Hard Working Hero

by Penny Wylder

  “Fine. You can go then. Go home, I'll tell your dad you're done.”

  “But I'm not done. I want to finish what I started.”

  Oliver holds out his arms, and grins smugly. “So do I. But we can't always get what we want now, can we?”

  “What the hell is your problem? I'm here to help you, and that's what I'm going to do.”

  He takes another step in, forcing me to take a step back, then another and another until my back hits the wall and there's no place else for me to go. I lay my hands down against the wall. It's cold against my hot and sweaty hands, pricking my skin like needles.

  “What are going to do?” I ask. “Force me to do something I don't want to?”

  “Not at all. I'll never force you do anything. But I do want you to tell me why you were so hot for me yesterday, and today you're looking at me like I'm nothing.”

  His cologne swirls up, striking me in the face, and making it hard for me to think. I have plenty of reasons I can give him, but right now I can't think of a single one. My brain is blank.

  Oliver takes one last step forward, pressing the tips of his toes against mine. “Well? What changed? You left yesterday giving me a kiss on the cheek, and a smile I couldn't stop thinking about all night. Tell me what changed. What's different?”

  “I don't owe you an explanation for anything.” I finally blurt out, but my voice is weak. I'm being held hostage by a man who isn't even touching me.

  Just his mere presence is enough to hold me still. My heart is racing, and the air between us is growing hot and heavy. Our eyes connect and I watch small flames as they dance in his pupils.

  His dark brown eyes spark with gold flakes as he shifts his eyes between mine. “You're right, you don't owe me anything, but it'd be nice to understand you.”

  “Understand me. . . This,” I say, twirling a finger between us, “this is just a short term thing. Once these cabinets are done, I'm gone. So why does it matter? Why even try to understand me at all?”

  “Because there's something about you I like. I don't know what it is. I can't explain it. But it's there. I'd like to figure out why.” He lowers his lips to my ear. “Wouldn't you like to know why you're afraid of what you felt?”

  “I'm not afraid. I felt nothing,” I snap.

  “Yes you did. And you're feeling it now too.” He exhales a warm breath across the shell of my ear, his lips so close my body trembles in anticipation. Pulling away, he tilts his head as a thin smile spreads across his face. “See, that's what I'm talking about. I saw you quiver. I saw what you felt without you having to say a word.”

  My back arches off the wall. It's like he's a magnet and I'm the metal being pulled to him. I have no control of it. Despite how badly I want to shut it off, my body is defying me. My stomach feels like I had a cup of hot tea. The heat travels outward, moving down my legs and up through my ribs.

  I'm trying so fucking hard to cool the sensation between my legs. I want to stop the arousal, to forbid my pussy from seeping with need. The fiery heat makes my skin prickle and my nipples bead.

  I'm torn between giving in to what I can't control and trying to cage the animal inside me. Either way, I lose.

  I lose because what I want is currently right here. I want him. I want to feel him slide his cock inside me. I want to feel his lips on my breasts and his hands on my body. I lose because trapping something so carnal is dangerous. I can't pretend he isn't right. I can't ignore that my life is made of nothing but screen time, and this man is actually right here in flesh and bone.

  And he wants me too.

  For once I'm not chasing a pixelated figment of my imagination. I'm not living through the lens of a romance story, and writing myself into the scene.

  This is real. He is real.

  My breathing picks up as I dart my eyes to the floor. I can't look at him anymore. I can't smell his sexy musk or be this close to the hands that made me come harder than I ever have in my life.

  “You're not playing fair,” I say. “You're playing dirty.”

  Oliver slips his finger under my chin and lifts my face up. “Dirty is all I know.” His eyes search mine. “And we got really dirty yesterday.”

  His eyes harden as he continues to try to read me. I finally realize what he's looking for, permission.

  Permission to keep going. Permission to let his lips and hands and body speak for him. And he wants me to give permission to myself. To let go of everything that's chaining me to this resistance and embrace what I feel.

  Him. I feel him.

  Parting my lips, I tip my head back. Oliver doesn't wait a second more. Crushing his lips against mine, he growls as his tongue drives inside my mouth. He pulls his head back, and he bites my bottom lip, plucking it with his teeth as he groans.

