Don't own. Don't sue.

Darcy stares at her boss. Stares.

"Montague Street? Again?" she asks disbelief on her face.

Erik places a seventh large plain hot-out-the-oven pizza in its trademark cardboard box and sighs.

"Sorry sweetheart. I know the guy doesn't tip well, but-"

"He doesn't tip at all," Darcy insists. "Why do you still let him place orders?"

She'd complained about the Montague Street address before. The guy always orders an insane amount of pizza and never tips. Well… The first time she delivered a pizza there, he'd only ordered the one and yeah, he did tip her that one and only time. But ever since, it seems like he's having a party every weekend. He orders seven pizzas every time. But, Darcy wouldn't know. The guy is always alone when he receives the pizzas.

"Just do it, and you can clock out early. Okay?" Erik offers.

Darcy raises an eyebrow. Clocking out early doesn't sound half bad. "So long as this won't bite me in the ass on payday." She needs the money.

Erik only rolls his eyes. "Get out of here, kid."

Without another word Darcy collects the seven boxes from the countertop. She leaves before Erik can change his mind.

Her skirt is too short. Her heels are too high. Since Darcy scurried out of Bifrost Pizzeria with every intention of going to Jane's house party tonight, she changed in the back and is dressed to the nines. She's dressed for an evening out. Not a simple pizza delivery.

Her heels click and clack against the concrete as she approaches the brownstone. She balances the pizzas using two hands and holding them away from her body (lest she smell like pizza). Once up the steps, she rings the doorbell and taps her foot.

He answers, of course. She knew he would. He's smiling and fidgeting as he opens the door and smiles at her.

"Hey," he greets her. "Wow! You look… You look really nice."

Darcy rolls her eyes. She knows she looks nice. She dresses herself after all. She knows what she looks like. And besides, complimenting her dress is hardly a tip.

"That'll be $47.58," she says, refusing to meet his eyes. She's made the mistake of looking into them once before. They're big, blue and endless and they only made her hate herself that much more for caving.

"Oh. Right. I put it on my card."

Darcy shakes her head. "No, if you did that, then I'd have a receipt for you to sign."

"So then where's my receipt?"

"What?" Darcy asks. The heat from the pizza boxes is beginning to make her uncomfortable.

"My receipt?" he repeats.

"I don't have one."

"Oh."

Darcy doesn't appreciate the judgment in his voice. "Which means, you didn't pay for it yet," she explains. The guy's being an asshole. Again. That's why she hates delivering here.

"Let me see…" He explains. Darcy impatiently taps her foot while he looks through his wallet.

"Oh yeah. I went to the bank earlier. So I decided to pay cash this time." He takes a bill out and holds it up. "Got change for a $50?"

"Your bill is for $48."

"Do you have change or not?"

"No."

"You should have change."

"I'm not required to break anything over a twenty any more than you're required to tip."

"Fine. Just take the fifty."

"Fine? You're doing me a favor?" Darcy is suddenly mad. Giving her $2 when she's delivered over fifty pizzas to his place is hardly good business. "I don't need any favors from you."

"What's the big deal?" He asks.

"The big deal is that pizza delivery comes with a base salary. We make money off the tips."

"…and?"

"And you never tip!"

He shrugs his shoulders. "I tip. I tip based on the work done. I mean, really how hard is it to walk three blocks and ring the doorbell?"

Darcy sees red. How hard is it? How hard is it?

She shifts the boxes in her hands, allowing her to open the top box. She pulls a slice out and deposits it on the floor between them.

"What do you think?" She asks. "Was that one delivered properly?"

"Hey!" He complains as he steps back, trying not to get cheese and sauce on his shoes.

"How about this one?" Darcy takes out another slice and slaps it against the door.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"I'm delivering your pizza," she snaps. She takes another slice and tosses it towards his window. "I wait tables for hours, listening to jerks and losers bitch and moan about not getting four star restaurant service just to pay off my student loans! Then someone like you calls in and I have to drop everything to bring your pizza barely three blocks away, all for the same shitty $3.75 an hour!" Another slice slides down the screen door.

"Stop that!" he demands.

"I'm just making sure you get what you asked for," she seethes. Another slice gets thrown onto the stairs. "Seven pies. It's not like this requires any skill." Another slice on the floor. And another. And another. She can't stop herself.

The man reaches for the remaining boxes in her hands, but she pulls them away allowing them to tumble to the floor. His eyes dart to the woman in front of him, beautiful and angry, and back down to the pizzas littered over his porch.

"You have to clean this up."

"Clean it up yourself, asshole!"

"Don't you think this is a little over the top for a tip?" he asks.

Darcy folds her arms over her chest. "No."

