A Night Off Duty

I was closing up at midnight when she walked in, her eyes locked onto mine as if searching for something only I could give. She was in her mid-thirties, dressed to kill with a tight dress and killer heels that clicked against the floor. As soon as we were alone behind the bar, her hands slid under my shirt, palms warm and urgent against my skin. The bar was dark except for the red glow of neon beer signs, our breath mingling in the chill air. She whispered, 'Don't stop,' just before she sank to her knees, mouth hot and wet around me, lips moving up and down as I gasped and grabbed at her hair. By the time we pulled away for a moment, I was trembling with need, my body already slick and ready. We stumbled into the office, clothes discarded in haste, our bodies pressing together against the wall, her back to the cold metal, my hands sliding up her thighs to grip her hips firmly as I thrust into her, hard and fast, groaning at the perfect friction of skin and sweat. The only sound was our ragged breaths and the soft thud of her heels hitting the floor with each movement.