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In the replays, though, one of his hands is down the front of my pants while the other covers my mouth to keep me quiet. But I’m anything but quiet because his hand is much bigger and rougher than I’m used to having on my dick.
These are thoughts I shouldn’t be having, but I can’t stop, no matter how many car repairs I cram into a day or how much I drink before I go to bed.
In protest, I’ve refused to jerk off whenever I get hard from those fantasies, which is pretty much constantly.
So, I’m sleep-deprived and incredibly horny, which is a very bad combination. It’s made me a shitty boss to Jordan and a not-great businessman to my employees. Thankfully, Jordan has been around to handle most of the office work so I can keep my head and hands focused on fixing radiators and starters and not accidentally punching anyone in the face.
“Yo, RJ!”
“What now?” I snap as I continue replacing the spark plugs in Mrs. Douglas’s Buick.
“There’s some guy out front asking for you to look at his bike.”
“I’m busy. Tell him to leave it, and I’ll look at it when I can.”
“Dude’s got a weird-ass name and won’t tell me what kind of work he needs on his Harley…”
My entire body seizes up as soon as he mentions a “weird-ass name.” When I can move again, my head snaps up, slamming into the hood, which clangs loudly.
“Fuck!” I toss the spark plug socket down onto the engine to grab the growing knot on my head.
“Dude, that looked like it hurt. You okay?” Jordan asks.
“What’s his name?” I close my eyes and pray it’s not him while willing the headache to go away. It can’t be him, right? It’s stupid that he’s the first person I thought of when he doesn’t know where I work.
“Huh?” Jordan mumbles.
“You said there’s a guy out front, right?”
“Yeah.”
“What’s his weird-ass name?”
“Oh, it’s like Thanos or some crazy comic book villain name like that.”
Holy shit.
It is him.
How did he find me? Is he fucking stalking me now?
I know he’s got my ID, but it only has my home address, not this one.
Unless…unless he went by the house and talked to Bear, or worse, our dad and they gave him this address.
“You want me to try to get rid of him?” Jordan asks me when I continue to stand there frozen by unanswered questions. Mostly, I’m not sure I should be within a hundred feet of the guy after how much the first confrontation messed me up.
“Yeah, blondie. Should he try to get rid of him?”that familiar, taunting voice asks.
I whip my head around, and there he is, strolling into the open garage bay in his snug leather cut and too-tight jeans, his hands tucked inside his front pockets.
“Dude! You can’t be in here! I told you to wait outside!” Jordan admonishes the prick.
He looks different under the glow of the shop’s LED lights and backlight of the sun. His smug, angular face is smooth, freshly shaven. It’s the only skin that’s not currently covered by clothing or ink. Not that I’m thinking about his skin underneath the clothes.
Although from the way his eyes sweep up and down my body, I know he’s definitely thinking about what’s under my Dickies, my dark blue coveralls. Good thing I’ve got a tee and jeans on underneath…
“RJ?” Jordan’s use of my name makes me realize I’ve been staring down the jackass who has been checking me out for a long damn time.
