In the bar with Eve

A brunette angel holds the room. Forget the drinks. One look and the eye stays on her. Soft light slides down her skin. She leans back against the bar, one heel hooked on the stool, skirt riding high. Fingers slip between her thighs and she presses, slow, testing the heat. A small smile, a quiet breath. She works the lace aside, parts her lips, and lets two fingers sink in. Her wrist moves, steady, then faster. Hips roll forward to meet each stroke. Her free hand cups a breast, squeezes, and the nipple tightens against the thin top. She bites her lower lip, eyes half-closed, lost in the simple, greedy rhythm she keeps between her legs.