Page 13 of Daddy’s Naughty Bartender (Naughty Girls Book Club #5)

S ix Months Later

The air between us hums with anticipation, the bar quiet except for the faint clink of glasses as I set them down.

Jason’s eyes, dark and intent, hold mine, and the paddle I just hung on the wall seems to pulse with its own energy, a silent witness to the heat building between us.

His hand lingers at my throat, fingers brushing the delicate silver links I wear during the day, a reminder of our power exchange relationship.

I feel the familiar pull, the delicious surrender that’s become our language.

“Keep teasing me,” he murmurs, voice low, “and I’ll have you over that counter before the first guest arrives.”

My breath catches, a shiver racing down my spine. “Is that a threat or a promise?”

His lips curve, a predator’s smile. “Both.”

He steps closer, his body a solid wall of warmth against mine, and I tilt my head back, inviting.

The bar, our bar, feels like an extension of us, every polished surface, every carefully chosen detail a reflection of our shared vision.

But right now, it’s just a stage for this moment.

His hand slides to my waist, pulling me flush against him, and I can feel the hard line of his arousal through his jeans.

My pulse quickens, heat pooling low in my belly.

“Daddy,” I whisper, half-warning, half-plea, as his lips graze my jaw, then my neck, finding that sensitive spot just below my ear. My hands grip the edge of the counter behind me, grounding me as his teeth scrape lightly, sending sparks through my nerves.

“You think you can sass me and get away with it?” His voice is a growl, fingers tightening on my hips. “You know what happens to brats who push.”

I arch into him, defiant and needy all at once. “Maybe I want to find out.”

That’s all it takes. His mouth crashes onto mine, claiming, demanding, and I open for him, tasting whiskey and want.

His hands roam, one sliding up to cup my breast through my blouse, thumb teasing until I gasp into his kiss.

The other hand dips lower, gripping my thigh, hitching my skirt up just enough to feel the cool air against my skin.

I’m dizzy with it, with him, with the reckless thrill of being here, in our place, where anyone could walk in but no one will.

We don’t open for another hour and the doors are locked, the blinds drawn.

He pulls back just enough to look at me, eyes blazing. “Turn around.”

My heart pounds, but I obey, turning to face the counter, hands braced against the smooth wood. His body presses against my back, his breath hot against my ear as he leans in.

“You wanted to play, didn’t you?” His hand slides up my thigh, fingers brushing the edge of my panties, and I bite my lip to stifle a moan. “Answer me, Karen.”

“Yes, Daddy,” I breathe, the words slipping out like a prayer, grounding me even as they ignite me further. His fingers pause, teasing, and I shift my hips, seeking more, but he holds me still with a firm hand.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, voice thick with approval, and the words send a rush of warmth through me.

His touch resumes, deliberate, slipping beneath the lace to find me already slick for him.

A low groan rumbles in his chest, vibrating against my back.

“So wet for me. Always so ready for whatever Daddy wants to do.”

I whimper, head bowing as his fingers work with expert precision against my clit, circling, pressing, drawing soft gasps from my lips.

The bar fades away until it’s just us, this heat, this connection.

His free hand slides up to my neck, not tight, just possessive, anchoring me as pleasure coils tighter in my core.

“You’re mine,” he says, lips brushing my ear, and I nod, unable to form words as he pushes me closer to the edge. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” I manage, voice trembling, and he rewards me with a deeper touch, a rhythm that makes my knees weak.

My fingers dig into the counter, knuckles white, as I fight to stay quiet, aware of the open space around us, the risk of interruption.

He doesn’t stop touching my clit, but removes his hand from my neck to unzip his pants.

I hear the fabric rustle before he’s thrusting into me.

Each thrust driving me forward and into the bar. His lips find my neck again, kissing, nipping, as his finger on my clit and his violent thrusts drive me higher, closer to my release. He’s relentless. He pounds into me from behind, this isn’t making love. This is claiming. Owning. Marking.

“Come for me, Karen,” he commands, voice rough with need, and as his finger on my clit moves faster I shatter, a soft cry escaping as waves of pleasure crash through me.

He thrust twice more before he yelled out my name, finding his own release.

I’m orgasming hard, my legs shaking but he holds me tight until the aftershocks pass and I’m limp against the counter, breathing hard.

He turns me gently, kissing me slow and deep, tasting my surrender. “That’s my girl,” he says, brushing a strand of hair from my face, his eyes soft now, full of love beneath the fire.

