A Real Consolation

Tommy sat at the bar like someone kicked him in the nuts. His girlfriend ran off with his buddy and he still checks his phone every minute hoping she crawls back. Isabella De Santos, the owner with curves that made men forget their own names, saw the guy dying inside. She slid next to him, flashed a grin that said trouble, and pulled his hand under her skirt. No panties. Wet as hell. "Let me make it better," she whispered, spreading wider so he could slide two fingers straight into her tight heat. She soaked his hand right there while customers drank around them. Then she led him to the back room, bent over a stack of crates and let him fuck her senseless. She took every inch like it was a favor she owed herself, moaning loud enough to drown out any heartbreak still stuck in his head.