The man sighs. "$3.75?"

Darcy nods her head. "Plus tips. That's the incentive."

"Okay. Point taken." He takes another step back and gestures into the house. "Come on inside."

Darcy scowls. "Why would I do that?" The guy might be hot, but Mama Lewis didn't raise any foolls.

"So that I can apologize properly. And I'll give you a tip for the work you've done. She hesitates and he raises his eyebrows encouraging her to speak. "What's wrong?"

"This is how a lot of scary movies start."

"Actually," he corrects. "This is how a lot of pornos start."

Darcy's mouth falls open as the man leans forward, extending his hand.

"I'm Steve. And that's a very nice dress you're wearing."

Darcy narrows her eyes and studies him before accepting his hand. "Darcy. And I'm still not cleaning this shit up."

Steve chuckles. "I'm sure we can come to an agreement." He licks his lips slowly, and she can't help but stare. "Come on inside," he repeats.

Darcy smoothes out her dress before stepping over his threshold. She knows she probably shouldn't. There are a lot of reasons why. Especially that porn comment. She doesn't make a habit out of entering the homes of men who might very well be serial killers or lock her up in their basement for decades. Well, at least Erik knows where she went. He has the address. He'll tell the police she went to deliver pizza to the asshole who never tips. Blondie won't get away with murdering her. Because really, she's being an idiot. The only thing she knows about this guy is that he doesn't tip, and that she hates him. And that he has really, really nice looking arms. He must work out. A lot. And those blue eyes.

She expects his place to look like a dump full of empty pizza boxes, but is pleasantly surprised when she sees that his place is tidy for a guy's place. Oh hell, it's cleaner than hers.

She walks behind him. He leads her into what she assumes is his living room. There's a couch, an armchair, and a pool table in the center of the room. "Can I get you a beer?" he asks as he bends over, and retrieves two Corona lights from his mini fridge. She gets a good look at his ass. Okay. His ass is nice, too. She nods dumbly as he twists the caps off the bottle…she watches his biceps tense. She curses herself when she feels a rush of wetness between her legs.

"Thanks," she says as she accepts the beer. She waits for him to take a swig of his before bringing her own bottle to her lips.

"So, how are you at pool?" Steve asks.

"I'm alright." If he only knew. Growing up, she was the queen of the rec center pool table.

"Okay then." He produces a stack of fresh dollar bills.

"Were you on your way to a strip club?" Darcy teases.

"I told you I went to the bank."

She raised an eyebrow. "And you got singles?"

"Are you really complaining right now?" She shakes her head and fails to hide her amused smile.

Despite himself, Steve smiles too. He gestures back to the pool table. "How about you get one dollar for every ball?"

"Thats your apology?"

"Two dollars a ball then?"

"Two dollars a ball?" She echoes with a nod. That's better. Here's her chance to win back at least some of the tip he owes her for dragging all those pizzas to his place. She picks up a couple of balls, rolling them around in her hand. She can't help but notice how his eyes are fixated on them.

She wonders if he knows just how obvious he's being. "Works for me."

He breaks. She weighs the cue in her hands and bends over smoothly. Finding just the right angle, she exhales slowly, and shoots the first ball down.

"See, that wasn't too hard, was it? Two dollars," he says, laying down two dollar bills on the side of the pool table. Does he wonder if it was just a fluke? Because it's not. One by one, each ball is sunk, and the stack of dollar bills grows higher. If he's surprised to find that she's such a good pool player, perhaps even angry, he doesn't show it. In fact, he looks amused.

They talk and laugh as she plays, and she's surprised that the conversation actually flows easily between them. She's not good with words usually, but there's just something about this guy. This should be awkward. He was rude! Her behavior hasn't been much better.

"So… seven pizzas?" she asks, as she triumphantly earns another two dollars from him.

"I really like pizza," he says, and she rolls her eyes.

"Why aren't you a wandering heart attack?"

"Says the girl who delivers pizza for a living?"

"I deliver pizza. I don't eat it," she objects. Another two dollars.

"You don't eat pizza?"

"I used to. But working at Bifrost, I've had more than my share. And even then, I could never take down seven pizzas alone."

"Who said I was eating them alone?" Steve challenges.

He can't possibly eat all that pizza himself. Not the way his muscles are clearly visible under his white t-shirt. No excess fat on that body. She wanted to get his shirt off so she could verify it for herself. With her tongue.

"I've been dropping them off at the food pantry down the street," he admits. "I only order them to upset you."

Darcy can't stop the blush that creeps up her neck. "Don't you have bills?"

"Yeah," he laughs. "But I can afford to donate a few pizzas."

