The Bartender’s Bet

"You're staring again."

I didn't even blink. "And?"

Maya laughed, shaking her head as she wiped down the counter. The wedding reception was in full swing behind us—drunken uncles doing the cha-cha, bridesmaids shrieking over shots. But I couldn't look away from the guy at the end of the bar. Dark suit, sleeves rolled up, forearms that made me want to bite something. He'd been nursing the same whiskey for an hour, watching me with this lazy half-smile that made my thighs clench.

"He's been eye-fucking you since the toast," Maya muttered, reaching for a fresh bottle. "You want me to cut him off or send him over?"

I licked my lips. "Send him over."

She winked and sauntered down to his end. I watched them exchange a few words, his eyes never leaving mine. Then he stood, glass in hand, and walked toward me like he owned the place.

"Viktor," he said, setting down his whiskey. His voice was low, rough, cut through the noise like a blade. "And you're the bartender who's been ignoring me all night."

"Testing you," I said, leaning forward on my elbows. The neckline of my black dress dipped. His eyes followed. "Wanted to see if you'd come to me."

He smiled. Slow. Dangerous. "And if I want more than a drink?"

My pulse hammered. "Then you'd better tip well."

The back storage room smelled like cardboard and spilled beer. He had me pressed against a shelf of napkins, his mouth on my neck, one hand fisting the hem of my dress.

"Fuck, you're wet," he growled, fingers sliding between my legs. He pushed my panties aside and sank two fingers inside me without warning. I gasped, gripping his shoulders.

"Viktor—"

"You've been driving me crazy all night," he said, pumping slowly, watching my face. "That dress. The way you bite your lip. You knew exactly what you were doing."

I moaned, rocking against his hand. "Yeah. I did."

He pulled his fingers out and brought them to his mouth, tasting me. His eyes went dark. Then he turned me around, bent me over a stack of boxes, and yanked my dress up to my waist.

"You want my cock?"

"Sí—joder, sí—"

He didn't make me wait. I heard his belt unbuckle, the rustle of his pants, and then the thick head of his cock pressed against my soaked slit. He pushed in slow—agonizingly slow—and I felt every inch stretch me open. I bit down on my lip, my fingers curling into the cardboard.

"Look at you," he breathed, his chest against my back. "Taking me so fucking well."

He started moving. Hard. Fast. The rhythm was brutal, his hips slamming into my ass, the sound of skin slapping echoing off the metal shelves. I couldn't think, couldn't breathe—just felt him pounding into me, hitting that spot that made my knees buckle.

"Sí—justo ahí—no pares—"

He wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me upright, still buried inside me. His hand slid up, cupping my throat, tilting my head back.

"Look at us," he whispered against my ear. "In the mirror."

I saw it. His sweaty forehead, his parted lips, my mascara smudged and hair wild. His cock glistening as it drove into me, over and over.

"That's so hot," I gasped.

He laughed, breathless. Then he pushed me forward again, bent me deeper, and fucked me until I couldn't form words. My orgasm hit like a freight train—sudden, blinding, my whole body clenching around him. I cried out, muffled against my arm, while he kept pounding through it.

"Fuck—I'm gonna—"

"Cum inside me," I begged. "Please, Viktor, fill me—"

He groaned, long and low, and I felt him pulse deep inside, hot and wet. He stayed there for a moment, both of us panting, the party still thumping beyond the door.

He pulled out slowly, turned me around, and kissed me. Soft. Almost tender.

"That was a hell of a tip," I murmured.

He laughed against my lips. "I'm not done with you yet."