by Teagan Kade
“Mason, that’s dirty!” she gasps. I see a flash of surprise on her face. If she’s blushing I can’t tell because she’s already flushed with the heat of her excitement.
Feeling wayward, I cover her hand with mine and move them both to the crotch of her jeans, rubbing and stroking.
“Does that feel dirty?” I ask, soaking in the shock and rising feeling in her face as she starts breathing faster.
“Yes,” she gasps.
“Good, I like dirty… and I think you do too,” I whisper to her.
“Maybe, but right now I want you inside me. Go get the condom,” she says in a slightly demanding tone that makes it even harder to walk away.
We’re definitely exploring that again. I run out of the room, to the storage room where I left my jacket and wallet. Pulling out the condom, I run back into the garage, but stop short when I see Jeanie.
She’s stripped down completely, sitting on the work bench, legs crossed like the pinup on the calendar. Her hair is falling over her shoulders just grazing her pale pink nipples. She’s summoning me with a beckoning finger.
If my buttons weren’t already undone, they’d probably be popping off from the sheer intensity of my erection.
I come up to her and she opens her legs to me. I rip open the condom with my mouth, rolling it on with impossible urgency. I need to bury myself in her.
Forehead to forehead, eyes locked, I slide into her, shuddering at how good she feels, how tight and hot she is around me.
We’re sharing breath as I plunge into the wet depth of her, our gasps mating in the sliver of air between us. My hands are bracing the soft round globes of her ass when she gasps my name, her fingers tangling in my hair.
Remembering how she liked having her hair pulled, I lift my hand and spank her—just a light tap, enough to give her a taste.
She sucks in her breath and moans.
“Do you like that?” She doesn’t have words, simply nodding her head as I keep thrusting into her.
“Naughty girl,” I whisper and do it again.
“Oh, god,” she pants, and the pleasure on her face nearly finishes me right then.
“Then I think you’re going to like this too,” I say as I lift her off the bench and turn her around.
She moves eagerly, unquestioningly, and the trust in her willingness hits me in the gut.
You’re going to hurt her.
Bending her forward so her perfect breasts are smashed against the metal of the bench, I drive into her from behind, burying myself and my guilt in the swollen passage of her pussy.
She cries out and her breath comes in quick, panting bursts as the sexy little sounds she’s making get more and more urgent.
With one hand, I slide up the long line of her back and ball my fist in her hair. Anchoring her with my thighs, I raise the other hand and spank her again, twice.
She claws at the unrelenting metal of the table and calls out my name, “Mason.” Her voice is a heady mixture of pleading and command.
I slide my hand around to the wet mound of her sex and rub her tight bud. Her breathing hitches and the muscles of her back arch as she tightens around my cock, her release coming on a cracking moan. I feel myself swell for the final surge and I plunge deep into the core of her, joining her in drunken euphoria.
*
Sometime later, Jeanie’s calling in to the diner, letting them know she can’t come in. I hear her on the phone in my living room. From the sounds of it, everyone at the diner already knew about Clint’s explosion.
That fucker better keep his distance. Thinking about it now, hours and a couple sessions of mind-blowing sex later, my blood still races hot with anger as I remember how he grabbed her, shoved her, got in her face and tried to dominate her.
Fuck that.
Fuck him.
Jeanie is slinking back into the room now. The sight of her in her panties and my t-shirt is like a sucker-punch.
She sets the phone down on the nightstand and says, “Well, I’m all yours tonight, they’ve got my shift covered.”
I pull her back onto the bed, letting her body fall across mine and catching her in my arms as she giggles, and ask, “Just what did you have in mind?”
She’s laughing and flipping to her stomach on top of me, her breasts soft and forming to my chest beneath the shirt. I’m loving the feeling of having her here in my space with time to kill, just the two of us buffered from the rest of the world.
It can’t last. The demons that haunt my mind are whispering to me, but I’m blocking it out. Right now, I’ve got this sexy woman all to myself. I only want to enjoy what I’ve got while I’ve got it.
