Leah was the epitome of the "girl next door" - sweet, innocent, and unsuspecting. At the bar, however, she was a different kind of girl. Down on her luck and drowning in tequila, she was feeling more reckless than usual. As she stumbled towards the restroom, a man with a weathered face and a thick Irish brogue caught her eye. "Hey there, darlin', need some help?"
Maureen, the bartender, rolled her eyes and yelled, "Don't encourage her, Seamus!" But Seamus was already leading Leah towards an empty booth in the back. She tried to protest, but he was too strong for her drunk body. "Now, now, don't be shy. Let's have a chat."
Before she knew it, Leah was on her back, sprawled across the sticky leather seats. Seamus was on top of her, a wicked grin on his face. She could smell his whiskey on his breath and feel his rough hands on her thighs. "What are you doing? Stop!" she protested weakly.
"Relax, lass. Just a bit of fun. Ain't that what you came here for?" His fingers slid under her skirt, tracing her inner thigh. She moaned despite herself, feeling a warmth spreading between her legs. "No. I can't. this is wrong," she whispered. But Seamus only laughed and leaned in for a deep, wet kiss.