slid beneath her in a perfect sixty-nine. Camila's tongue found Sofia's clit just as Ethan lined up and drove into Camila from behind. Deep. Brutal. The slap of skin echoed. Sofia's muffled cries vibrated against Camila's pussy. Ethan fucked like he was trying to punish the whole damn world through her body. When the pressure coiled too tight, he pulled out, fisted himself, and painted thick white streaks across Camila's back.

Chest heaving, he stood. "Shower," he ordered, voice gravel. "Now." They scrambled after him, giggling nervously, still flushed and sticky. Under the hot spray, he made them wash him, hands soaping his chest, his abs, his cock. They dropped to their knees again, mouths working in tandem, sucking, licking, until he hardened fully once more. He came down their throats this time, holding their heads in place while they swallowed every drop.

Clean, sated, for the moment, he stepped out, dried off roughly.

"Dressed," he said, nodding toward their crumpled uniforms. "Clean the room. You'll get a raise. And tomorrow." He pinned them with a look that made their breath hitch. "be here an hour earlier. If I don't wake up with my cock already in one of your mouths, there will be consequences. Severe ones."

Their eyes went wide, pupils blown. They nodded frantically, breathless giggles escaping as they patted themselves dry with the same towel he'd used earlier, still damp with his scent.

Ethan padded naked into the walk-in closet. His cock hung heavy between his thighs, slick and satisfied but already stirring at the thought of double-stuffing them one day, both holes stretched around him, screaming.

He yanked on black jeans, commando, letting the rough denim bite the sensitive skin. Zipper rasped up. A plain black tee stretched tight across his pecs. In the mirror, he caught their reflection: bending, wiping, whispering in rapid Spanish.

He heard "bestia." Then "animal." A smirk tugged his lips. He grabbed his boots from the rack, stomped them on, the sound echoing like gunshots on the hardwood.

Downstairs, he snatched a mug of black coffee from the kitchen counter, downed it scalding in one pull, the burn grounding him. The day waited outside, Dirty Angels, the bar that was no longer fully his, and Marisol, the sister-in-law he despised, who would soon walk through those doors expecting to play partner.

Ethan's jaw tightened. Let her come. Let her try to take what was his. He'd fuck the anger out on whoever crossed his path until the only thing left was obedience. And when the bar closed tonight, when the last drunk stumbled out, and the neon sign flickered off, he'd find someone, anyone, to remind himself exactly who held the reins. He slammed the front door behind him. The maids' soft laughter followed him into the morning light, already anticipating tomorrow's punishment, or reward.