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“You’re assuming I’m wearing underwear.”
My lips press firmly together to stop a moan from escaping.
Fuck, I was assuming she was wearing underwear.
Black.
Lacy.
Thong.
Low cut rather than high.
Now?
Now, I’ve got a new line of questioning plaguing my poor brain, that same poor brain that I get the feeling she loves to overheat.
She did it on and off all afternoon at the shop while working on her laptop.
Bunny kept claiming she had “butterfingers” with her pens – except the Mickey Mouse one she tends to keep in her hair – and that’s why they kept rolling away into “bend over in front of me” territory.
I’ve never hit my head so many times on the hood of one fucking car.
And you know, since I couldn’t let myself dream about the shit earlier – for fear of damaging a customer’s property – I think it’s time to.
What is her situation down there?
Trimmed?
Strip?
Bare?
My cock thumps eagerly against the zipper to my work pants with its hopeful answer, which honestly isn’t really needed at this point in time.
The chick determined to give me a stroke before I hit thirty flashes me what can only be described as a devilish smirk before bumping me out of the way to steer the cart. “Why do you care so much about the most expensive car I’ve ever sat in?”
“Idontknow.” I let my shoulders innocently bounce during our slow stroll around the small grocery store. “I just…I really like cars.”
“Why?”
“They’re fucking incredible.”
“What makes them so incredible?”
“Depends on the car.” Grabbing a box of Twinkies is followed by her putting in a second. “Sometimes it’s their performance as a whole like with certain Corvettes. Sometimes it’s just their top speed abilities like the Venom F5. Others it’s their acceleration like the Aston Martin Vantage or Nissan GT-R.” An impressed quirked eyebrow is shot in my direction prompting me to uncomfortably glance at the shelves I know we don’t need anything else from. “What?” Different sugary treats joining the pile briefly crosses my mind. “I told you I really like cars.”
“Didn’t realize exactly how fucking much.”
People rarely do.
And then when they do, they have a tendency to try to fuck me over with it.
Because if I know so much then that means I should never make a mistake.
Or charge that much because the shit’s so easy for me.
Never mind the fact I consider the shit to be art.
