Fun, Flirty, Filthy (Erotica Volume 1)

Abigail, Grande Latte Cafe, 9:30 PM

Ugh, finally, the day was almost over! It’s Friday, so that means I made it through another week, I think to myself with a heavy sigh. You see, I’m a barista for a trendy cafe, and ever since I began, I’ve had no damn social life.

The Grande Latte Cafe opens every morning at 7:00 AM and closes every night at 10:00 PM, except on Saturdays and Sundays.

My manager, Keith, said people needed lives outside of work to socialize, party, or hook up. Which was hilarious because he didn’t practice what he preached! He was here more than most of us, and I’ve occasionally caught glimpses of him in the building when it’s closed.

At first glance, it made him sound like a model boss. Working his ass off to keep a once struggling business afloat.

On the other hand, he treated all the women who work here as second-class citizens. Almost as if we didn’t exist if we weren’t performing tasks for him. So forgive me if I find his ideology baffling.

The idea of a life that didn’t involve this place was shocking with its long hours, moderate pay, and a demanding jerk like Keith, verbally abusing us like an evil ex. I’ve been working here for six months, and I hate it. But I’m broke and have no other experience, so I tolerated it.

Fortunately, there was one thing that made it all worthwhile. Keith was super hot! I’m not talking about an average attractive older man. No, he was like a supermodel. Or an ancient god trapped in a mortal’s form, waiting to burst forth and ravage nearby, lonely maidens.

Since we closed the shop every night. Together. Alone. I often caught myself fantasizing about Keith and all the things I wanted him to do to me, hypothetically, of course.

And just like before, tonight it began with me closing my eyes and focusing on his scent. Sandalwood and oak with a hint of whiskey. The smell of an older, refined man who knew what he wanted.

After that, my fantasy went something like this….

He pulled his thick, honey-brown hair loose from the confines of his ponytail, where it fell to his shoulders. He casually tossed the daily paperwork to the side while slowly stalking toward me with intention. My body squirmed excitedly in his presence, knowing full well that what he wanted wasn’t work-related.

His massive forearms wrapped around my waist, pulling my back into his hard, sculpted chest. Keith brought his soft, plush lips to my ear and whispered, “It’s been a long day, hasn’t it, Abby?”

I fidgeted, pressing into his chest as his warm breath tickled my neck. That’s when I felt him. Huge, hard, and hungry as always. Biting my lip, I replied, “Y— yes.”

“Mm, I think it’s time for you to get off, Abby,” Keith rasped, nibbling my earlobe. “What do you think?”

I gasped, anchoring my fingers in his gorgeous hair. “Um, we still have thirty minutes...”

Keith spun me around suddenly, perching my butt on the edge of the counter. His lips impatiently covered mine. Our tongues united in a hungry, passionate dance. My legs wrapped around his tight, muscular hips, holding on like a horny female mantis.

He broke our kiss. I whined, missing his expert tongue already. With a wicked smile, he ducked beneath the counter, tossing my legs over his shoulders. From between my thighs, he murmured, “You get off when I say you do, understand?”

"Dammit!" Keith groaned loudly, breaking my fantasy.

Annoyed, I pressed my thighs together to relieve the built-up pressure. Ugh, it was getting good, too!

Sighing heavily, I ask, "What's wrong this time?"

Keith glared at me, nostrils flaring, eyes bulging bigger than normal. He was seriously pissed off, but why? We’ve barely spoken to one another in three hours, aside from the occasional “Excuse me” or “Can you hand me that?”

So, what’s his issue now?

“The floor by the register is sticky!” Keith snapped, stomping his feet in the area. “I thought you mopped over here, Abigail?”

I smiled politely, hiding the actual words I wished to express. Actually, if he recalled correctly, he told me around eight-thirty not to mop until after I had properly sorted the lobby.

But, evidently, he had completely forgotten that interaction. Like usual.

“I wanted to make sure the lobby was situated first,” I explained cheerfully, yawning slightly. “Since I’ve cleaned the windows, wiped the tables, and stacked the chairs, I should be able to tackle the floors pretty easily. Would that be alright, sir?”

