Iceland After Hours

There's something properly depressing about Iceland at 11:30 PM. The fluorescent lights, the sad freezers, the fact that you're buying frozen pizzas because you've got nothing else in.

I was the only customer, which meant the tiny redhead restocking the chicken nuggets was my only company.

She was fit in that pixie kind of way—short, couldn't be more than five foot, with dyed red hair cut in a choppy bob and more ear piercings than I could count. Her Iceland fleece swamped her, sleeves rolled up to reveal tattoo sleeves on both arms.

"We close in fifteen," she called out without looking up. "Just so you know."

"Cheers. Just need a few bits."

She finally glanced over, did a double-take. "Oh. Thought you were one of the usual late-night weirdos."

"And I'm not?"

"Jury's still out." But she was smiling. "What you after?"

"Pizza. Beer. The essentials."

"Classy." She jerked her thumb toward the back. "Beer's by the frozen desserts. Pizza's obvious. Shout if you need anything."

I found my stuff, but I also found myself lingering. Partly because I didn't want to go back to my empty flat. Partly because every time I walked past, she'd look up and smile.

"You gonna buy anything or just keep doing laps?" she asked finally.

"Enjoying the ambiance."

"The ambiance?" She laughed—a bright, surprised sound. "Mate, it's Iceland. The ambiance is fluorescent lighting and freezer burn."

"And charming company."

Her cheeks went pink. "Smooth. That work on many girls?"

"You tell me."

She glanced at the clock. Five minutes to closing. Then at the front door. Then back at me.

"Alright," she said. "Help me bring in the pavement signs and lock up. Then maybe I'll let you buy me a drink from the beer you're about to purchase."

Her name was Destiny—"Yeah, I know, me mum was a stripper"—and she'd worked at Iceland for two years while saving up for a tattoo apprenticeship. We sat on the back loading dock, sharing cans of cheap lager, her legs dangling over the edge.

"This is nice," she said, leaning against my shoulder. "Usually I just go straight home and pass out. This is... better."

"Better than passing out alone?"

"Better than everything being the same every fucking day." She looked up at me, those green eyes catching the streetlight. "You ever feel like that? Like you're stuck in a loop?"

"All the time."

"So let's break the loop."

She kissed me. Soft at first, then harder, her small hands fisting in my jacket. She tasted like cheap lager and strawberry lip gloss.

"Inside," she breathed. "It's fucking freezing out here."

The stockroom was warmer, barely. Stacks of frozen goods and the hum of industrial freezers. Destiny hopped up on a pallet of frozen chips, pulled me between her legs.

"This alright?" I asked.

"More than alright." She was already working at my belt. "Been a shit week. Need something good."

I peeled off her fleece, found a tight black vest underneath. No bra—her nipples were already hard from the cold, pressing against the fabric.

"Fuck, that's hot."

"I'm actually freezing." But she was grinning. "Warm me up?"

I lifted her vest, took one of those cold nipples in my mouth, warmed it with my tongue. She gasped, arched into me.

"God—yes—more—"

I sucked, licked, bit gently while she squirmed. Her hands were in my hair, pulling me closer.

"Need more," she whimpered. "Please—"

I worked her work trousers down, found simple black knickers, already damp. She was tiny everywhere—small but perfectly formed, smooth and pink and glistening.

"Gorgeous," I murmured, and dropped to my knees.

She screamed when my mouth found her—properly screamed, the sound echoing off the freezers. Her thighs clamped around my head.

"Shit—fuck—right there—"

I worked her with my tongue, fingers, everything I had. She tasted sweet and clean and desperate.

"Gonna cum—already—fuck—"

She came on my tongue, shaking, her heels drumming against my back. I didn't stop until she pushed my head away, over-sensitive.

"Inside me," she panted. "Now. Need to feel you."

I stood, positioned myself, pushed in slowly. She was tight—incredibly tight—and hot despite the cold around us.

"Move," she demanded. "Fuck me properly."

I did. Hard, fast, making the pallet shake beneath us. Frozen chips slid off the edge and neither of us cared.

"Yes—yes—oh fuck—again—"

She came a second time, and I followed, burying myself deep as I finished.

We cleaned up, got dressed, finally drank our warming beers. Destiny was grinning like she'd won something.

"Same time next week?" she asked. "I work late every Thursday."

"I'll bring better beer."

"And your A-game." She unlocked the back door, let me out into the night. "This week was good. Next week, I want great."

I walked home with a frozen pizza I'd forgotten to put in a bag.

Best shopping trip of my life.