I can’t stop going back to the local cafe just to watch the married silver-fox barista handle the machine

There is this local coffee shop down the street from my apartment, and I am completely, utterly obsessed with the morning barista. His name is Marcus, he’s 42, has the most incredible silver hair, and wears a thick gold wedding band that just makes him look ten times hotter. He has this quiet, confident masculinity and deep voice that completely melts me every time he takes my order. Yesterday morning, the shop was totally dead right before closing, and I was sitting at the counter just shamelessly staring at his broad shoulders while he wiped down the espresso machine.

He caught me looking, smirked, and told me I looked like I wanted something much stronger than caffeine. The sexual tension completely snapped. Marcus walked around the counter, locked the front door, and pulled me straight into the back breakroom. The second he pinned me against the supply shelf, his wedding ring cold against my skin, I lost all control. He pulled my hair back and face-fucked me so aggressively that my knees were shaking. He ripped my skirt to the side, lifted my legs over his broad shoulders, and rammed his thick shaft all the way inside my tightest spot with zero hesitation. He hammered away so hard the shelves were rattling, bottoming out against my cervix until he let out a low groan and dumped a massive, burning load inside my womb. Now I'm just sitting here staring at my empty coffee cup, completely desperate for tomorrow morning.