His eyes narrowed as he shuffled off to the office, muttering something under his breath. Geez, what a moody jerk.

For several minutes, I thoroughly swept and mopped the lobby, the walkway to the restrooms, and behind the counter. Paying extra attention to the register area, which was barely sticky.

Go figure. Keith was being dramatic again.

Waiting for my next set of ‘orders’ from Keith, I polished the countertop, display cases, and coffee machines. That’s when I heard Keith scream, “Abigail, my office, now!”

Carefully, I made my way to the office. Walking into a lion’s den of sorts, in which anything could happen.

I found Keith sitting at his cheap Ikea desk, tapping his fingers on the fake wooden exterior impatiently. “Sit down.”

Not wanting to further anger him, I obeyed.

“The register is fourteen dollars short,” Keith stated, tossing a stack of receipts at me. “And according to the schedule, you were on the register all day!” His face was red, his brown eyes almost black from rage.

He does this every day. He screamed at us and tossed his power around, treating us like crap. But today, he took it too far.

My mouth fell open. Is he seriously accusing me of stealing? I’ve been a loyal, on-time employee for six months, doing whatever he wants, and for what? To be called a thief?

Screw him.

Jumping out of my seat, I snarled, “Keith, I’m so sick and tired of your attitude! Every day you find things wrong with our jobs, complain about what we do, even if you’re the one who told us to do it, and to make it worse, you never stop yelling!” I picked up a stapler from his desk and threw it against the wall; it shattered on impact.

“It’s like you hate everyone and everything, and I don’t get that! Do you barely make minimum wage? No? How about snooty, entitled customers who throw stuff when their order is wrong? Still no? Gee, how about a boss who accuses staff of stealing from the register!?”

I was panting. Every ounce of courage I had is gone confronting this authority-clutching demon spawn.

“That’s enough!” he roared, standing up abruptly.

Suddenly, he was in my face, towering over me, about four inches taller and one hundred pounds heavier. His presence terrified me, driving me crazy with his dominance.

The room is quiet. Too quiet. Keith’s going to fire me; I know he is. Shit.

“If that’s how you feel, then I suggest you go elsewhere, Abigail,” he retorted, a scowl gracing his face. “Because from where I stand, you’re finished here.”

“Really? That’s it!? You’re accusing me of stealing without all the information! I went on break for thirty minutes, so Madison was in charge during that time!” I shrieked, shoving the chair against the wall.

He clenched his jaw, glaring at me with his intense brown eyes. “Keep it up, and I’ll call the cops.”

Scoffing, I questioned, “For what? Venting about my shitty job?”

Keith grinned smugly, holding up his hand. “How about the destruction of company property?” He put down a finger. “Or verbal assault?” Another finger went down. “Oh, or my favorite, theft?”

Keith smirks, holding up his hand. "How about the destruction of company property?" He puts down a finger. "Or verbal assault?" Another finger goes down. "Oh, or my favorite, theft?"

Screw this asshole!

I slapped him across the face. Hard. He stumbled back from the impact.

Neither of us says anything, and honestly? I’m scared to do so. What will he do now that I hit him? Scream? Throw something at me? Return the favor?

He growled, his face burning red, pointing at the door. “Get. The fuck. Out!”

“Gladly!” I hissed, tossing my apron and nametag at his face.

Quickly, I retrieved my phone and purse from the break room. I didn’t want to be here any longer than possible, so I darted for the front door, setting the alarm off.

As I drove away, I heard Keith yelling, “You dumb bitch, you forgot to disengage it!”

The entire way home, I felt a swirling void of regret in my gut. While I avoided the cops and several potential charges, I just left the only job that I’m qualified to do. And I hit my hot boss in the process!

Could this day get any worse?

A text message pinged on my phone. I activated the text-to-read program so that I could drive without distraction.

"From Keith:

I feel like we got off track and said a lot of terrible shit we didn't mean.

You're not fired, but please take the weekend to cool off.

Come back fresh on Monday. Then we need to talk."