Or was this just a regular Tuesday for her? Random boys materializing from the void, getting smuggled through service passages by starstruck maids who had quietly decided the household dress code included "optional boundaries"?
He didn't know.
What he did know though was that Lina had milked every single opportunity like it was her last shift and the tip jar was bottomless.
Every echoing footstep became justification for a violent shove into the nearest wall followed by her launching herself at him like a heat-seeking missile with excellent aim.
Every shadow turned into an excuse for hugs that lasted three very suspicious beats longer than basic camouflage demanded.
Her breasts — soft, full, and so fucking plush — flattened against his ribs, nipples already stiff and pressing through the thin cotton of her uniform like they were trying to memorize the texture of his shirt.