I’m leaning back against the pillows as she traces one lazy finger down the bridge of my nose.
“What goes on in there?” she asks, and I wrinkle my brows in confusion. “In that mind of yours, I mean.”
“I’d tell you, but it might make you blush,” I joke, biting at her finger.
She laughs. “Maybe. What are you thinking about right now, though?”
I smile at the adorably feminine question, at this unfamiliar intimacy. Ordinarily, when I’m in bed with a woman, my attention is on a particular endeavor. I’ve never had the luxury of spending a lazy afternoon just lounging together, making love, talking, eating, relaxing.
Maybe Cayden’s rhapsodizing on the benefits of domesticity weren’t entirely the ravings of a whipped mad-man.
I slide my hand over her hip and tickle the small of her back. “Well, other than how much I like you in my shirt, I’m thinking about the future.”
Her eyebrows rise in pleasant surprise
Shit, what did you just say?
I need to recover quickly before she gets the wrong idea.
“By that, I mean I’m thinking about how we might be able to take Jerry’s car for a test ride soon. I’ve got a handful of parts coming in this week. She won’t be perfect, but I want to tune the engine and have all the internal systems working well before I move on to the more tedious body work and upholstery.”
Her expression sags. Good. There’s no use getting her hopes up with expectations I can’t live up to.
“That’s great,” she says, even though I detect a note of disappointment in her voice.
Damn it, Mason, choose your words more carefully.
She’s tracing small circles on my chest, head on my shoulder, as she asks, “How long do you think before it’s all done?”
“Well, the internal components are nearly repaired, but the bodywork will take some time, as will the paint job and redoing the vinyl. Probably about a month.”
She bites her lip, looking worried.
“That eager to get out of the shop?” I ask, teasingly.
“No, it’s not that,” she says in a voice that tells me she didn’t pick up on the joke.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
Jeanie takes a steadying breath. My stomach starts to clench, wondering if this is it, if this is the moment she decides she’s gotten enough ‘practice.’
Maybe that’d be better, if she tosses you over instead of you hurting her.
“I guess now’s as good a time as ever to tell you…” she’s saying, my heart racing.
No, she can’t be dumping your ass already… not after she just jumped you at the shop, not right after Clint’s episode. Can she? Shit, have you been played?
“Jerry has cancer,” she says, her voice trembling slightly. “Stage IV liver cancer, to be precise. It may even be in his lungs. It’s why I changed my mind about working out a deal with you. He is supposed to be starting chemo any day now, once he’s given the all clear, but… I just don’t know.”
She breathes the heavy, shaky breath of a person fighting to keep their emotions in check.
You selfish bastard. Here you were worrying about yourself and her fucking uncle is dying.
I don’t quite know what to say or do. Other than distracting her with sex, which feels insensitive now, I don’t quite have the s
kills to deal with heavy emotion.
I twine my fingers in hers. “I’m so sorry, Jeanie,” I say in place of the prettier, more thoughtful things she probably needs to hear.
“It just feels so unfair… He’s all I have.” She sighs.
Something in me chafes as she says it. I want to argue, but, emotional midget I am, I stay silent.
“I thought it could wait until his birthday at the end of July, but that was before I knew the diagnosis. It’s like the confirmation something is seriously wrong has sapped the fight in him. He looks and sounds worse every day. Every time he falls asleep in his chair or I help him to his bed, I…”
Her voice cracks and I feel the warm splash of a tear on my chest.
“I wonder if that’s the last time I’m going to watch him fall asleep. If the conversation, the hug, the joke… if it’s the last one we’ll share.”
I hold her to my chest, arms around her shoulders as she composes herself. I might now have words to comfort her, no assurances to feed her, but her emotion evokes some strange, alien desire in me to protect her—except this time the threat isn’t a trash-talking jackass.
I want to make it better. I need to make it better. If seeing her being man-handled by Clint wasn’t bad enough, this is worse. I’m helpless in the face of it and I’m desperately thinking what I can say to fix this, but the only thing I have any control over is the GTO.
