Mr. Barista gimme caffeine

Like every other twenty something in my city, I am addicted to overpriced cafe latte's and nonfat, no whip, sugar free mochas, etc. Everyday on my walk to work I stop by my local Starbucks to get my caffeine fix. Everyday I also stand in line undressing the hottie barista who takes my order and makes my drink... every morning! Tall and tanned, with just enough of a scratchy, sexy beard and longish hair that drives me wild. He knows my name by now, but he always teases me, spelling it wrong, flirting about whatever silly topic we can chat about in our quick moments together. I make sure to dress my best for work, but really, it is for him. I crave the looks he sneaks towards me, eyeing my heels, over my sheer tights and up to the curves of my ass in my tight pencil skirt; finishing his gaze on my generous cleavage, only partially hidden in my button up blouse. I am trying to build the courage to slip him my number, but as I wait in line, it is much more fun to dream about his strong hands skimming my hips, may ass, and my pussy. I want to take him on that espresso bar, ignoring the steaming milk and coffee as I ride him, high from my $5 caffeine rush. Every day, the same time and place, I imagine the dirty, hot things I want to tease and do to him. The ways he could make me cum. And I don't even know his name.