Before open

The cafe was locked and the lights were only half on. I had come downstairs barefoot in the denim apron and a t-shirt, freckles out, short chestnut hair a mess. Nick knocked the way I told him. I am twenty-three. He is twenty-seven. We date. I am a woman and I say what I want without a cute voice. I let him in and put the bolt back. I wanted his praise and his mouth on my feet before I started the urn.

You look good, he said. I looked at my feet on the tile. Say it better. He smiled. Your feet look pretty this morning. I want them. That worked. I hopped onto the counter, apron riding up, and offered him a sole. Kiss it. Tell me I am good while you do it. He held my heel and kissed the arch. You are good, Tessa. You are so good to me. Heat went up my leg. My cunt answered like it always does when the words are plain.

He kissed both feet until I was squirming on the steel. The short hair fell in my eyes. He brushed it back. May I, he said, hand at the apron tie. Yes. Off. The apron dropped. No underwear. I had decided upstairs. He groaned and I said, eyes here, then you can look. He looked at my face first. Good man. Then he looked at my cunt and my feet and said I was perfect. I believed him because it was early and he does not lie before coffee.

Mouth, I said. On my cunt, and a hand on my foot. He licked my clit and rubbed the arch and I came with my heels on his back, saying Nick, yes, tell me. You are good, he said into my skin. You taste good. I am going to fuck you if you want. I want. He stood and fucked me, cock deep in my cunt. The counter was cold. His cock was not. I held his shoulders and took the fuck deep, morning-blunt, no performance.

I came again around his cock. Cum in my cunt, I said. I want you there. He came, thanking me. We cleaned the counter. I put the apron on. He kissed my ankle once more behind the machine.