  I can hear the desperation and desire in his moan. The sound bellows out from deep inside, sending a shiver through my body. His hand slides down the side of my face, grasping my neck.

  His thumb strokes across the curve of my jaw, and his fingers dig into the back of my neck. Manipulating my head and pulling it back as he kisses me again, deeper and more unhinged.

  Every breath he exhales is throaty and loud as his free hand slips under my shirt and squeezes my breast. Pinching my nipple between the pads of his fingers, he rolls it gently. Goosebumps flood my skin as he moves his hand to my other breast and pinches that nipple.

  Moaning, my chest snaps out and my hands clutch the wall. Adrenaline surges through my veins as he spreads my legs apart with his knee, pushing his hard cock against my lower belly. He's hard as rock, thick as an iron pole.

  I palm his bulge, giving him a squeeze. Oliver's knees buckle slightly as he groans into our kiss. This man is my dream. Hot, sexy, with muscles that have muscles. He's everything I never thought would come into my world.

  “You want that?” he asks. His cock jumps behind his jeans as he jerks his hips. “You want to feel my cock deep inside you?”

  “Yes, I need to feel you.”

  He slides his hand down my neck, over my tit and down my ribs, until he hits my mound. Pressing his fingertips against my pussy, my clit throbs excitedly. Yes I want him. I want him so fucking bad my entire body is aching.

  “How bad do you need to feel me?” His voice is a whisper against my lips, but I feel it deep in my bones.

  “Bad,” I say, arching my back and pushing my chest against his. “Take me.”

  “That doesn't sound very convincing.” He drags his teeth down my throat, biting and nibbling. “Do you want me?” he asks again.

  “Yes I want you. Fuck me,” I demand.

  He drives his hand inside my pants and slips a finger inside my pussy. His thumb massages my clit as he fingers me quick and hard. “How bad do you want me?”

  “Mm,” I groan as my eyes close and my head falls back.

  But Oliver doesn't let me enjoy it for too long. Ripping his hand away, he grins. “I want to hear you say it. Tell me how bad you want me to fuck you.” Using a single hand, he pulls his button free and unzips his pants.

  His cock bounces free, the tip glistening in pre-cum. Stroking himself from base to tip, his eyes turn dark. He's starving, and I'm his next meal. I can see how badly he wants to ravage me. How it's taking every bit of control he has to not just take what he wants.

  “I need you to fuck me,” I say. Rolling my hips, I work my pants down my legs. “I can't go another second without you inside me.” With my pants are around my ankles, I spread my legs so he can see my pussy.

  My inner thighs are wet and glistening from arousal. My clit is throbbing so hard it takes everything I have not to just finger myself until I hit the edge and jump off. Slowly, I start to move my hand down my belly.

  “Uh uh,” he says, grabbing my hand before I reach my pussy. “I felt you melt in my mouth yesterday. Today I'm going to feel you melt on my cock.”

  Lifting my hand over my head, he pins it in place. My body curves toward him as my heart gallops in my chest. I ne
ed him. I need him so bad it's slowly killing me. The air is hot I try to breathe. Every breath is like a gulp of fiery ash.

  But his eyes. . . His eyes pierce me where I stand. They travel over my skin like the tickle of a feather. He's watching me so closely. Every sharp inhale causes him to smirk, every hard swallow makes him lick his lips. Oliver's enjoying this. He's getting pleasure from watching my body react under his hands.

  With his hand on his cock, he strokes himself slowly. He moves up from the base, squeezing the tip, then glides back down. Thick veins pulse under his skin, his cock swelling and turning a light shade of red. The tip glistens with a single drop of pre-cum.

  Leaning forward, he bites my hard nipple as it pokes against my shirt. His teeth nibble gently, rolling against the perk bead before letting me go. He moves to my other nipple, repeating the same motion.

  This is torture. Slow, painful, torture that's tearing me apart. Every inch of my being needs this to end. I can't take another second of him teasing me.