"I still can't believe you hung it there." An hour later, Jason’s voice holds amusement as he watches me polish glasses behind the bar… that I’d fully sanitized a moment after we’d had sex against it.

My eyes go to the object in question, a beautiful wooden paddle, mounted on the wall between the premium whiskeys and the vintage bar signs.

To the casual observer, it looks like quirky decor. To us, it's a promise and a reminder.

"You said I could decorate however I wanted when we renovated." I give him an innocent look. "Besides, it matches the aesthetic."

"Minx." He comes around the bar, caging me against the counter. "You just like knowing it's there. Our secret in plain sight."

"Maybe." I turn in his arms, admiring how the afternoon light catches his silver hair. Six months have changed us both. He’s become more relaxed, me more centered. "Or maybe I like reminding you that this is our place. All of it."

The renovation was his idea but my vision.

We'd expanded into the empty storefront next door, creating Jason's wine lounge. It’s all elegant woods and soft lighting, perfect for tastings and special events.

But it connects to The Gathering Place through an archway that says more than any words could: we're different but united.

"Speaking of our place," he murmurs, fingers tracing the necklace at my throat. "Ready for tonight?"

Tonight.

The official grand opening of Schaeffer & Mitchell's. The entire town is invited, whether they approve of us or not. It's our statement: we aren't hiding, aren't apologizing, aren't going anywhere. Emily has nicknamed it S&M and the meaning isn’t lost on us.

"Emily's getting in at four," I say, mental checklist running. "Josh promised to livestream part of the opening for his followers. Susie has the staff briefed. The Naughty Girls are bringing enough food to feed an army."

"That's not what I asked." His thumb finds my pulse point. "Are you ready?"

I think about it. Six months ago, I was drowning in grief, in responsibility, in the fear of being seen as anything but strong. Now?

"Yes, Daddy. I'm ready."

"Good girl." The words still make me melt, even, no, especially, here in our domain. "My brave, beautiful girl who's going to show this town exactly who Karen Mitchell is."

"And who's that?"

"A woman who owns her choices. Who builds instead of tears down. Who's strong enough to be soft and confident enough to submit. Who loves fiercely and trusts completely."

"You forgot 'makes a killer Manhattan.'"

His laugh rumbles through me. "That too. Though you've been holding out on me lately."

"Have I?" I reach for the rye, muscle memory guiding my hands. "Maybe you haven't earned one."

"Careful." His voice drops to that dangerous register. "Keep that up and I'll have to remind you about respect. Might even need that paddle."

"Promises, promises."

"Brat." But he's smiling as he watches me work. "Beautiful, mouthy brat who's going to get exactly what she's asking for later."

"Mom! Jason! We're here!"

Emily's voice interrupts our banter. She bursts through the door with her girlfriend Sarah, both laden with bags from the city. My daughter looks radiant, junior year is treating her well.

"The place looks incredible!" She spins in a circle, taking in the changes. "Very you."

"Which part?" Jason asks, accepting her hug.

"All of it. Mom's warmth in The Gathering Place, your sophistication in the lounge, but connected. Unified." She grins. "Barbara's going to lose her mind. In a good way."

"Let me help with those bags," Sarah offers, ever polite. She'd been nervous meeting us at first. She’s the professor's daughter with her small-town girlfriend, but quickly realized we understand complicated love.

"Josh is parking," Emily continues. "He brought his whole setup. Says tonight's going to break the internet." She pauses, studying me. "You look happy, Mom. Really happy."

"I am."

"Good. You deserve it." She glances at Jason. "Both of you do."

The next hours fly by in controlled chaos.

Staff arriving, last-minute adjustments, Josh setting up his cameras while explaining engagement metrics to anyone who'll listen.

His "Small Town Mechanic" brand has exploded.

Ford isn't his only sponsor now, and he's started a scholarship fund for rural kids interested in trades.

"Five minutes to open," Susie announces. "Boss, you might want to see this."

I look outside and gasp. The street is packed. Not just our regulars or the curious, but what looks like half the county. The Naughty Girls stand front and center, wearing matching t-shirts that read "Support Local Love."

"Did you know about this?" I ask Jason.

"I might have heard rumors." He straightens my collar, fingers lingering. "Prairie Harbor's showing up. They aren’t letting a few rude voices cancel out the majority of good."