I was completely hooked.
After that first night on the pool table, Marcus and I stopped pretending we could wait until closing. The addiction was mutual and dangerous.
The very next Friday I showed up during peak happy hour. The bar was packed. Marcus was working the busy end, sleeves rolled up, moving fast. When I sat down, he gave me that dark smirk and poured my usual margarita.
“Stockroom. Five minutes,” he muttered as he slid the drink over.
My heart raced. I sipped slowly, then slipped through the staff door when no one was looking.
He was already there. The second the door shut, he shoved me against the shelves, yanked my skirt up, and dropped to his knees. No foreplay. He buried his face between my thighs and ate my p***y like a starving man — tongue f*****g me deep, sucking m
