by K R Max
Scanning the engine from beneath proves her right, which I’m not even a little surprised by. She continues to prove her breadth of knowledge and honestly — she must have started working on cars even earlier than I did. I call out a bunch more parts that will need replacing, then pull myself out from under the car.
She’s not there. Where the hell did she go?
I stand up to see her talking with Julio a few feet away, a notebook and pen in her hand. She’s smiling at him, showing off slightly crooked teeth which only add to her charm. Her eyes are lit up, like he’s the most interesting guy in the world, and a sick fire roars to life in my belly. I don’t want her smiling at him. I don’t want him smiling at her, either, and they’re both supposed to be damn well working.
“Hey,” I snap at the pair of them. “You’re on the clock. Save the socializing for breaks.”
She raises an eyebrow, just a fraction, then smiles at Julio once more before he hurries away and she saunters over to join me. “I needed a notebook,” she informs me. “Julio lent me his. And a pen. So we can make a note of all the parts we’re going to need to order?”
I glare at her and she barely even reacts, totally calm and relaxed.
Jesus, this woman is driving me nuts and she’s as chilled as if she’s sitting on her couch watching TV.
“Good idea,” I grudgingly agree. “But you should have your own notebook. Don’t come to work without one again.”
Her lips thin, just for a moment, and I’m pleased to see a reaction. God knows, I’m reacting enough for the both of us, but I want to know I’m getting to her too.
My fingertips tingle. There was so much I wanted to do to her last night, with her, for her, and she bailed on me with no warning. I wasn’t damn well finished. Hell, I’d barely gotten started.
I want to punish her for running out on me like that. I want to punish her until she screams, until she doesn’t even know her own name. Until my name is the only thing she can say, can think. Until she’s mindless mush, quivering with ecstasy in my arms, under my hands, my tongue.
It’s no good. This isn’t going to work.
I look around and see the door that leads into the spraying booth. “With me,” I snap, then stride towards the door, without waiting to see if she follows.
I open the door and walk in, and my cock swells another three inches as she glides past me, turning to survey the room. I quietly lock the door behind us.
“What are we doing in here?” She asks, a small line cutting between her eyebrows.
“We’re checking it,” I tell her, moving slowly towards her. “I haven’t been back here in five years. The spraying booth needs constant maintenance and part of this trip I’m making is to assess all the equipment to make sure we’re providing clients with the best possible service.”
She eyes me as I take another step towards her, then turns away, her thighs pressing together for a moment. Satisfaction snarls within me, like a wild animal. She wants me too. I bet her panties are soaked. I didn’t even get a good look at them last night, but I intend to now.
She focuses on the wall, checking the surface, and I move in behind her, pressing her flat to the metal before she can move. She lets out a small cry of surprise and I nip the side of her neck, making her yelp.
“No sound,” I tell her. “You don’t want anyone to walk in and find us like this, do you?”
“N-no,” she stammers.
I suck on her soft flesh, soothing the sting left by my teeth, and she arches her neck, giving me better access, sighing as I lick and kiss my way up to her ear.
I nibble her earlobe, then bite it, and she swallows a cry of pain. “I want to punish you for running out on me this morning. Tell me you don’t want me to, and I’ll stop. Tell me you don’t want me to make you scream with pleasure, to make you come until you don’t know who or where you are, and I’ll leave you alone right now.”
She gasps for breath but doesn’t say a thing. I can scent her arousal on the air, but I need the words. I need to know she’s right here with me, as hot for me as I am for her.
“Alternatively, tell me you want this. You want me.” I slide a hand down over her belly, dipping beneath the waistband of her jeans to skim over the fabric of her panties. She arches against me, her breath shuddering from her lungs. “Tell me.”
“I want it,” she gasps. “I want you. Please.”
I smile against her throat. “How can I refuse, when you ask so nicely?”
***
Charlie
I shiver as he slides my jeans down my legs, leaving my panties in place. My pretty pink silk panties that I put on in a public restroom this morning to give myself a little confidence about walking into what I knew was going to be a challenging environment.
I’d had no idea.
Now, though, as his hands skim up over my thighs, I’m starting to realize exactly how challenging this environment is going to be. Goosebumps scatter across my skin in the wake of his touch and I can’t take a full breath. I don’t know why he left my panties on. I tell myself that tight feeling in my chest is relief, not disappointment.
His hands slide up my arms to lock his fingers over mine, pressing my hands against the cool metal. His hips rock against my ass, a thick hard rod settling between my cheeks, making my head fall back at the promise of what’s to come.
His chest presses against my back, his lips finding mine as my head falls back against his shoulder. His tongue glides into my mouth as his hips rock, stealing my breath. And then he lifts my hands, placing them over my head, one on top of the other, pinned in place with one of his hands. The other skims down my body, brushing over my full, aching breasts in a bra which is suddenly too small, skimming my belly and making me shudder. He continues down, down, over my hip and down my thigh, then rises again, anticipation making me stiffen up as he nears my hip, but he only keeps going up, and I mewl with frustration.