  “Please,” I say, my voice as soft as trees whispering in the breeze. “I can't take it. Fuck me, please fuck me.” I'm begging him. Begging him to set me free. Begging him to relieve me of this ache eating me alive.

  Oliver growls as he releases my wrist, slipping his hand down my arm and grabbing my hip. Flipping me around in one quick spin, I plant open palms against the wall as he yanks my hips back, forcing my back to arch.

  The crinkle of a wrapper fills the void of sound. Looking back over my shoulder, Oliver slides a condom down his thick shaft. The thin material looks like it's struggling to hold him inside.

  He presses his tip against my entrance as his hands clutch my hips. In one sharp thrust, his cock spreads me open, hitting me so deep I can feel him in my belly. The pads of my fingers grip the wall as he pistons his hips, fucking me hard but with utter slowness.

  Oliver slams his cock in, holds still for a single breath, then slowly pulls back out. The ridge of his crown almost breaks free, but I won't let him out. My walls clench tight, holding him inside, refusing to let him go until I come.

  Everything about this moment is sending me into overdrive. The sound of my blood pulsing is like a drumbeat in my ears. I can feel my muscles as they buzz with electric pops. I can feel the air as it seeps into my lungs, and the heat as I exhale.

  This man does things to me I've never experienced before.

  I don't know what to do with these feelings. They rush in, taking over like a storm at sea. Adrenaline rolls through my body like waves, hitting me all at once. Laying my face against the wall, I close my eyes as his dick drives in and out with vigor.

  Oliver grunts hard, digging the tips of his fingers deeper into my skin. He holds me up on the tips of my toes as my knees start to buckle and my muscles begin to loosen. I moan loud, unable to control my voice. I have to let it out. I have to give him everything I have.

  My body. My voice. My pleasure.

  I'm his right now. His to take and toy with. His to own and enjoy.

  My clit throbs hard as the orgasm rushes in, sweeping me off my feet. My legs go numb, and I hold my breath as the sensation zips from head to toe. I'm shaking all over. The intensity hitting me like a freight train.

  “Fuck yeah,” he says as he releases one hand and tangles it in my hair. Tearing my head off the wall, Oliver groans as his cock pulses in my body.

  His length throbs, swelling and contracting as he comes hard. He doesn't move. Oliver leans over with his hand still in my hair and whispers, “Tell me you're still giving me the cold shoulder now.”

  Giggling, I twist and look over my shoulder. “You took advantage.”

  “Ha,” he laughs out loud, untangling his fingers from my hair and taking a step back. “I made your day.”

  “I'll let you think you did. But we both know I made yours.” Winking at him, I pull up my pants. “Can we get some work done now?”

  “Yeah, I guess we probably should.”

  “So, what do you want me to do?” I ask, walking back to the table with the cabinets.

  Oliver peels the condom off and wraps it in a paper towel. Tossing it in the trash, he grabs a small paint can and a couple of brushes. “Well, you can stain these. I sanded them right when I got here. Then we can move them outside to dry and sand the other set of three.”

  We spend the next hour talking and laughing while we work. It's nice to connect with someone on a personal level. It's been a long time since I've felt comfortable enough to open up even a little to anyone at all.

  Oliver tells me how his father was a handyman, a guy who would always fix things himself. He talked about how he remembers the first time his dad let him use a hammer and how it felt right in his hand.

  “That's where you get your talent from,” I say.

  “Maybe. I'm not as big of a fixer as I am a creator.” He gives me a smile as he shrugs his shoulder. “My father would fix his own car, didn't matter what the problem was. I can't do that. I'll just take it to the mechanic.”

  Our conversation moves smooth and easily. He flirts some, coming up close behind me to look over my shoulder at how I'm doing, then he gives me a little kiss on the neck or he nibbles my earlobe.

  Every time he touches me I shiver. I can't help it. I get goosebumps and cold chills. The good kind of chills, the ones that tingle and make my stomach knot up.

  And I like it. I can't enough of it.

  “So, once these are done, then what?”

  “Then you're going to help me install them.”

  “At my father's new property?”

  “Yup. The place is a dump right now, but once I'm done, it's going to look brand new.”

