2-ETHAN

Ethan pushed through the heavy oak door of Dirty Angels just as the afternoon light bled into dusk outside. The bar smelled like it always did this time of day, stale beer, lemon cleaner, and the faint metallic tang of anticipation for the night ahead.

Neon signs flickered to life above the bottles: one red “OPEN” that buzzed like a trapped insect, another green “HANDS OFF” that always made him smirk. He was still half-hard from the morning, the memory of Sofia and Camila's mouths lingering like smoke in his veins.

But the rage had returned full force, sharper now, honed by the drive over from his gym.

Victor was already there. The lawyer sat at the far end of the polished mahogany bar like he owned the place, which in a way he did, every loophole, every threat, every quiet favor that kept Ethan's empire intact.

Tall, lean, impeccably tailored charcoal suit that screamed money and menace. Wire-rimmed glasses perched on a sharp nose, dark hair slicked back without a strand out of place. Shark in Armani. The best.

Ethan dropped onto the stool beside him without a word. Victor slid a tumbler of bourbon across the wood, neat, two fingers, exactly how Ethan liked it.

“Marisol,” Ethan growled before the glass even touched his lips. “How the fuck do I get that cunt off the ownership? This bar is mine. Every nail, every bottle, every late-night fuck in the stockroom. She deserves nothing.”

Victor adjusted his glasses, the lenses catching the low light. “Buyout. Cleanest path. Offer her market value for her half, generous, but not obscene. She signs, you walk away full owner. If she refuses…”

He let the sentence hang, a promise wrapped in silk.

Ethan downed half the bourbon in one swallow. The burn matched the fire in his gut. “She’ll refuse. Just to spite me. That absolute cunt.”

Victor’s mouth curved, not quite a smile. “Then we escalate. Dial up the pressure. Debts. Family obligations. People have weaknesses.”

Ethan slammed the glass down hard enough that the amber liquid sloshed over the rim. “I want her gone. Yesterday.” The rage boiled over. He snatched the tumbler again, hurled it at the brick wall behind the bar. It shattered in a satisfying explosion of glass and whiskey, shards raining onto the floor like broken promises.

Victor didn’t flinch. He rose smoothly, rounded the bar in three measured steps, and came up close, too close. His hand settled on Ethan’s shoulder, firm, grounding.

“Easy,” Victor murmured, voice low, almost intimate. “Breathe.” Ethan’s chest heaved. He could smell Victor’s cologne, sandalwood, expensive leather, a hint of something darker. Victor’s other hand came up, palm flat against Ethan’s chest, right over his pounding heart. Fingers splayed, stroking slow circles through the thin cotton of his tee.

Ethan’s cock twitched, thickening against the rough denim. He looked up. Victor’s eyes were locked on his, dark, steady, unreadable. Their faces were inches apart. Ethan could feel the heat radiating off the lawyer’s body, the hard line of muscle beneath the suit jacket. Victor’s thumb brushed lower, grazing the edge of Ethan’s pec, then back up. Intimate. Deliberate. Ethan’s breath hitched. He was rock-hard now, straining painfully against the zipper. He shifted his hips forward just enough, testing. Victor didn’t pull away. Through the layers of fabric, Ethan felt it: the lawyer’s own erection, thick and insistent, pressing against his thigh.

They stayed like that, breathing each other’s air. Heavy. Charged. Ethan’s gaze dropped to Victor’s mouth, then back up. A dare hung between them, unspoken but screaming. Cross the line.

Victor’s jaw tightened. His fingers flexed against Ethan’s chest once, twice, almost a caress, then he stepped back abruptly.

“I have to get back to the office,” he said, voice rougher than before. He cleared his throat. “I’ll be bringing Lorenzo tonight. If Marisol shows, he’ll handle the conversation. She’ll sign. One way or another.”

Ethan exhaled through his nose, nodding once. “Good. Force her hand if she won’t take the money.” Victor straightened his tie, composure sliding back into place like armor. But Ethan caught the way the suit pants tented slightly, the outline unmistakable.

The lawyer turned toward the door, paused. “Keep your head on straight,” Victor said over his shoulder. “We’ll fix this.” The door swung shut behind him.

