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, the air was thick with the scent of cheap tequila and desperation. Mia Torres, the bartender with a tongue sharper than the lime wedges she sliced, was in her element. Her dark hair was pulled into a messy bun, strands sticking to her sweat-glistened neck as she poured shots with a flick of her wrist. Her tight black tank top hugged every curve, and the way her hips swayed as she moved behind the bar was a goddamn performance.
Jake Malone sat at the far end, nursing a beer that had gone warm an hour ago. His construction boots were still dusted with the day’s grit, and his faded jeans did little to hide the bulge straining against the denim. He’d been watching Mia all night, his blue eyes tracking the sway of her ass like a predator sizing up prey. But Mia wasn’t anyone’s catch. She felt his stare, a heat hotter than the sticky night, and she reveled in it.
“Yo, hardhat,” she called out, leaning over the bar with a smirk that could cut glass. “You gonna drink that beer or just eye-fuck me all night?”
Jake’s lips curled into a slow, dangerous grin. He pushed the bottle aside and leaned forward, forearms flexing under tanned skin. “Depends. You gonna keep teasing me with that walk, or you got something better to offer after closing?”
Mia laughed, low and throaty, wiping down the counter without breaking eye contact. “Big talk for a guy who’s been sitting there with a hard-on since happy hour. What’s your deal, Jake? You think I’m just gonna roll over for some sweaty construction dick?”
“Oh, darlin’, I don’t think you roll over for anyone,” he shot back, voice rough like gravel. “But I’m betting you’d like to find out just how much heat I’m packing.”
Her eyes flicked down to his crotch, unapologetic, and she bit her lip just enough to make his cock twitch. “Keep dreaming, tough guy. I don’t fuck on the clock. But stick around ‘til last call, and maybe I’ll let you try to keep up.”
The hours crawled by, the bar emptying out until it was just the two of them, the jukebox humming a low, sultry tune. Mia locked the front door with a deliberate click, her gaze never leaving Jake as she sauntered toward the back room. “You coming, or you just gonna sit there looking horny as hell?” she taunted, disappearing around the corner.
Jake was on his feet in a heartbeat, following her into the dim, cluttered space that smelled of spilled liquor and old cardboard. The door barely shut before Mia was on him, her hands fisting his shirt as she shoved him against the wall. “Let’s get one thing straight,” she hissed, her breath hot against his jaw. “I’m not some damsel waiting to be saved by your cock. You’re here because I want you here. Got it?”
“Fuck yeah, I got it,” Jake growled, his hands gripping her hips, pulling her flush against him. He was rock hard, and she could feel every inch pressing into her. “But don’t pretend you’re not wet just thinking about what I’m gonna do to you.”
Mia’s laugh was pure fire as she dropped to her knees, her fingers already working his belt. “Keep talking, big boy. Let’s see if you can back it up.” Her eyes glinted with challenge as she freed him, and the sight of her there, fierce and in control, had Jake sweating, his breath already coming in sharp pants. The tension was electric, the air thick with raw, unfiltered need—and they were just getting started.
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