“This is a punishment, remember?” He murmurs against my lips. His touch barely grazes my breast and I moan. My nipples are so hard, the friction against my bra borders on painful. My breasts ache, desperate for his touch, but not nearly as bad as my pussy.
A hot, heavy weight pulses there, my clit throbbing, my pussy clenching against the need to be touched, to be filled, and as much as I press back against him, he refuses to touch me anywhere that will ease this terrible ache.
I’m growing desperate, my skin now so sensitive to the brush of his fingers that it almost hurts, and I twist helplessly in his grip, trying to escape this sweet, terrible torture.
“Please,” I moan. “I can’t, I can’t take much more of this.”
“No?” he murmurs in a silky tone, his breath hot against my ear. The tension in my belly tightens, twisting like snakes, tugging at my pussy.
“No, please, no more.”
And then he stops and I cry out, a strangled shriek. This is truly a punishment I will never forget. I hadn’t realized how desperate I was for more of his touch until he stopped it altogether.
“Is that better?” He mutters in my ear.
“No,” I sob, pushing my hips back against him, but he only moves away, and I groan with frustration. “Please. Touch me.”
“You didn’t like it when I touched you before,” he says. “You ran away. And then, just now, you begged me to stop.”
Now I understand. He’s mad because I ran out on him. Honestly, now that I’m all revved up, I can kind of see his point.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I gasp. “Please. I won’t do it again.”
“No.” He threads his spare hand into my hair and pulls my head back to growl in my ear. “You won’t.”
His mouth slams against mine, his tongue driving between my lips to possess my mouth, and while he dominates me, his hand slides down my body, then up under my shirt, pushing my bra aside to squeeze my aching breast.
I shriek into his mouth. The sensation is so intense it feels like a golden lance thrust through me, an electric
shock shooting from my throbbing nipple to my wet, clenching pussy. I writhe against him, held securely, rubbing my thighs together in a desperate attempt to ease the tension between them.
His hand leaves my breast and I moan into his mouth, then scream as his fingers delve beneath the fabric of my panties to slide over my clit before burying themselves deep inside my pussy. His fingers thrust in and out of me, his thumb teasing my clit, as I sob and gasp and moan against his lips, his tongue mimicking the motion of his fingers to drive me even higher.
Lava licks through me, like his tongue against mine, pushing wet heat through my blood to my pussy, a heavy molten wave of pleasure curling around my belly and lapping at my clit. I jerk and twist against him, desperate for less, for more, for everything, everything he can give me, and suddenly, I shatter.
The building wave of sensation crashes through me, pulling everything in to a single, tight point of pleasure so intense it hurts, and I thrash against him, screaming into his mouth until I run out of air, but I can’t stop screaming.
He doesn’t stop moving, either. Just continues that slick, hard thrusting motion, driving wave after wave of pleasure through until I’m shaking, my entire body spamming with orgasm after orgasm, exploding so quickly I can’t tell one from the next. My pussy clenches hard against his fingers, my body twitching helplessly as endless aftershocks seize me in their grip, and eventually I fall limp in his arms.
My face falls against the cool brick and I groan as he slides his fingers out of my trembling pussy. Then he turns me around, pressing my hands back against the wall above my head and holding his soaked fingers up to my mouth.
“Taste yourself,” he tells me, and I suck his fingers into my mouth, one by one, my eyes rolling back at the musky flavor.
When they’re clean, he cups my jaw and kisses me, his lips and tongue almost gentle against mine.
“Don’t run out on me again,” he says.
I drag in a breath and shake my head.
“Words, Charlie. I need to hear the words.”
“I won’t run out on you again,” I tell him, my voice raspy from screaming.
“Good,” he says, his face a mask. “Now, we should get back to work.”
I nod, still trying to get my breath back, and pull my jeans back on, buttoning the fly with shaky hands. He leads the way out, extending an arm for me to go ahead of him.
I suddenly realize I’ve left my notebook in the spraying booth, with all the parts that we’re going to need to order in for the engine, and look back, thinking he’s right behind me. He’s not, though. He’s on the other side of the shop, talking to Sheila. As I watch, she puts a hand on his chest and smiles up at him, all but batting her eyelashes. His chest rises and falls, and then he carefully brushes her hand aside, and says something to make her face fall, before turning and heading into the office.
I swallow and head back into the spraying booth. He brushed her off, literally. So it doesn’t matter that she’s into him, because he’s clearly not into her. But then, he took me somewhere private before making me scream with pleasure. Would he do the same with her?
