The Shift Change

"Another one, please. Something that'll actually get me drunk."

I looked up from the glass I was polishing. The woman leaning against the bar was new — not one of the usual office drones I'd been serving all night. She was wearing a navy blue skirt suit, the kind that cost more than my weekly tips, but the jacket was off, draped over the stool beside her. Her white blouse was unbuttoned one button too many, and the name tag on her lapel said "MARA" in crisp black letters.

"You're not with the accounting firm?" I asked, pouring her a whiskey neat.

"I'm the consultant they brought in to fix their mess." She took the glass, and her fingers brushed mine. Deliberate, I thought. "They told me there'd be a party at the end of the week. Nobody mentioned the bartender would look like you."

I laughed, but it came out rougher than I meant. "Like what?"

"Like someone who knows how to handle more than just drinks."

The office party was in full swing behind us — some middle manager doing karaoke, a cluster of assistants gossiping by the window. But Mara had turned her stool so her knees were almost touching the bar, and she was looking at me like the rest of the room didn't exist.

"I get off at midnight," I said.

"I get off whenever I want."

She said it flat, no smile, and I felt the heat crawl up the back of my neck. I poured myself a shot, which I never do, and she watched me throw it back.

"Easy there," she said. "I need you functional."

"For what?"

"For a private consultation." She slid off the stool, smoothed her skirt, and tilted her head toward the hallway that led to the storage room. "You have a key to that door, right?"

The storage room smelled like cardboard and spilled tonic water. I flipped on the fluorescent light, and Mara shut the door behind us, plunging us into near-darkness except for the strip of light under the door.

"Lock it," she said.

I did. When I turned around, she had her back against the shelf of glassware, and she was already unbuttoning her blouse.

"Fuck, you move fast."

"I've been watching you for an hour." She let the blouse fall open. Her bra was black lace, and her tits were full, spilling over the top. "You think I came here to talk about quarterly projections?"

I crossed the room in two steps and had my hands on her hips before she could say another word. She let out a small gasp as I pulled her against me, and I kissed her hard, tasting whiskey and something sweet on her lips.

"That's it," she breathed against my mouth. "Take what you want."

I slid my hand up her thigh, under her skirt, and found the lace edge of her panties. She was already wet — I could feel it through the fabric, the heat of her cunt pressing against my fingers.

"You're soaked."

"You've been looking at me like you wanted to eat me alive." She reached down and grabbed my cock through my pants, squeezing. "And I've been thinking about this cock for the last two hours."

I pushed her panties aside and slipped two fingers inside her. She was tight, hot, and she bit her lip as I curled my fingers, finding the spot that made her hips buck forward.

"Fuck," she whispered. "That's it. Right there."

I dropped to my knees in front of her, pushed her skirt up to her waist, and buried my face between her thighs. She tasted like arousal and salt, and she moaned, grabbing a handful of my hair as I licked her clit in slow, deliberate circles.

"God, yes. Don't stop."

I gripped her ass, pulling her closer, and she spread her legs wider on the concrete floor. I ate her like I was starving, licking and sucking until her thighs started to tremble around my head.

"I'm gonna come," she gasped. "Fuck, I'm gonna—"

I pressed my tongue flat against her clit and pushed two fingers inside her, curling hard. She came with a shuddering cry, her hips grinding against my face, her fingers tightening in my hair.

I stood up, unzipped my pants, and let my cock spring free. She looked at it — looked at me — and licked her lips.

"Fuck me against those shelves," she said. "Make me feel it."

She turned around, bent over, and gripped the metal shelf. I could see her wet cunt glistening in the dim light, and I didn't waste a second. I lined up and slammed into her in one stroke.

"Oh, fuck!"

She was so tight, so wet, and the sound of our bodies meeting echoed off the cardboard boxes. I grabbed her hips and fucked her hard, fast, the way she'd asked for, and she pushed back against me, meeting every thrust.

"That's it," she moaned. "Harder."

I slapped her ass — a sharp, wet sound — and she cried out, arching her back. The shelf rattled, glass clinking, and I didn't care. I reached around and found her clit, rubbing it while I pounded into her.

"I'm gonna come again," she gasped. "Don't you dare stop."

I didn't. I drove into her, feeling her walls clench around me, and she came with a long, guttural moan, her whole body shaking.

I pulled out, turned her around, and lifted her onto the counter. She wrapped her legs around my waist, and I sank back into her, slower this time, deep. She looked at me, her lipstick smeared, her hair falling out of its clip.

"You're so deep," she whispered.

I fucked her like that, slow and grinding, until I felt the pressure building. She was watching me, biting her lip, and when I came inside her, I buried my face in her neck and let out a groan I couldn't stop.

We stayed like that for a moment, breathing hard, tangled together in the dim light of the storage room.

"Shit," she said finally, laughing softly. "I'm gonna have to walk back out there."

"You're the one who started this."

"I regret nothing." She kissed me, slow, and then pulled back. "What's your name, bartender?"

"Leo."

"Leo." She smiled, smoothing her skirt. "I'm gonna need another drink after that."

"I'll make it a double. On the house."

She laughed, and I helped her down from the counter, watching her reassemble herself into the polished consultant. But under the blouse, I could see the marks my fingers had left on her hips, and I knew she'd be thinking about it all night.

So would I.