Here's your milk

You stand with your cup in hand, pretending to be at ease, though you know your grip is too tight on the cardboard. She looks far more relaxed, her shoulders loose, her hip leaning slightly against the counter as if she had all the time in the world. Slowly she leans forward and drops to her knees, right in front of you.

“So,” she says, swirling the cup as if weighing it, “do you always look this serious when you give away your milk?”

You blink. “Serious?”

Her grin widens. “Yes. Like you’re about to sit an exam.”

You try to laugh, and it comes out half-hearted, half-sincere. “Well, you never know. Could be a trick question at the bottom of the cup.”

She laughs at that, warm and genuine, the kind of laugh that draws a glance from the man at the espresso machine. She starts pulling down her top to show more of her flesh and you feel heat rising to your face but can’t help smiling too.

From the corner of your eye, you catch movement. The two college students, are still at their table by the window. They’ve abandoned all pretence of studying, their notebooks pushed aside. One rests her chin on her palm, watching the two of you with a quiet smile; the other sips lazily through her straw, eyes darting between you and her friend as though they’re silently keeping score. They both raise their eyebrows when you grab your cock and start stroking it.

The nods towards a man nearby, who is stirring his tea so loudly it sounds like a construction site. “See that? That’s what real concentration looks like. You’ve got competition, I could ask for his milk instead if you prefer.”

You lower your voice. “No, no need, I'll give you mine.”

This time, when she laughs, the girls at the table both exchange a look,. You feel your ears burn.

There’s a pause, but it isn’t uncomfortable. She takes another sip, her fingers delicate against the white ceramic. "It would taste so much better with your milk in it".

She catches you looking at her breasts, though not unkindly. “Am I making you nervous?” she asks. Her tone is light, teasing, though her eyes search yours.

You shake your head too quickly. “No. Not at all.”

“Mm.” She hides her smile behind the rim of her cup, though you know she isn’t convinced. You continue jerking off, more intently, more relaxed.

A stifled giggle from the window table makes you glance over. One of the students whispers something to the other, and they both smirk in unison. They don’t even bother disguising their curiosity anymore.

She tilts her head slightly, sensing your flicker of distraction. To cover it, she says, “I used to work in a café like this. Terrible at it. I once spilt two cappuccinos over the same man in one morning. He stopped tipping me his milk after that.”

You laugh, freer this time. “I figure.”

Her eyes brighten at your response, as if pleased to have drawn you out. She leans a fraction closer. “And you? Ever had a job where you were hopeless?”

You think too long before answering. “Most of them.”

She laughs softly, and for a moment you forget about the students, the nerves, the coffee, the crowd. There’s only her standing across from you, her smile warm, her presence steady, and the quiet, thrilling sense that she’s enjoying this as much as you are. You lean forward a bit, as if pointing to her cup.

Then, from the window table: “You two are ridiculous,” one of the students calls out, not unkindly. Her friend shushes her, but she’s grinning too.

You freeze. She, however, turns towards them with an easy smile. “Ridiculous in a good way, I hope?”

The students nod eagerly, laughing. “Oh, definitely.”

She turns back to you, her grin widening. “Well, there’s your review. Five stars. Charming but ridiculous.”

You speed up and finally groan and shoot your load into her cup. White shots start covering the black liquid while the woman beams in delight. The students chuckle in the background, and she watches you with that same warm grin. You did not enjoy this situation as much as you thought you would.