Page 13 of Saved By The Mechanic

I want to bury my tongue in her sex again, lap at her juices until she is trembling like she did on the hood of her car. Then I’ll feed her my cock, watch those beautiful doe eyes tear up and that perfect mouth stretch around my shaft, getting it all warm and wet for me before I thrust it into her wet pussy.

Christ, the image of this girl kneeling in front of me, her head bobbing as she takes my cock in her mouth, has my breath coming out in short pants. I want those perfect lips around my dick, her tongue tracing my length as she makes little noises at the back of her throat.

“Ray?” she whispers, tilting her head to the side and blinking innocently at me, oblivious to the thoughts swirling around my mind.

Christ, she would run for the hills if she could read my mind and see all the dirty things, I want to do to her.

Heck, she probably can tell what I am thinking. It’s written all over my face and body with how tight it's strung. And yet, she doesn’t move away. She stands so close to me with her cheeks flaming and eyes glistening with something like mischief, and it’s a fucking ordeal not to touch her.

With her pebbled nipples poking against the shirt I gave her, it’s a fucking test of my will to not tear it off and close my lips around her rosy buds, suck them into my mouth, and . . .

“Fuck!” I growl, taking my eyes off the temptation before me with little to no sense of self-preservation. Can she not see that she’s standing too close to a hungry beast, one that is moments away from devouring her?

No, I will not allow myself to make the same mistake I made this afternoon. Despite my desire for this angel, I need to push it back until she’s ready for me. I can wait. I have a lifetime to spend with this girl.

All those things I want, they can wait.

For her, I’ll wait.

Chapter Six

Penny

He’s avoiding me, and it’s driving me insane.

Perhaps avoiding is too strong of a word to use, but even so, I can feel the distance between us, and I hate it. A distance that was not there this afternoon, and despite my best attempts to assure him that I am fine, he doesn’t seem to believe it.

My tears this afternoon were not because of him. Well, they were, but not for the reasons he’s thinking.

What happened today between us . . . I liked it.

I want it to happen again. My body is practically vibrating with the need to feel him again, but he keeps moving away when I step too close to him, and it’s slowly getting on my nerves. Ray has no right to do this to me.

How dare he light a fire in me with his skillful hands and mouth, fan it with his body sculpted by the gods, and then do nothing about it?

I’m burning. Can he not see my nipples poking holes through the shirt I am wearing? He has to see. I’ve made no effort to hide them. And the pulsing heat between my legs has been present from the moment he dropped his towel and exposed his thick thighs and muscular ass.

I would never admit it to him, but I did sneak a few looks while he was dressing, and my God, the man has a body crafted to perfection with thick muscles that must’ve been earned by lifting heavy equipment in the garage, and I want to feel that power beneath my fingertips.

“How do you feel about steak?” Ray asks, drawing my thoughts to the present.

“Huh?” I blink at the man whose intense eyes are fixed on me. Did he catch me ogling him just now?

“I asked how you feel about steak. Or do you prefer chicken?”

Truth be told, I’m not that hungry. Not for food at least. The speed at which I devoured the cinnamon rolls earlier should be illegal, and I’m still full. The kind of hunger I feel cannot be sated by food, but I am not brave enough to tell him that. I can only hope that the man picks up the subtle clues I keep tossing his way.

“Steak is fine,” I tell him, hopping onto the counter when he starts taking stuff out of his fridge. I don’t straighten the shirt when it rides up my thighs, pretending I don’t notice how much of my skin is exposed.

Ray’s eyes drop to my legs, and I notice his Adam’s apple bob wildly as he swallows back his desire before quickly looking away. “Steak it is then,” he says, his deep voice carrying a rough edge to it. I watch with dazed eyes as he gathers ingredients on the counter, the thickness of his arms and those stained and calloused hands doing things to me I cannot control.

I move restlessly on the counter, biting my lip as my sex pulses hotly.

God, how is it possible to know nothing about sex one second and the next, crave it like my life depends on it?

“So, um, have you been a mechanic long?” I ask, crossing my legs in an attempt to ease the ache between my legs. It’s also a sneaky way of asking about his age.

“Started learning about cars when I was fifteen, so close to twenty years, give or take. Saved up enough money to open my own place ten years ago.”

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