Ethan stood there, pulse hammering in his ears, cock throbbing like a second heartbeat. He wasn’t gay. Never had been. Never even thought about it. But the feel of Victor’s hardness against him, the way those fingers had stroked him, fuck.

He shook his head hard, trying to dislodge the image of Victor on his knees, glasses fogged, mouth open. He poured another bourbon and downed it fast. The alcohol did nothing to cool the fire.

He needed to move. Needed to do something. He stalked out from behind the bar onto the main floor. The place was still quiet, early shift staff setting up, a couple of regulars nursing beers.

And there she was. The new barmaid. What the hell was her name? Riley? No, Remy. Yeah. Remy. She was bent over a low table, wiping it down, short black skirt riding up the backs of her thighs. No panties. Just smooth skin and the bare, shaved lips of her pussy peeking out, glistening faintly under the dim lights. Her massive breasts strained against the cropped black tank top, nipples hard points visible through the fabric. Dark hair cascaded down her back as she straightened, turned, and caught his eye.

She smiled, slow, knowing. “Big night tonight.”

Ethan’s voice came out gravel. “You ready?”

Remy winked, leaning one hip against the table so her tits shifted enticingly. “I’m always ready.”

He remembered the shower this morning, fist flying as he pictured exactly this: burying himself in that tight little cunt while she begged.

“My office,” he growled. “Now.”

Her eyes sparkled with mischief. She pushed off the table, hips swaying as she walked past him toward the back hallway. Ethan followed, blood roaring in his ears.

The office door clicked shut behind them. Lock engaged. Remy turned, backed against the desk, palms flat on the wood. “What do you need, boss?”

Ethan closed the distance in one stride. His hands went to her waist, lifting her onto the desk like she weighed nothing. Papers scattered. She gasped, thighs parting instinctively. He shoved her skirt up around her hips. No underwear, just slick, bare heat. His fingers found her clit immediately, circling rough.

She moaned, head falling back.

“Been thinking about this all fucking day,” he muttered against her throat, teeth grazing skin.

Remy arched, grinding against his hand. “Then take it.”

He yanked his zipper down. His cock sprang free, thick, veined, still sensitive from the morning and the almost-moment with Victor. He didn’t wait. Lined up, thrust in hard. She cried out, nails digging into his shoulders through the tee. Tight. So fucking tight. Wet heat clenched around him like a fist. He fucked her like he was angry at the world, deep, punishing strokes that rocked the desk against the wall. Her tits bounced with every thrust, spilling over the low neckline of her top. He shoved the fabric down, mouth latching onto one nipple, sucking hard while his hips snapped forward.

Remy’s legs wrapped around his waist, heels digging into his ass.

“Harder,” she panted. “Fuck me like you hate me.” He did. Hand around her throat, not choking, just holding, while the other cracked across her ass.

She whimpered, cunt fluttering around him. The door was thin. Anyone in the hallway could hear. He didn’t care.

He pulled out suddenly and flipped her over the desk. Face down, ass up. Skirt bunched at her waist. He drove back in, deeper this time, balls slapping against her. One hand fisted her hair, yanking her head back so he could see her face, flushed, lips parted, eyes glassy with lust.

“Come for me,” he ordered. “Now.” She shattered almost instantly, crying out his name, walls pulsing around his cock.

The sight, the sound, the feel, it snapped something inside him. He pulled out, fisted himself twice, and came hard across her ass and lower back, hot, thick ropes painting her skin. They stayed like that, breathing ragged.

Remy’s cheek pressed to the desk, a lazy smile curving her lips.

Ethan stepped back, tucked himself away. Zipped up. His heart still hammered.

“Back to work,” he said, voice rough. “Shift starts soon.”

She slid off the desk, skirt falling back into place, cum still glistening on her skin. She didn’t wipe it off. Just winked again.

“See you out there, boss.” She sauntered out, leaving the door ajar.

Ethan sank into the chair behind the desk, head in his hands. The bar was his. Marisol would be dealt with. Victor would make sure of it. And tonight, when the place filled with bodies and noise, he’d lose himself in the chaos.

But the memory of Victor’s touch lingered. And Remy’s cunt still echoed around his cock. He poured another drink from the bottle he kept in the drawer. The night was young. And he was far from done