"So what do you do?" she asks.

"I work for the government."

"Really?" She chuckles under her breath.

"Why are you so surprised?"

"I dunno… I guess I just thought that all bureaucrats were, you know… fat, middle-aged men."

"That would be my boss," Steve laughs. "I stay away from the donuts."

"But not the pizza."

"Not when the pizza delivery girl looks like you, no." His blue eyes don't leave her face.

She licks her lips. This should be so creepy. So, so creepy. Dammit, why are her panties soaked through? She blinks, trying to focus on the few remaining balls. She gets the next one too, but just barely.

"Slipping?" Steve says, his voice amused.

She shakes her head, annoyed with herself. God, he's so cocky. And he's so hot. And the last time she got laid was… she tries to think back. It was several months ago. A pathetic one night stand with that guy. What was his name? Ian. She shudders. It doesn't count. He didn't even give her an orgasm. Her eyes travel over Steve's body again. Her hands clutch the cue a bit tighter when she sees that he's hard.

He's not even trying to hide his erection, the bastard!

When her eyes dart up to his face, she sees that he's smirking. She also sees that his pupils are fully dilated and that his skin is flushed. He hasn't touched her, not once, and still she's wetter than Ian managed to get her.

She licks her lips again. Goddammit, Darcy, focus. You're going to get that tip. Don't let him distract you with his annoyingly good looks. There's only one ball left. You've got this girl!

"So… think you can get the last one?" Steve says.

"If I do, what's going to be my reward?"

"Reward? You're getting your tip. Isn't that reward enough?"

She shakes her head slowly. "You've been putting me through hell for months, Steve," she says. "You owe me big time."

"Oh, I do?" She nods. He moves a little bit closer to her. "Well, what did you have in mind?"

Her heart beats wildly in her chest. This is crazy. She is crazy. What the fuck is wrong with her?

"I sink this ball, then I get to make a wish." Her voice is low and slightly hoarse.

"Oh yeah?" He asks and she nods. "Anything?" he presses, and she nods again. "Deal."

Her hands are shaking slightly as she bends over one last time. She makes sure that he can see where her skirt rides up her thigh, dangerously high. The moan he tries to stifle gives her the boost of self-confidence she needs to make one last perfect shot. He's holding the two last remaining dollar bills in his hands, staring transfixed at her lips. She smirks. "I believe you owe me two more dollars."

He blinks. "That's your wish?" He looks disappointed.

"No," she laughs. "I get two dollars and a wish."

"That's not a very good deal for me," he complains.

"Well, you did already agree to it. Plus it depends on what my wish is, doesn't it?"

"I guess. What's your wish?"

She lays the cue down on the table, and steps closer to him. She can feel the heat radiating off of him, but she doesn't touch him. She cranes her head up and sees his adam's apple bob as he swallows.

"What's your wish?" His voice is lower and just above a whisper.

She opens her mouth, gives her lips one last slow lick. "Fuck me." He leans in to kiss her, but she stills him with an index finger over his lips. "And make sure you make me cum."

His lips crash against hers, and he presses the back of her thighs against the pool table. She can feel him hard through his jeans and her dress. His hands are on her hips, squeezing tightly and he lifts her onto the pool table and steps between her legs. She unbuttons his jeans and pushes them and his boxers down over his hips, and her eyes widen as she gets a good look at him. She knew he was big from seeing his outline through his jeans, but damn. He steps out of his clothes and looks expectantly at her.

"Lose the t-shirt," she says. He does and she's not disappointed. Steve must lift a lot.

"Normally I'd say you are overdressed," he says, slipping his hand under the neckline of her dress.

His fingers are calloused, the friction against her soft skin makes her shudder. She can't help the moan from escaping from her lips. "But red just happens to be my favorite color." He pushes her dress down a bit, freeing one breast. Her dusky nipple is hard, and her head falls back as his tongue darts over it. "Turn around."

Shakily, she hops off the table and obeys. She can feel his length against her ass through the thin fabric of her dress.

"Bend over." It's a command.

One she's eager to obey. Have him take her from behind. Oh my God. Yes.

He pushes her dress up over her hips in one swift movement. His hands travel over her hips, and she can hear how heavily he breathes. "Fuck," he growls. "You are so perfect." His hand sneaks between her legs, pushing her thong aside. He must feel how wet she is. "You've been thinking about this, haven't you?" His voice is dark and makes her shiver.

"Yes," she admits. He tugs her thong down, and she's bare for him. "Do you have…" she pants, closing her eyes again as two thick fingers travel along the length of her slit, up to her clit, then back down again.

"Yeah."

