Lena tucked a strand of honey-brown hair behind her ear, shelving a stack of romance novels. She winced at the visual assault of tinsel, red bows, and twinkling lights covering every shelf of the small bookstore. The pristine holiday display clashed violently with the gray slush and gritty snow melting onto the mat from a dozen customers' boots—a mess she will have to take care of later.

The bell above the door jingled, and she glanced up—habit, politeness, the automatic smile she had perfected for patrons. The man who stepped in wasn't the usual. Too broad, too rough around the edges, his denim jacket dusted with snow and his bald head gleaming under the fluorescents.

He didn't look like he belonged between quiet rows of books.

Lena straightened. "Welcome in, Merry Christmas." Her voice stayed soft, demure.

"Yeah, fuck Christmas," he grunted, stomping the slush off his boots. "Figured I'd get outta the damn cold." His eyes—hungry in a way that made her throat dry—scanned the room before landing on her. "You work here?"

His gaze dragged down her body with the slow, deliberate weight of a man imagining the layers peeling away. The bulky knit sweater hid her shape, but his stare scorched over the curve of her hips in those soft winter pants, how the fabric pulled tight when she shifted her weight.

Her lips parted—just for a second—before she caught herself and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear again.

She nodded, fingers tightening around the book in her hands. "Assistant Manager."

"Huh." He stepped closer, the smell of cigarettes and winter clinging to him. "Thought they'd hire someone… older."

Lena blinked. "Well—"

"Nothing. Just—books, figured it'd be some frumpy old lady." His grin, crooked, like he knew he had put his foot in his mouth. "Not a pretty thing like you.”

The thick edge of his fingernail grazed the plastic of her nametag before pulling back, rough hands retreating.

"Lena," he rumbled, tasting the syllables.

She swallowed, the heat of his voice curling low in her stomach.

"Walter," he added, like an afterthought. "Walt to my friends." The name settled between them—heavy, unused.

Heat prickled up her neck. She should have looked away, should have muttered something professional, and retreated to the safety of the front desk. Instead, her gaze dropped to his hands—thick, calloused—before flicking back up.

"Is there something I can help you find, Walter?"

He chuckled, low and rough. "Doubt it."

Annoyance flared under her skin. "Then why come in?”

He stepped into her space, close enough she caught the sharp bite of whiskey under the smoke. "Like I said. Cold out." A beat. "And right now, I like lookin' at you."

Lena's pulse jumped. Her back hit the shelf behind her, the spines of books pressing into her shoulder blades. "That's—"

"What? Rude? Probably." He tilted his head, studying her. "Bet you hear worse, though. Pretty girls like you get told all kinds of shit."

She swallowed, rolling her eyes. "Yeah, just what I needed."

His voice dropped, gravel in it. "Bet what you really need is a good fucking."

The words punched through her. For a second, she forgot how to breathe.

Lena sucked in a sharp breath, the air suddenly thick between them. Six months sober—six months since she had last let herself fall apart under a stranger's touch, since she had woken up sticky and hollow. The craving clawed up her throat the way his rough voice wrapped around those words.

Then—slow, deliberate—she wet her lips.

Her fingers twitched against the book's spine. Losing the fight raging within her in seconds. When she finally spoke, her voice was a whisper—smug, testing.

"Old men like you shouldn't make promises they can't keep."

Walter's eyes darkened.

She didn't wait for him to answer as she gave him the dirtiest smile she could pull off, swaying her behind as she walked away.

Lena disappeared into the narrow gap between the shelves, very much aware of what she had just done, but he was right; she needed something.

Walter's boots scuffed against the linoleum as he trailed her, his breath hot on her nape before she even reached the office. Lena spun in the doorway—her back pressed to the frame, chest rising fast. He caged her in, one calloused palm smacking the wall beside her head.

"Think I can't?" His voice scraped raw.

The space between them hummed. Her hips twitched forward, a hair's breadth from his belt buckle. His free hand found her waist, owning, rough.

She hissed. "Prove it."

His mouth was hot, tasted like bourbon and winter air. A growl rumbled in his chest, his hands dragging her hips tight against him. The desk rattled as he backed her into it, his thigh slotting between hers.

"Fuck," he muttered into her mouth. "Knew you were hiding something under those glasses.”

She bit his lower lip, relishing the way his breath hitched. "Shut up.”

His laugh was rough, his hands caressing her ass. "Make me."

The back office was small, cluttered with stacks of books. Lena barely had the door closed before Walter spun her around and pressed her front-first against the desk. Papers scattered as he shoved her sweater up, mouth hot on the back of her neck.

"Quiet," he growled. "Or you wanna get caught?”

She shuddered, arching into him. His fingers hooked in the waistband of her pants, dragged them down just enough to expose her.

Walter groaned, his cock straining against his jeans as he pressed against her. "Christ, you're dripping."

Lena whimpered, fingers clawing at the desk.

He didn't make her wait.

One hand fisted in her hair, the other guiding himself, and then he was inside her with one brutal thrust.

She choked on a gasp, eyes watering. He was thick, stretched her in a way that burned.

"That's it," Walter muttered, hips slamming into hers. "Take it.”

The desk creaked under their weight. Lena bit her lip hard enough to taste copper, the slap of skin filling the tiny room.

His grip on her hair tightened, yanking her head back. "Look at you," he rasped. "All sweet and shy out there, but here?" A particularly rough thrust punched a whine out of her. "Here you're just a greedy little cunt."

The force of him drove her forward, chest mashed against the desk, fingers scrambling for purchase on scattered papers. Each thrust knocked a punched-out sound from her lungs—sharp, airless gasps muffled against the crook of her elbow.

Walter's grip on her hair kept her arched, spine bowed to his mercy. His hips pistoned, relentless, the slap of his thighs against her ass loud enough to make her ears burn.

"So fucking tight," he snarled, voice gravel. "Bet you get wet thinking about this, huh? Pretty little  'Assistant Manager'  getting railed in her own office?"

Lena whined, thighs trembling.

His hand left her hair, skated down her spine to palm her ass, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. "Talk."

"Y-yes—"

"Louder."

"Yes!" The word tore from her, ragged. "I think about it—God, I think about it all the time—"

He growled, satisfaction rough in his throat, and fucked her harder. The desk jolted forward an inch with every snap of his hips. Her clit dragged against the desk's edge, the sweet-sick friction making her vision blur.

One hand slipped between her legs, thumb pressing tight circles just as his cock hit that spot inside her that made her legs shake.

"Gonna come?" His breath was hot against her ear. "Gonna drip all over my cock like the dirty girl you are?"

She couldn't nod, couldn't speak—just clenched around him, a broken noise shredding from her throat as her orgasm crashed through her.

Walter didn't stop. His hips stuttered, driving into her through it, dragging the pleasure into something sharp and endless.

"Good girl," he gritted out. "Now take it—take all of it—"

His fingers bit into her hip, pulling her back onto him as he came with a groan that sounded half-pained. Heat flooded her, thick and possessive, and Lena shuddered, oversensitive but greedy, hips rocking back to get every last second of it.

Walter slumped over her, chest heaving, forehead pressed between her shoulder blades. His breath steamed against her damp skin.

For a long moment, the only sound was their ragged breathing and the distant hum of the store's HVAC. Then —

Until the bell above the front door chimed.

Walter pulled out with a wet sound, tucking himself back into his jeans as Lena recovered against the desk. He grabbed her chin, thumb swiping across her swollen bottom lip.

"Next time," he growled, "we'll see what this pretty mouth can do." He dropped a filthy kiss on her temple.

"Happy fucking Christmas!"