The Bar

12. Closer

Rain began to pour that night. A storm was brewing. To the sound of the tapping of rain and hail, Clara and Flint took out the alcohol from all the cabinets to deep clean them.

"So...I'm curious," Flint broke the silence. Clara worried about what he was about to ask.

"What is it that you want to do once you graduate?"

She smiled with relief of him not asking why she didn't want to go home.

"I'm not entirely sure...Its funny how others have it all planned out but you're the one who has no idea, yet everyone thinks you do," Clara says.

Flint rings out a damp rag of cleaning solution. He kneels beside her as she pulls out the remaining bottles from the bottom cabinets.

"I was the same way. My parents thought I was going to be some mathmatician or a doctor, but I had not idea what I wanted," He says wiping down the wooden shelves.

"But you do now?"

He stops his work for a moment and thinks. He looks over at the unknowing vixen and smiles. Her beautiful large green eyes catch his gaze. Her brown hair falls around her chest, covering her smooth pale skin. He smirks slightly, his heart rate quickens for a moment, his stomach turning into knots as the girl is on her knees so very close to him.

"Yea, I think I do," he finally says. She looks away from him, feeling slight tension between them.

"When did you decide to own a bar?" She asks to change the subject.

"Well I knew I wanted to own one when I was around nineteen. Bars in the UK are very different than ones around here. I always loved those old taverns in old films, you know, like westerns or pirate movies. So I decided why not combine the two. Bring my own scottish brew and sell it in an old looking tavern," he explains.

"Seems like you had it figure out a while ago, what you want, I mean."

"Actually, it was much difficult to figure that out. I wanted to try other things, there was a...job that I had before and it opened doors but I instead, I took the money I earned and put it into this place."

"What kind of job?"

He takes a deep breath. He didn't want her to feel scared around him. People often take what he did before and assumed the worst. Even with her nervousness and dread of the conversation, he wanted to be honest.

"I was a boxer. A kick boxer for five years."

"Really?" She sounded unconvinced.

"Yes, really, why? You think I'm too nice to kick someone's ass?"

"No, I think you could probably kill someone with your bare hands actually. You're quite... frightening ...when your angry that is," she says this and follows it with a smirk. She liked his temper somewhat, the way he clenched his jaw and his muscles rippled and the way he seemed so dangerous but not towards her. An image poped into her head, she wondered if he was rough with the girls in his bed.

"I would never hurt you, Clara, if thats what your worried about."

"No, I'm not worried about you hurting me..." she says as she stands up abruptly. She moves the box of alcohol away from the cabinet to give her room. She walks to the counter and grabs a cloth to clean. Flint stands up, worried that she is afraid if him.

He stands behind her, testing her fear. He places a hand on either side of her, boxing her in. She turns to face him, leaning back against the counter. He leans down, close to her. He wanted to taste her thick red lips again. He wanted to feel her hands roam across his skin, and she wanted to do the same.

He stared at her lips for what seemed like several minutes. Clara's breaths quickened, her chest moving quickly as she tried to hide her fear of the large man.

"Are you scared?" He whispered. She shook her head. He leaned down closer to her face. Their lips nearly half an inch away. Her eyes shifted to stare at his lips as they became dangerously close.

"Clara," he whispered again. She meant to say something but only a quick wimper came from her lips as he plunged his own onto hers.

It happened all so fast. Her hands wrapped around the scottsmans neck. His large arms wrapped around her back, pulling her to him, nearly lifting her off the ground.
Their lips moved like a dance, fiting together like puzzel pieces. She felt his tongue beg for entrance. She opened her mouth to let him in. His tongue curiously exploring her mouth. She let out a vague moan as his hand moved to her backside. Grasping her ass tightly pushing her closer to him. Her hands griped his shaggy, pulled back, hair.

Her back collided with the counter as he nearly rammed into her. She broke the kiss in a gasp. His lips moving to her neck. He sucked the smooth skin on the nape of her neck. His hands traveling along her body. His large size made it seem like she was so small. His large hands roamed over every inch he could. He wanted to touch every part of her. She pulled him by his shirt to be closer. She could feel his hardend appendage strain against his jeans.

She wanted him desperately. She wanted to feel every inch of him. She grabbed his hand and guided him under her shirt until his palm cupped her lace covered breast. He squeezed the fabric covered skin tightly, sending a shockwave through her body and forcing a moan out of her lips. He moved his kisses to her neck and back to her lips. His free hand followed the other under her shirt.

He pulled the shirt over her head and was stuned at the lacy push up bra. Her breasts were perfect, just like he had dreamed.

He stared at her exposed body for a moment, takining in her beauty. She was panting from the excitement.

"I'm so going to hell," he mumbles as he pulls the straps off her shoulders.
Before he hand even catch a glimpse of her tight beautiful body, he is reminded of something.

He groans, and his head falls onto her shoulder in desperation. Confusion falls over Clara, her hands move through his hair.

"Whats wrong?" She asks. He moves his lips to her ear.

"There are cameras all over the bar, for security," he explains with regret.
She laughs suddenly. Music to his ears, yet again. He grips her hips tightly, desperately wanting more.
"Fuck!" He curses himself for being so weak to the vixen's touch.

"Don't swear," she says with a gigle.

"Clara, the pain I am in right now, allows me to cuss as much as I'd like," he says.

"Pain?"

"The pain in my pants, because I can't have you," he groans against her shoulder.

"You can, just not here."

He groans again and curses under his breath. The tension builds. She knows she can't. He would see the scars, he'd question her.

"Maybe I should go...I'll come back early tomorrow morning and finish..."

"No...I'll finish...I'll walk you to your car."

He shields her from the camera, pulling her shirt back over her head.
His member throbs as he does this, not wanting to say goodbye to the beautiful girl in front of him.