She turns to see him bending over, digging through his jean pocket. He retrieves a condom from his wallet and, completely mesmerized, she watches him roll the condom over his length. Quicker than she'd thought possible, he's back between her legs. She widens her stance, and she feels his tip brush against her folds.

She savors the feeling of his cock entering her, inch by inch. He goes slow, which she is grateful for. It's been a while, and she's never had anyone who's nearly this big. She breathes slowly, willing her body to relax.

When he's fully inside of her, he stills, giving her a moment to adjust. He runs his hands over her hips, muttering, "You feel good. You're so tight."

She clenches her muscles around him, and it's all the encouragement he needs to start fucking her.

The first few strokes are slow but it's not long before he picks up speed. Her finger nails are scratching against the green cloth of the pool table as throaty moans escape her. She can't move, she can't really do anything, but she doesn't mind, and he certainly doesn't seem to.

"Open your eyes, Darcy," he demands, and she does.

She blinks a few times, and then he sees why he wanted her to open her eyes. There's a full length mirror on the wall. Who has a full length mirror on the wall of their living room? But God, oh God, she sees herself. Her open mouth, her glassy eyes, skewed glasses, and her hair a mess of brown curls, growing wilder with every thrust he gives her. And Steve… she can see every muscle in his body working to bring them both higher.

Their eyes meet in the mirror, and it's almost enough to finish her.

"Steve…" she moans, it's the only word she seems capable of saying right now. He's so big and hard inside her, and God, God…

"I've wanted to do this from the first time you came here," he says between his thrusts. "You were so beautiful, and that look in your eyes…"

She can already feel her body tightening up, a familiar sensation beginning deep in her belly.

She wishes she could say something, anything. That she's been thinking about him, too, even though she hasn't wanted to. Those blue eyes. The cockiness. His arms.

But when she opens her mouth, all that comes out, is "Harder."

He grits his teeth in the mirror as he obeys, and he goes deeper than she thought possible.

"I'm going to… I'm going to cum," she pants.

He tilts her hips, changing the angle slightly, exploring somewhere new inside of her. She can't stop the scream, and he growls something she can't quite make out behind her as his skin slaps against hers furiously. One more look at him in the mirror as he pounds into her is enough to push her over the edge. She forces herself to keep her eyes open and screams again as she spasms under him, around him, causing him to empty himself inside of her.

He shouts her name as he spills into the condom, his thrusts deep and erratic.

They hold each other's gaze in the mirror as their breath evens out. Finally he slumps against her, resting his head on her shoulder blade. Darcy takes in her surroundings. Steve's inside her. He's still pulsing. She's bent over the pool table. The green cloth beneath her is both soft and hard against her arms and her now bare breasts. Her dress must have been pulled down to her stomach.

He lifts his head, and their eyes meet in the mirror again. He smiles – and she can't help but return it. This should be so weird. She only found out his name half an hour ago, and now she's let him fuck her on the pool table. Practically begged him to.

He pulls out of her, and while she gets to her feet, locates her panties, pulls her dress up and covers her breasts again, he removes the condom and dries himself off using his t-shirt. Then he turns around, seemingly not self-conscious that he's naked and she's not.

"So… What did you think about your reward?"

"Oh," she muses. "I think it was sufficient."

"Only sufficient, huh?" His hands close around her upper arms, and he holds her as he kisses her again. Slower, more lazily this time.

"Yeah," she says breathlessly. He rolls his eyes. "You wanna get out of here?" She says impulsively.

"Didn't we just…?"

"Yeah. I mean, no. I mean let's actually get out of here. I was going to a party at a friend's place after delivering your pizzas. Wanna come?"

"What makes you think I want to go with you to a party?" He says playfully.

"Well, you don't have any pizza…"

"True."

"And then maybe later, we can get out of there."

"I like the way you think." He gives her another quick kiss. "Let me just grab a new shirt."

A few minutes later, he's back in the living room, wearing a clean shirt and jeans. His skin is flushed and he looks freshly fucked. She sits on the pool table waiting for him, and when he sees her, he smiles. Then he looks down at her fist, where she's clutching his dollar bills. It's a pretty big stack. "Hey, I thought I'd already tipped you? You're taking my money as well?"

She smirks. "You bet. Erik would fire me if he found out that I accept sexual favors as tip."

"So, you do?"

"No."

"Okay. Good to know."

She takes his hand, and as they leave, they step over all the pizza she threw around the porch. His neighbors aren't going to be happy about the mess, but whatever, it's not her problem.

I realized I uploaded my first draft not the final version of this originally. I coudn't figure out how to fix it so I deleted it and reuploaded it. Not a lot of changes but I think it's better now. If you read it before, thanks.

Please leave a review!