Argos After Hours

Click and collect at Argos. Simple enough. Except when you're last customer of the day and the girl bringing out your toaster looks like that.

Roxy—nose ring, lip ring, eyebrow bar, probably more I couldn't see—handed over my box with a look that said she was dying of boredom. Black hair with purple streaks, sleeve tattoos, eyeliner sharp enough to kill.

"Here's your— wait." She looked at me properly for the first time. "Don't I know you?"

"Don't think so."

"Yeah, I do. You're mates with Danny. From that party in Croydon."

The party where I'd watched her snogging some girl in the corner and wished it was me. "That was you?"

"Yeah. Small world." She glanced at the security guard by the door, who was already putting on his coat. "We're closing. But if you want, you could... help me with some stock?"

The stockroom was a labyrinth of numbered bins and rolling ladders. She led me to the back corner, behind shelves of TVs and microwaves.

"Been thinking about that party," she said, jumping up to sit on a crate. "Saw you watching me. Liked it."

"You were busy."

"She wasn't my type. Too soft." She grabbed my collar, pulled me between her legs. "I like them rougher."

I kissed her hard, and she responded in kind—biting my lip, pulling my hair, aggressive and demanding. Her tongue ring clicked against my teeth.

"Knew you'd be good," she breathed. "Those hands. Could tell you know what to do with them."

"Let me show you."

I pushed her down on the crate, pulled up her work polo. Her bra was black lace, and when I unhooked it, I found exactly what I'd hoped—nipple piercings, silver bars through both.

"Careful with those. Sensitive."

I wasn't careful. I tugged gently with my teeth and she arched off the crate, moaning.

"Fuck—more—"

Her work trousers came down, revealing more ink—a snake winding around her thigh—and a strip of dark hair above her pussy. I buried my face there, tongue finding her clit while she grabbed my hair.

"Right there—shit—don't fucking stop—"

She tasted like rebellion, and I ate her like I was starving. When she came, she bit her own hand to stay quiet, thighs clamped around my head.

"Inside me. Now."

I didn't need to be told twice. I freed myself, found her slick and ready, and pushed in. She wrapped her legs around me, heels digging into my arse.

"Harder. I said I like it rough."

I gave her rough. Pounding into her on that crate, boxes falling around us, her nails leaving marks down my back. She came again, then again, relentless.

"Cum in me—want to feel it—"

I did, buried deep, her pussy milking every drop. We lay there among the fallen stock, catching our breath.

"Best fucking shift ever," she said. "Fancy getting a drink sometime?"

"After that? I'll buy you the whole bar."

She scrawled her number on my receipt. "Call me. And next time, we're doing this somewhere with a bed."

I walked out past the confused security guard, toaster in hand, number in pocket.

Best £19.99 I ever spent.