20/1 on the nose. Two hundred quid from a tenner. I was buzzing when I handed the slip to Rochelle.
"Fucking hell, you actually won?" She counted out the notes. "That horse hasn't won in months."
"Felt lucky."
"Clearly." She looked at me, something calculating in her eyes. "Manager's gone home. Shop's dead. Fancy testing that luck further?"
"What did you have in mind?"
"Come find out."
The back office was cramped—screens showing races nobody was watching, a desk covered in slips. She locked the door.
"Been working here two years. First time I've done this."
"First time for everything."
"Exactly." She kissed me, slim body pressing against mine. She tasted like energy drinks and mint.
"Needed this," she admitted. "Watching men lose money all day. Gets depressing. You're the first winner in weeks."
"Let me make us both winners."
Her uniform came off easily—shirt, skirt, simple underwear underneath. She was slim, almost athletic, with small perky tits.
"Like what you see?"
"Gorgeous."
I dropped to my knees, pulled aside her knickers. She was wet, responsive, and came fast with my tongue inside her.
"Fuck—more—"
I stood, bent her over the desk. Pushed in slow, felt her gasp.
"Harder—yes—"
We fucked surrounded by betting slips and racing screens. Horses ran in the background while she moaned.
"Gonna cum again—don't stop—"
She did, clenching around me. I followed, gripping her hips.
A screen beeped—new race starting.
"Shit." She was dressed fast. "But this was worth it."
"Same time tomorrow?"
"Put a tenner on the 3:30 at Kempton. If it wins, come collect. If it loses..." She smiled. "Come collect anyway."
The horse lost. I collected regardless.
Best bet I ever made.