Jacked Up (Hard n' Dirty)

by Jane Henry

  Problem is, I liked it way too fucking much.

  It’s a dare. A promise.

  She’s just thrown down that gauntlet.

  We have two weeks.

  One job.

  Fuck etiquette.

  Chapter Five

  Tanya

  I try hard to focus on the work I need to do, but it’s practically hopeless. I’ve managed to get the whole phone thing down, but it seemed that slew of calls all at once was really the exception to the rule. The phone doesn’t ring all that much the rest of the day, and the few calls that come in are locals with very minimal work that needs recording. I’m getting the hang of it but getting dizzy. There’s a little room the size of a closet adjacent to the main sitting area, and I find a vending machine and soda. I gratefully grab a bag of peanut M&M’s and reason they’re protein, and wash it all down with a Diet Coke.

  Doing this normal stuff isn’t helping, though. Like, not even a little. I’m completely distracted, and it’s all his fault.

  I can hear the sounds of machines whirring and the guys shouting to each other in the shop, and every time I hear Levi’s deep growl, my body teems with an electric vibe, like his voice is somehow connected to my pussy.

  I can’t believe he spanked me. And even more? I can’t believe I liked it.

  Holy hotness. Liked it? My panties are wet. Every time I move, I feel the way my skirt chafes against my stinging ass, and it reminds me what it was like to be pushed over that desk and punished by him. I can still feel his huge palm slam against my ass, still feel the pressure of his hand pushed into my lower back holding me in place, and my mind is racing with fantasies.

  I want him to do it again.

  He threatened to bare my ass if I went back into the shop. I eye the door with the fascination of a child. I’ve been told not to go in, so it’s the only thing I can think about doing. I imagine what it would be like to encounter him all angry and furious. He’d wipe his hands, march me back into the office, push me over the desk and pull my panties down.

  I close my eyes and can’t breathe. Can’t think.

  The phone rings and I’m so grateful for something to do, I pick it up again.

  I take down the information when I hear Levi come in the office. “Message for me?” he asks.

  I nod, proud of myself that I actually handled the phone call well this time. “Dane Carter,” I say. “Dane has a client in his construction company who’s got a car that needs attention and was hoping you could give him a moment of your time. There was also a woman checking in on the status of her paint job, and an old man with a reedy voice named Barney who asked if you’ve found the spare to his key.”

  Levi nods and heads back to the shop when the phone rings again.

  Only this time, I recognize the voice on the other end of the line.

  The M&M’s and soda didn’t help. I need something way stronger after this day.

  I think the only way he hasn’t suspected it’s me is because first of all, I’ve said one word: “hello.” And second of all, he isn’t expecting me to answer this phone.

  “Certainly, sir,” I say in a high-pitched sing-song voice, and I add on some kinda European accent for good measure. “I vill tell our boss of your most urgent request. Please allow me to take down your information.” I jot the number down, and when I hang up the phone I hear a snort of laughter. My cheeks flame.

  I turn to see Levi leaning against the doorway. “What the hell was that?” he asks, eyeing me curiously. “Getting bored? Do I need to give you more work to do?”

  I frown at him and lift my nose into the air. “That was my father,” I say, making sure I glare sufficiently so he knows he should take me seriously. “I couldn’t go on letting him hear me, so I had to…think quick. You should be impressed, you know,” I say, huffing out a breath. “Instead of mocking me like…like…a big meanie.”

  He quirks an eyebrow up and I swear he’s got like a magical line directly to my body, because even the littlest look of rebuke and I’m all hot and bothered. I turn away from him and go back to the desk, pretending I don’t want him to kiss me. Or touch me. Or do dirty, wicked things with his mouth.

  He’s asking me something, but the blood’s rushing so hard in my ears I don’t hear him at first. I click the end on my pen and lean over to put it in the mug he’s got on the desk, turning around to look at him. “What was—”

  My pinky finger hooks the handle of the cup. The pens cascade to the floor, and the mug falls to the floor and shatters.

  “Oh for fuck’s sake,” I curse, reaching for the broken pieces.

  “Leave them,” he growls. “Let me get the dustpan and broom.”

