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“One more song,” I said, already fumbling for my wallet. “Right now. Please.”
Scarlett laughed, surprised, and took the twenty. “Greedy. I like it.”
She didn’t take my hand off her waist. She climbed back on, faced me, and this time she didn’t hold anything back. She pushed my head back against the couch and ground down on me in long, hard strokes, the soft heat between her legs dragging up and down the length of my trapped cock.
“Is this what you needed?” she whispered. “After your terrible week?”
“Yes. Fuck, yes.”
She arched back, tits bouncing, and rolled her hips faster. My balls drew up tight. I knew what was happening and I couldn’t stop it. She knew too. She saw it in my face and leaned in close, lips brushing mine without kissing.
“Go on,” she breathed. “I won’t tell.”
I came in my jeans. Right there, thrusting up against her, groaning into her hair, pulsing hot and helpless inside my boxers while she rode me through every twitch.
She slowed. Stopped. Kissed my cheek.
“That’s a first for this booth,” she said. “Well. Not really. But it’s a first for tonight.”
The buzzer went. She hooked her bra back on, patted my chest and was gone, off to her next customer, before I could even think of asking her name.
I sat there in a cooling wet patch for five minutes, then walked very carefully out to the car park, holding my jacket in front of me. At the car I stopped, keys in hand, and looked back at the neon lips over the door. I still didn’t know her name.