Chapter 1: Last Call
The Miami night was a sultry beast, the kind of heat that clung to your skin like a lover who wouldn’t let go. Inside The Coral Dive, a gritty little bar off Ocean Drive, the air was thick with the scent of cheap tequila and desperate desire. Mia Torres, the bartender with a tongue sharper than the lime wedges she sliced, moved behind the counter like a panther on the prowl. Her black tank top hugged every curve, and her denim shorts barely contained the sway of her ass as she poured shots with a flick of her wrist. She knew every eye in the place was on her—and she reveled in it.
Jake Malone sat at the far end of the bar, nursing a beer that had gone warm an hour ago. His construction worker’s frame—broad shoulders, calloused hands, and a jawline that could cut glass—made him stand out even in the dim, flickering lights. His tight jeans did little to hide the bulge that strained against the fabric as he watched Mia work. He’d been coming in for weeks, always at closing, always with that hungry look in his hazel eyes. Tonight, though, something felt different. Electric.
“Staring’s free, Malone, but drooling’s gonna cost you extra,” Mia quipped, sliding a fresh beer his way without breaking eye contact. Her dark eyes sparkled with mischief, daring him to bite back.
Jake grinned, leaning forward, his voice a low growl. “If I’m payin’, sweetheart, I expect a hell of a show. You gonna dance for me, or just keep teasin’?”
Mia laughed, a sound like honey and sin, and leaned over the bar, giving him a deliberate view of her cleavage. “Oh, I don’t dance for just anyone, big guy. You gotta earn it. What’s your offer?”
He took a slow sip of his beer, his gaze never leaving hers. “How ‘bout I build you a whole damn stage? Or better yet, I’ll lay you down on this bar right now and show you what these hands can do.”
Her smirk didn’t falter, but a flicker of heat flashed in her eyes. “Big talk for a man who’s been sittin’ there all night like a lost puppy. You sure you can keep up with me, Jake?”
“Try me, Mia. I’ve been hard just watchin’ you shake that ass for hours. I’m ready to break somethin’ if I don’t get closer soon,” he shot back, his voice rough with need.
The bar was emptying out now, the last stragglers stumbling into the humid night. Mia called out a lazy “last call” without looking away from Jake. As the door swung shut behind the final drunk, she rounded the bar, her hips swaying with purpose. She stopped inches from him, close enough that he could smell the citrus on her skin and feel the heat radiating off her.
“Backroom. Now,” she ordered, her tone leaving no room for argument. Not that Jake had any. He followed her through the narrow hallway, the tension between them crackling like a live wire. The backroom was a cramped mess of crates and empty bottles, but it might as well have been a penthouse suite for all they cared.
Mia turned, pinning him with a look that could melt steel. “You’ve been eye-fuckin’ me all night, Malone. Time to put your money where your mouth is.”
Jake didn’t hesitate. He closed the distance, his hands gripping her hips as he backed her against a stack of crates. “Oh, I’ve got plenty to say with my mouth, darlin’. But I’m more interested in hearin’ you scream.”
Her hands were already at his belt, yanking it open with a ferocity that matched the fire in her eyes. “Keep talkin’, tough guy. Let’s see if that cock of yours is as cocky as your attitude.”
Their lips crashed together, a collision of need and raw power, as the heat between them ignited into something unstoppable. Mia’s fingers worked fast, freeing him from his jeans, and the sight of him—hard, ready, and all for her—made her pulse race. She wasn’t about to play coy. Not tonight. Dropping to her knees on the gritty floor, she looked up at him with a wicked grin, ready to take control of this game they’d been playing for far too long.
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