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“I believe you.” When he looks at me, his grin is so deep in his cheeks that it creates dimples around the scars. I find myself staring at them, fascinated by how they stretch across his face, and my fingers itch to trace the lines of each one.
I feel strangely comfortable around this guy now. I like his flirty banter, although I know I have no right to because he’s not flirting. Even if he was gay—which I guarantee he’s not, he’s not my type.
I don’t really do the slum-down thing. My type is more like Nico, fit, young, andflexible. Slightly submissive and easy to manipulate—in bed and in our relationship.
We turn into the parking lot of the mechanic shop and pull right into the first bay. I’m surprised to see it quiet and empty. He puts the truck into park, and I expect him to jump out, but he pauses in his seat. The moment stretches as he stares out the window. “For what it’s worth,” he says, finally. “You don’t look thirty-four.”
“Thanks,” I reply quietly.
His head turns my way, and our eyes lock. I’m lost in those amber brown irises for a moment, waiting for him to say or do something to break the sudden tension. But he doesn’t. Instead, we bathe in the uncertainty between us because there’s something about it—orhim, that feels both hot and cold, ice and fire in my veins. But it’s the fire and strange anticipation that makes its way down to my groin.
He finally jumps out of the vehicle, and I take my first full breath in minutes.
I sit in the truck for a moment, letting this strange feeling wash over me, willing the sudden arousal in my pants to chill the fuck out.
When I finally hop out, he’s already unloading my car off the back of the truck, so I busy myself with walking around and looking at everything. It’s not a big shop, and it’s isolated on a road just outside of the city center. It’s in good condition though, cleaner and newer than I thought it would be.
“You run this place by yourself?” I ask.
He laughs. “No. I’m just the only guy willing to work on Sundays.”
“What’s wrong? You don’t go to church?”
That dimpling grin stretches on his face again, revealing perfectly white teeth. As he looks up at me, he replies with a small shake of his head, “No, I don’t.”
I watch him maneuver the car until it’s parked in the bay and hoisted six-feet in the air, and I realize that I could easily watch this guy at his job all day long. It’s like foreplay—this sensual dance of muscles and effort and sweat, those strong yet nimble hands moving with deft skill and experience, imagining them working the same way on my clothes and my body.
He catches me looking a few times, but I play it off as just interest in what he’s doing, and he seems mostly unfazed.
“If you’d like to meet me in the office,” he says casually, “we can fill out some paperwork before you leave.”
Is that his not-so-subtle way of trying to get rid of me? Giving him a nod, I head in the direction of the entrance. Going through the black door on the side of the garage, I find a small office, immaculately clean, with a broad wooden desk, a computer, and a couple chairs for customers. But I don’t sit down. I’m feeling too restless. I’d rather just settle this now, call my Uber, and put this shit show of a day and very strange encounter behind me.
Just as I pull up the Uber app on my phone, I hear him coming in. With my back to the door, I hear the distinct sound of the door closing and the lock clicking. Everything in me freezes, and my head gets caught in a vicious battle between fear and anticipation. This could either be a very good thing or a very bad thing.
The space is swallowed up in silence as he takes another heavy step closer to where I’m standing. My heart seems to be the only thing in the room moving as I wait for what comes next. I’m either about to be fucked or murdered, and my body is wound so tight in arousal and anticipation it doesn’t seem to know the difference.
I don’t know why, but I expect him to say something, to flirt with me some more or ask me out, but he doesn’t. Instead, he pounces.
His large hand takes me by the throat, pulling me backward until I’m up against the hard wall of his body. Then soft lips are devouring my neck, and what comes out of my mouth barely sounds human.
I’m fifty-percent turned on and fifty-percent glad to be alive.
Okay, maybe ninety-ten.
His groan is loud in my ear, and his kiss is ravenous, warm lips and tongue sucking eagerly on my jaw and then my earlobe. I’m thrust into the sensation of complete euphoria.
One hand is still on my neck, holding me in a punishing grip so I can’t move—not that I’d want to, while the other is traveling down my side until he reaches around to the front of my body and cups my quickly growing erection through my pants. Then, he grinds himself against me, squeezing me tight in his hands. The hard length of his cock is crushed against my lower back.
I’m five-eleven. Almost tall, and definitely not short. In this guy’s arms, though, I might as well be four feet tall by the way he’s handling me, and I don’t hate it. Right now, I don’t hate anything because I’m being groped by a perfect stranger, not even old enough to drink alcohol, in the office of a mechanic’s shop. On a fucking Sunday.
“Fuck,” I groan out when he strokes his hand down my dick with perfect precision.Please fucking take it out,I pray. And like a sign from God himself, my handsy mechanic fumbles with the buttons on my jeans. They’re unzipped in seconds, and his hungry hand digs into my boxers for my aching cock.
Once he has his giant fingers around me, I thrust forward. He strokes me hard to the rhythm of his grinding against my backside. His lips keep up their assault on my neck, and my hands don’t quite know what to do. I reach back with one hand and grab onto his hip, pulling him harder against me, while the other one slides up his arm until I reach his head, skating through his soft hair and tugging his face closer.
“Take your fucking pants off,” he bites out in a sexy command.
I tense for only a moment. It’s not that I have a problem bottoming—it’s just that I’m not usually so eager to do so. But apparently, when this guy says jump, I say fuck me.
