One more glass

She stepped inside just as he flipped the sign. He poured one more anyway—amber, neat, and ice that barely clicked. They drank standing at the bar. Then she slid onto the stool, legs spread, and he went down on her like he had all night. Her moans echoed off the bottles. A moment later she was bent over the counter, gripping the rail, while he worked his cock into her ass, slow, deliberate, deeper with each thrust. She looked over her shoulder, hair falling across one eye, and watched him take her. He grabbed her hips harder. She pushed back. They kept at it until the glasses rattled and the last of the ice melted in the glasses they never finished.