Diner Waitress's First-Time Counter Craving

The fluorescent lights of the roadside diner hummed a tired song as the last grease-slick plate got scraped into the bin. Riley wiped her hands on the apron tied tight around her curvy waist, the short black uniform skirt brushing the tops of her thick thighs. Twenty-two and still untouched by another woman, she felt the night settle heavy on her skin. The bell over the door had chimed its final goodbye minutes ago. She flipped the OPEN sign to CLOSED, heart already kicking harder than it should.

Jax sat at the counter like she owned the cracked vinyl stool, leather jacket shrugged off to show the ink snaking up both arms—roses wrapped around a dagger, a snarling wolf, black lines that made Riley’s mouth go dry every single night this past six months. Twenty-eight, butch and broad-shouldered, dark hair cropped short on the sides, longer on top and pushed back like she’d just fucked someone senseless. Those sharp hazel eyes locked onto Riley the second the lock clicked.

“Closing time, gorgeous,” Jax said, voice low and rough as gravel under tires. She leaned forward on her elbows, tattoos flexing. “Been watching you bend over those tables all night. That little skirt rides up just enough. Drove me fucking crazy.”

Riley’s cheeks burned. She stepped closer, the counter the only thing between them, and caught the scent of Jax’s cologne—smoke and clean sweat. “You’ve been coming in every night at ten. Always the same booth. Always staring.”

“Not staring. Cataloguing.” Jax’s grin flashed white and dirty. “Those tits stretching that button-up. The way your ass sways when you carry a tray. I’ve jerked off thinking about spreading you open on this exact counter. Tasting that virgin cunt you’ve been saving. Tell me you’ve thought about it too, Riley. Don’t lie to me.”

Riley’s breath stuttered. Months of fantasies crashed through her—nights alone in her tiny apartment, fingers slipping under cheap cotton panties while she pictured Jax’s mouth, Jax’s hands, Jax’s commanding voice telling her exactly how to take it. “I have,” she whispered, boldness rising hot in her belly. “Every shift. I go home soaked and hate myself for being too chicken to do anything. I want… I want you to taste me. I’ve never been with a woman. Show me.”