Are we counting the side of the road shenanigans this morning? Asks that pesky inner voice and I roll my eyes at my ridiculousness. I look around the booth and spot my notebook on the floor. I head back out, only to find Frank standing in the doorway.
“Don’t get too attached to the boss, princess. He won’t be here for long. Personally, I have higher standards for mechanics than a pretty face and a nice ass.” He looks me up and down and I repress a shiver at his expression.
If I’m perfectly honest with myself, I don’t want to stay here after Leo leaves. I don’t trust Frank.
It doesn’t matter, though. Apart from the...unexpected perks of this job, clearly there are people out there, even men, who’ll give a female mechanic a shot. I just have to find them, and let’s face it, that’s what the internet is for. Finding stuff. It’s up to me to look, and I can do that.
The other good thing about this situation is that I’m getting paid way over what I was expecting, up to four times what I’d usually make in a month if Leo keeps his word about the double overtime. That’s a hell of a lot of money. It’ll buy me a lot of options. It’ll certainly be enough to get me to another job, in another state, where I’ll never have to see or hear about Leo Brent or Frank or Brent Classics ever again.
Options are good. I haven’t had many lately. It looks like things are finally turning my way.
***
Leo
It takes three days to put together an exhaustive list of all the parts we’re going to need to replace on the Impala, and in that time, Charlie works like a dog, right along with the rest of us. I don’t know if she saw Sheila coming on to me, just after I ‘punished’ Charlie for bailing on the road that morning, but if she did, I’m assuming she also saw me turn her down. Given the state of my finances, I frequently have to deal with unwanted female attention, but rarely in front of a woman I’m actually genuinely interested in.
I saw her conversation with Frank, too, if you could call it that. I couldn’t hear what was said, since Julio was already hard at work beating out panels, but body language is a thing and she didn’t look happy. Neither did Frank, and I’m not very happy with him either. Something about the numbers he mentioned for this place isn’t adding up, but I haven’t had time to look them over.
Hopefully, by the weekend, I’ll have a clearer idea of our progress on the Impala, with the parts we need either in the shop or on order, and then I’ll have the spare head space to look over the numbers. As it is, I’ve been spending all the hours after I’ve sent the guys, and girls, home, looking up part listings online and leaving messages all over the country.
Which means my cell is ringing all damn day, hence why this is the first opportunity I’ve had to get Charlie alone since our encounter in the spraying booth, and I’m taking full advantage. Today, we finally got lucky. I got a call from a junkyard that specializes in classic cars late last night. The guy has not one but two ‘67 Impalas. One’s kind of beat up and missing a lot of panels, but apparently the engine’s intact. The other has no engine to speak of but a number of panels and other parts in good shape.
I told him to hide the pair of them. Most people can’t pull that kind of stunt, but when he found out who I was, he was only too happy to oblige. Dad did a fine job, pushing Brent Classics across the country. Every junkyard owner from Portland in Maine, to Fairbanks, Alaska, right down to goddamn San Antonio, Texas wants to get in good with Brent, and this guy’s no exception.
Thank God. His yard is only two hours away, and he’s willing to help us cut out all the parts we need and then haul them down to us too.
Between two Impalas, we should be able to get almost everything we need. We just have to get over there and pull it out. It’s definitely a two person job, and I’m more than happy to leave Frank and Julio beating panels while I take Charlie with me to pick over these other two cars.
I look over at her. She looks good in the passenger seat of my GTO and I deliberately push the speed a little, knowing the stretches that are safe from the cops. She rolls her eyes at me as we slide through a turn and I rev the engine a little harder than necessary on the pullout.
She shakes her head. “I like this job, but not enough to die for it,” she tells me, but I can hear the amusement in her voice, and the excitement.
I wonder idly when was the last time she opened up her car, and just gloried in the wind and the road and the roar of the engine. There’s a kind of wistfulness in her voice that suggests she hasn’t experienced this in a while, which to my mind is a tragedy, both for her and her car.
“So,” I say, forcing my mind away from thoughts of her which are verging into an area I don’t like to go. “How are you settling in? Getting on okay with everyone? What do you think of the place?”
Her eyes skitter away from mine. “Yeah, it’s good. You’ve certainly got all the equipment a grease
monkey could dream of.”
She’s hedging. I can hear it in her voice, and I frown, wondering what she’s hiding. I know she doesn’t get along with Frank and it frustrates me that she won’t tell me so. I mean, does she think I don’t know? I’ve seen her keeping track of his whereabouts in the shop, like she doesn’t want him to sneak up on her, and that worries me.
Frank’s never been my favorite guy, and now even less so, since I found out how he’s been cutting the opening hours at the shop. How are clients supposed to get their cars in to us before they go to work if the place doesn’t even open until after eight in the morning?
But I haven’t seen him do anything untoward to or with anyone on the premises, and until I do, or tells me something concrete, I can’t do anything about it.