The work is piling up and I don’t know how I can negotiate the workload, but…
“Would it help if I could finish the GTO sooner?”
Except that you can’t.
She’s looking up at me with relief and excitement in her eyes. “Really? You could do that?”
No, no I can’t.
“Yeah… I’ll need to move a few other jobs around, but I’ll find a way to make it happen,” I say, inwardly kicking myself for making another commitment to her I’m not sure I’ll be able to stick around long enough to keep.
She’s throwing her arms around me, assaulting my face with kisses, “You’re so wonderful! I don’t know how to thank you!”
“Well, I’m sure I can think of some things,” I start to say as my hard-on bolsters up like a good soldier for round three, or is it four now?
“Oh! I can cook you dinner at the house. You could come over and meet Uncle Jerry too. I know he’d love to meet you.”
Whoa… slow down there, girl!
“Oh… sure, that’d be nice.”
Mason, you fucking idiot, I think. What are you doing?
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
JEANIE
“Oh, sweetie, I’m so excited for you,” Maggie’s crowing while we wrap up the Sunday lunch shift. “It’s about time something good happened, what with all you’ve had to deal with from that good-fer-nothin’ Clint. That boy ain’t worth spit in a rainstorm.”
It’s the one night a week we close early, and Mason is coming over for dinner. I’m a bit nervous maybe I pushed it too quickly, but I can’t help but bubble with excitement when Maggie is pepping me up.
“So, what are you gonna feed him?” Maggie asks in a hushed voice as we’re stacking coffee cups on the shelf under the counter.
The doors are already locked, but the Silver Springs’ Ladies Guild is in their usual booth, sipping their post-church coffee for what will likely be, at least, the next forty-five minutes.
“I’m making a roast with all the fixins and cherry pie for dessert,” I tell her.
She’s winking at me. “Cherry pie, huh? Sure that’s all you’re giving him for dessert?”
“Maggie!”
“Oh, pish! You can just wipe that shock right on off yer face, girlie. I’ve seen the looks you two send back and forth. Mhmm, hot enough to fry an egg. So, tell me, is he big?”
She’s wagging her eyebrows and grinning madly. Despite my embarrassment, I can’t help but smile as I shake my head.
“That big, huh?” she laughs.
“I am not having this conversation with you. May I remind you, you’re a married woman, Mrs. Maggie Spencer.”
“That’s right, I’m married, but I still got eyes, don’t I?” She’s pretending to fan herself. “Woooo boy, that man sure is a sight. You take one look at him and you can just tell he knows his way around… dessert. Can’t blame a girl for wonderin’!”
“Well, I guess you’ll have to settle for wondering then,” I conclude, smiling to myself as I remember our afternoon in bed.
He sure does know his way around things.
An hour later I’m finally heading home, nervous excitement jumping under my skin. Other than Clint, who Jerry hated, I’ve never dated anyone, let alone brought them home.
Asleep in the recliner when I walk in the door, Jerry looks thin and pale. He’s deteriorating before my eyes and I don’t know what I’m going to do if the cancer wins.
Jinx jumps from his lap and rubs against my leg, distracting me from the welling moisture at my eyes. I lean down to pet her silky coal black fur then set about cleaning the house up before Mason comes over.
Sometime later, I’m at work rolling out the cold dough for the lattice top of the pie when Jerry comes into the kitchen, thumping along awkwardly with the walker.
“So, when does the guest of honor get here?” he asks, a little gruffly.
I glance at my watch and feel a jolt of panic. “In about a half hour or so.”
“Hmph.”
I look over at him, “Something wrong, Uncle Jerry?”
“No, but I remember the last upstart you brought here,” he says, shaking his head.
“Don’t worry. Mason is nothing like Clint. For one, he’s a grown man, Clint was… is maturity-challenged.”
“That’s another thing. Just how old is he?” He’s shaking his head muttering and I’m starting to get a little nervous.
“Give him a chance, Uncle Jerry, please? For me?” I ask. He grumbles but relents.
“I just want you to be treated well, that’s all, dear.”
