Corner Shop Crush

Corner shops were civilization's last line of defense. Milk at midnight, fags at dawn, whatever you needed whenever you needed it. Mr. Patel's on the corner had saved my life more times than I could count.

But lately I'd been going for something other than essentials.

Priti—Mr. Patel's daughter—had started working nights while she studied for her degree. Small thing, maybe five foot two, with long dark hair and a smile that could sell you things you didn't need.

"The usual?" she asked as I approached the counter at eleven PM.

"How'd you guess?"

"You've bought the same thing every night for two weeks." She was already reaching for the milk, the bread, the packet of crisps I pretended I needed. "Creature of habit, you."

"Maybe I just like the service."

"Service is excellent." She rang me up, her fingers brushing mine when she handed over the receipt. "Three seventy-nine."

"Keep the change from a fiver."

"Big spender." But her eyes sparkled. "Same time tomorrow?"

"Wouldn't miss it."

Two more weeks of this dance. Small talk, lingering glances, the occasional joke that landed a bit too close to flirting. Until the night her dad was away.

"Conference in Leicester," she explained, locking the door behind my retreating back—or what should have been retreating. "Got the shop to myself all weekend."

"That's a lot of responsibility."

"I'm very responsible." She didn't unlock the door. "Most of the time."

"And now?"

"Now I'm considering making an irresponsible decision." She stepped closer. "Unless you have objections."

"None whatsoever."

She kissed me beside the bread aisle, her hands pulling me down to her level. She tasted of the chai she'd been drinking, sweet and spiced.

"Been wanting to do that for weeks," she breathed.

"Months, for me."

"Competitive." She grabbed my hand. "Back room. There's a sofa."

The back room was exactly that—sofa, desk, boxes of stock waiting to be shelved. She pushed me onto the sofa, climbed into my lap.

"Ground rules. My dad never finds out. Not because I'm ashamed—" she kissed me to make the point, "—but because he'd literally murder you."

"Fair."

"Good." She pulled off her top—underneath, a simple white bra against brown skin. "Now. Let me show you why I'm worth the murder risk."

She unhooked her bra, and I forgot about murder entirely. Her tits were small but perfect, nipples dark and responsive when I cupped them.

"Your hands are cold," she gasped.

"Let me warm them."

I sucked one nipple while kneading the other, listening to her breath hitch. She ground down against my lap, feeling what she was doing to me.

"Need more." She climbed off, pulled down her jeans. "Touch me."

I dropped to my knees on the stockroom floor, pulled her underwear aside. She was wet, ready, and when my tongue found her, she had to grip a shelf for support.

"Oh God—yes—"

She tasted different than anyone I'd been with. Better. I worked her with tongue and fingers while she gasped encouragement.

"Right there—don't stop—gonna—"

She came with her hand clamped over her mouth, shaking against the shelving. Before she'd recovered, she was pulling me up.

"Inside me. Now."

"Condom?"

"We sell them." She gestured vaguely. "Grab one."

I did—finding the display in the dark, grabbing the first one that fit. When I returned, she was bent over the desk, looking back at me with pure want.

"Don't make me wait."

I rolled on the condom, positioned myself, pushed in slowly. She moaned into her own arm.

"Fuck—yes—"

I fucked her over her father's desk, trying not to think about the murder risk. She pushed back to meet every thrust, her moans echoing off the storage boxes.

"Harder—please—"

I gave her harder. The desk scraped against the floor. She came again, clenching around me, and the feeling pulled me over the edge.

"Inside—do it—"

I came hard, buried deep, feeling her milk every drop.

We stayed there for a moment, connected, catching our breath.

"Well," she said eventually, "that's one way to spend a shift."

"Better than stacking shelves?"

"Infinitely." She straightened up, started fixing her clothes. "Same time tomorrow?"

"I'll be here."

"Good." She kissed me—soft, sweet. "Now buy something so it looks like you were actually shopping."

I left with milk, bread, crisps, and a standing appointment.

Mr. Patel never found out. I'm still alive.

Best corner shop on the estate.