Last Call

Bree slips out after her husband falls asleep, red hair still perfect, lipstick fresh. She knows what the other wives only whisper about. At the bar Jax is closing up when she slides onto a stool. She leans forward, lets him see the pale curve inside her dress. He pours her a drink and waits. She asks for one more. He asks why she came alone. She answers with her hand under the bar, palm flat against the front of his jeans. Jax locks the door, pulls her onto the counter, and peels her panties down to her ankles. Her red bush is trimmed but full; he runs his tongue through it until she grabs his head. They move to the leather couch. She climbs on first, knees straddling his chest, mouth already wrapped around his cock, 69ing in silence except for the wet sounds. He grips her ass and feeds her every inch. She rides next, facing him, cowgirl slow at first, then harder, wedding ring flashing under the bar lights. He flips her onto her back and fucks her until the glasses rattle. When she comes she bites her own wrist so she won’t scream his name. Jax finishes across her stomach, thick and hot. Bree wipes it off with a bar napkin, fixes her hair, and leaves before last call ends. He watches her go, still hard, already wondering when the rich husband’s next late night will be.