Happy hour

After last call, the lights dim and Madison slips behind the bar one last time. She’s fresh-faced, blonde, tight little body poured into that tiny uniform. The dark-haired regular who’s been nursing the same drink all night finally steps closer. No words needed. She drops to her knees on the cool floor, fingers already tugging at his belt. Her mouth is warm, wet, practiced; she takes him deep in one smooth glide, cheeks hollowing as she sucks. Eyes half-lidded, she works him slow, then faster, tongue swirling every inch. He groans, one hand tangled in her pale hair, the other gripping the polished edge of the bar while she swallows him down again and again, hungry, relentless, until he spills hot down her throat and she smiles around him like she just poured the perfect shot.