I kiss him on the forehead. “I know. Alright, I’m going to pop the pie in the oven, then I’ve got to go get cleaned up.”
“Pie, you say?” he says, looking suddenly less sullen. “Some kind of coconut flour something or other?”
I laugh. “Nope, no alternatives tonight. I figure it’s a special occasion. We all deserve a treat.”
“Well, hallelujah to the country! I might just like this fella after all,” he says, slapping his knee.
I toss the pie into the piping hot oven and race to my room to get changed. Slipping out of my cleaning clothes, I hop in the shower, running soap all over my body.
What would it be like to shower with Mason? I wonder.
The thought gets me hotter than the scalding water. I hurry out, anxious to see him.
I worked two shifts Saturday at the diner and Mason wanted to work late at the shop. I know he has a lot of jobs stacking up, but I couldn’t help feeling disappointed he didn’t want to meet up after I got off work last night.
I’ve put on a strappy, lavender, floral print dress with a ruffle along the bust and run my hands through my hair, twisting and defining the natural curls as they dry. I reapply my basic makeup routine and check myself in the mirror.
I look the same, but I feel somehow sexier, more aware of my body, and I know I have Mason to thank for that.
The doorbell rings and I go running, nearly tripping over Jinx as I stumble to the door and swing it open to find Mason holding a bouquet of wildflowers.
“Hi, these are for you,” he says, flashing his dimpled grin and handing me the flowers.
“Thanks. Come in,” I say and take the bouquet, burying my face in the flowers pretending to smell them so I can get a good look at Mason.
He’s clean-shaven, his hair has none of the wildness it does at the garage, and I’m more than a little shocked by the crisp navy suit and pristine white shirt he’s wearing. He’s a far cry from the ‘grease monkey’ Clint tried to cast him as.
Jinx rub
s up against him. I’m more than a little jealous the cat gets to do exactly what I want to.
I swallow, hard.
Is it time for dessert yet?
Uncle Jerry clears his throat from the adjoining living room. I lead Mason out of the entryway to Jerry’s recliner.
“Uncle Jerry, I’d like you to meet Mason.”
Mason extends a hand and leans down. “Mason Beckett, and it’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”
But Jerry stands up, a touch shakily, and grips his hand in a firm shake, “Jerry Conry… and we’ll see.”
So much for giving him a chance…
A couple hours and a roast later, things have gotten less awkward, but Jerry’s surprisingly full of questions, and I’m trying to curtail the third degree where I can.
“So, Mason, my Uncle Jerry used to build Indy cars,” I offer.
“Well, I started off building Formula Ones, but when Can-Am collapsed, I moved on to Indys.”
Mason looks interested. “How fascinating. I would imagine the specialized custom vehicles demanded in Indy racing were more interesting to build than the more standardized F1s.”
“Eh, maybe, been a long time,” he waves dismissively and turns a keen eye back on Mason. “So, why don’t you tell us about yourself, Mr. Beckett? What kind of person pours a bunch of money into fixing up a shop in a nowhere town like Silver Springs?”
Mason answers vaguely. “The sort who enjoys clean air, good people, and privacy, I suppose.”
“Hmph. I haven’t known too many mechanics could afford to move for those luxuries. Speaking of luxuries, that’s an awful nice car out front.”
“Thank you,” Mason says politely, but elaborates no further.
I can see Jerry’s eyes narrowing as he is about to double down in his interrogation. For such a frail man, Jerry is a force to reckon with when he sets his mind to it, and Mason seems uncomfortable under the scrutiny.
“Oh look! The pie is ready!” I blurt out, interrupting and hoping to distract Jerry.
My tactic works. Jerry is momentarily stymied. Mason scoffs his pie down quickly and looks at his watch.
“Jeanie, dinner was wonderful, but I should probably get going. It’s full week ahead and I need to get an early start tomorrow,” he says, standing up and then reaching out a hand to Uncle Jerry. “Mr. Conry, so nice to meet you. Thank you so much for your kind hospitality.”