It’s 3 AM in the Multiprix cafeteria kitchen. Fridges hum low, a constant buzz mixing with the faint drip of faucets. Metal clinks echo as I tear plastic off pallets of cans. Cold tile floors, stainless steel gleaming under dim exit lights. Smell of fresh salad piémontaise hits me—ham, potatoes, mayo. My stomach growls. No snacks packed, idiot move.
I sneak to the fridge. Jackpot: big tub of piémontaise, yogurts, clementines. Grab a plate, spoon. Scoop a heap. One yogurt too. Settle at a table near the pallets. Devour it fast, no traces. Lick the spoon clean.
The Simmering Tension
Footsteps. I jolt up. He’s there by the dumbwaiter, smirking. Mid-20s, lean, quick hands. Delivery guy. ‘Came for the pallets. Not unloaded yet.’
‘Just counting,’ I snap. Heart races.
‘Need to unload to count.’ He grins wider. ‘I’ll help.’
We haul cans two by two. Stack by type in the kitchen. I tick off the sheet. He’s fast, efficient. Glances my way. Smiles constant. Cute face, easy vibe. No bullshit.
‘You eating alone?’ he asks.
‘Inventory. Starving.’
‘Stole food? Naughty.’ Laughs. ‘Your secret’s safe.’
Flutters hit. His chill confidence pulls me in. We finish stacking. Last boxes done.
‘You’re charming, Flore.’ Voice low, firm.
Heat rises. I blush. ‘Not the point.’
‘Simple truth.’ Eyes lock. Shivers.
The Wild Explosion
‘Your eyes sparkle in the dark.’
Bullshit, but his whisper voice… fuck. Pulse pounds.
I head to sinks, plate in hand. Water runs warm. Scrub. Silence thick. Then his hand on my neck. Soft. I freeze, eyes shut. Fingers in hair. Breath hot on ear. Hands slide to shoulders, massage. Down arms, grip wrists. Waist. Hips. Ass. I arch back. Body betrays me.
One hand kneads cheek. Other cups tit. I fumble buttons. He takes over, shirt open. No face yet. Imagine his smile gone, lips parted, hungry.
Pants undone. He drops low, yanks them off with panties. Face at my ass. Thumbs part cheeks. Tongue flicks. Oh god. Bend forward. Legs spread. He laps lips, sloppy wet. Devours pussy. Sucks clit.
He spins me. Eyes wild, nostrils flare. Still graceful. Lifts me easy onto steel counter. ‘Careful, little flower. Cold.’
‘Will be hot.’
Head dives between thighs. Tongue fucks deep. Edge me hard. Moans escape. Begging now. ‘Fuck me, please!’
Kiss crashes. Taste myself on him. Dirty thrill. Unzip jeans. Cock springs thick, hard. Stroke it. He groans. Neck bites. Grip tight. Edge forward. Impale slow. ‘Oh Flore… so fucking good.’
‘The deepest ever…’ Ride him wild. Bodies blur. He pounds full. Swells inside. I clamp. Climax rips. Scream. He floods me, pulsing hot. Voices mix in grunts, gasps.
We cling. Legs unwrap. He holds back. Head on shoulder. ‘Flore, my flower.’ Tender. Eyes meet. Push hair aside. Want more. His name? Nothing. ‘See you maybe.’ Walk away, slick thighs. Back to batteries. Haunts me still. Perfect ghost.