  “I haven't been to the new place yet. Knowing my father, I don't doubt he bought something that's crumbling, but he'll turn a good profit after he sells it to some celebrity.”

  “You haven't seen it?” he asks as he lifts his head in surprise. “You had to have seen it at some point, it's not far from your parents’ house.”

  “Really? Which one?”

  “That old place on Belmont, the one up on the hill.”

  Belmont. . . No. It's not the one I'm thinking of.

  Is it?

  Warily I ask, “The big blue one that looks like a church?”

  “Yeah, that one. It has the steeple and everything with the octagonal window.”

  Oh, no. Nope. No way in hell.

  My lungs constrict instantly. I can't breathe. I'm trying like hell to grasp the air and force it in. Cold beads of sweat trickle down the back of my neck, and it feels like my tongue is swelling in my mouth.

  “You all right?” he asks, reaching out and touching my elbow. “Narissa? You okay?”

  “I. . . I. . . I need to go.” Backing away from the table, I can't even look him in the eyes.

  Just the thought of going to that house terrifies me. It feels like my heart is going to jump out of my chest. Acid is bubbling up in the back of my throat and I'm doing my best not to throw up all over the floor.

  “Narissa, what's wrong?” Oliver tries to grab my wrist, but I quickly pull away.

  “I'm sorry, I can't help you anymore. I did what you asked me to do. We rebuilt the cabinets, they're all set. My job is done.” Holding up my hands, I turn and storm off. Shoving the door open, I don't even look back at him as I leave.

  “Narissa!” Oliver calls out, but I ignore him.

  I'm not going to that place. I can't do it.

  Even all these years later, that place is a sore spot in my life. He can't understand the pain and hurt I feel about that house, and I'm not ready to tell him.

  We all have a story that cuts too deep to retell. The house on Belmont is mine.

  Some memories are just too hard to share.

  4

  Oliver

  “Dude, you dodging me or something?” Hardin asks as he takes the seat next to me at the bar. Waving a finger at the bartender, she comes over and he orders a beer. “I've spent the entire week working over
at Greensdale alone. I think you're trying to kill me.”

  “Kill you? No, you're no good to me if you're dead. Dodge you, absolutely, because you're annoying as shit.” Chuckling, I catch Hardin cock a brow out of the corner of my eyes. I keep my eyes on my beer, picking at the label. “Nah, man, it's just this fucking house on Belmont. I had to spend the week redoing those cabinets.”

  “Yeah, I saw. You and Miss Pink Nails seemed to hit it off pretty well.” He sips his drink, hissing softly as he swallows. “Nothing like a cold beer after a long day.”

  “Right.” Taking a long drink, I set the bottle down. “Her name's Narissa.”

  “What?” Hardin asks.

  “Miss Pink Nails. Her name is Narissa.”

  “The only thing I really remember is she brought food. Makes her okay in my book if you ask me.”

  “You remembered her nails.” Side eyeing him, the corner of my lip pulls back into a tight smirk.

  He holds out his finger and points at me. “That's only because I'm used to seeing your gross hands in our shop. I bet she left with a few chips—if she worked at all.” Hardin grins, his eyes holding all the questions he's not saying.

  “I know what you're doing here.”

  “Me? I'm not doing nothing. I just don't believe you didn't think about it with her hanging around you all day.”

  “The girl is a pain in my ass, that's what she is. She's got a damn attitude I can tell you that.”

  “So you like her, is that what you're saying?” He smirks as he sips his beer.

  “What? No, that's not what I'm saying.”

  “Come on, I'm not blind, Oliver. I saw how you looked at her when she walked in. Your eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas.” Twisting in his seat, he rests his elbow on the bar as he holds his beer in front of him. “You can't play me for a fool. I know you.”

  I dart my eyes away and lower my head. “Fine, the truth is you're right, there's something about her I like.” Downing the rest of my beer, I shake the empty glass and nod to the bartender that I'm ready for another. “She surprised me for sure. She worked hard, she didn't just sit back and expect me to do everything. The thing that surprised me the most was she wasn't afraid to get dirty.”