Who is the server?

The three of you slid into a booth at the Mexican place, Sarah on one side of you, her mom on the other. Mrs. Morgan ordered margaritas for the table and the conversation stayed light—classes, Sarah’s upcoming internship, how the drive had gone. For once the knot in your chest loosened. Normal felt possible.

Then the server appeared at the edge of the table, pen poised over her pad.

“Hi, I’m Mia. I’ll be taking care of you tonight.”

Your stomach dropped. Mia’s eyes flicked straight to yours, recognition flashing, then a slow, wicked smile curved her lips. She looked exactly the way she had the night you first fucked her—tight black tank, tiny shorts, tits pushed up and threatening to spill out. The same girl who’d dropped to her knees and guzzled your cock while Sarah thought you were asleep.

Sarah glanced up, oblivious. “Hi, Mia. Can we start with chips and salsa?”

Mia’s gaze never left you. “Of course. And for you?” she asked, voice sweet as she turned to Mrs. Morgan.

You managed a nod when she asked for your drink order, but Mia leaned in just enough that only you caught the shift in her tone.

“Anything else I can get you… sir?” The word dripped with memory—of you calling her a good girl while she choked on your cock, of her whispering how much she loved stealing another woman’s man.

Your face stayed neutral, but heat crawled up your neck. Mia straightened, still smiling that secret little smile, and walked off with a sway in her hips that made your cock twitch under the table.

Sarah was already back on her phone. Mrs. Morgan sipped her water. Neither of them noticed the way Mia glanced over her shoulder one last time, eyes locked on yours like a promise that this dinner was about to get a lot more complicated.