  “I’m fine,” I protest, reaching for a large shard, but when I crouch down I wobble on my heel, my hand slips, and the broken glass slices into my finger. I yelp and pull away, crimson blood staining my finger. It fucking hurts. Levi curses under his breath, reaches for my hand, and grabs a box of tissues from the desk. He wraps a few around my finger and puts a little pressure.

  “I told you not to touch that,” he scolds, still holding my hand. “Don’t you ever do what you’re told? Goddamn it, should’ve spanked you harder.”

  “I’m a big girl,” I protest. “Just slipped is all. Accidents happen.”

  “And a fuck of a lot more accidents happen when you do stupid shit like going into the shop when I tell you not to and reaching for the glass when I tell you not to.”

  I yank my hand away from him. “Jesus, I’m fine,” I mutter. “I can take care of myself.”

  He glares at me when the blood starts dripping down my finger again. “That remains to be seen. You, princess, likely need stitches.”

  It suddenly dawns on me that this could be a serious situation. Like…what if there’s a scar or something?

  I look down at the cut and shake my head. “I hate doctors. I’ll take care of this on my own first and see what I can do.”

  Leaning back on his haunches, he fixes me with a stern stare. “How did you get here?” he asks. I can’t believe this is the same guy that actually laughed a few minutes ago. Now he looks like he could freeze water into glaciers with a mere glance.

  “Drove,” I mutter. I swallow hard. My finger’s starting to throb. I need some pain relievers or something. My eyes water when I wrap the tissues around it again to stop the bleeding, but the tissue dampens in my hands and he has to hand me a stack of fresh ones.

  “I’m driving you home,” he says. “When we get there, we’ll bandage your hand. And if it looks like you need stitches, I’ll throw you over my goddamned shoulder and take you into the ER myself if I need to.” He’s all growly and angry, but there’s a part of me that sorta likes it because my hand is throbbing and I don’t really want to think about what to do right now. I’m retreating in my head like a child. It hurts and all I want to do is cry, but I’d be embarrassed if I did that, so instead I swallow real hard and just nod.

  “Fine.” I’m embarrassed and hungry and tired. I blink back tears as I get to my feet and follow him out of the shop.

  “What’d your father want?” he asks. The door to the shop shuts. God, I forgot all about my father. What a mess I’ve walked into here. I’m such a loser.

  “He has something he wants you to look at,” I say. “I wrote it down on the desk. I’m sorry, I don’t remember.”

  He leads me to one of the biggest trucks I’ve ever seen. I swear to God the tires are so big they’re like up to my armpits. It’s definitely not the pretty car he drove in this morning. Figures he has a lot of different wheels he drives though.

  “What the hell is this thing?” I ask, standing back and staring in awe. I think if I squint my eyes, I can see it breathing like some kinda jungle beast, smoke coming out of the exhaust pipes and grate in front. “This looks like…one of those Monster Truck things. Do you ride this in those shows?”

  He huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, no. This is just a truck, babe. Now get in.” I amble awkwardly to
the door, but before I can figure out how to haul my ass up and get onto this thing, I feel him grab me right under the armpits and hoist me straight up into the air so I can get my footing. I hold my injured hand in the air and gasp, then step into the cab of the truck and sink into the seat.

  He joins me a minute later, gets into the driver’s seat, and fires up the engine. When it roars to life, I feel the rumble beneath me. We’re so high up here. On top of the world. I can see for miles. Regular cars look like mere toys, and even the local public transportation buses look tiny compared to this monster of a truck.

  “Buckle your seatbelt,” he orders.

  “This is amazing,” I say breathlessly, as he pulls into the street and I do what he says. The engine purrs now when he easily navigates it and out of the streets. The rich smell of the leather interior fills the cab, and the seat’s warm beneath me. I don’t know if it’s because Levi’s bossy and dominant and manhandles the hell out of me, or because I’m seriously sex-deprived and need to get some soon, but there’s something about being in this truck that’s making me all hot and bothered. This cab’s fucking sexy. I look out the window, pretending his truck isn’t turning me on. There’s just something so raw and masculine about it. It’s clean and bare inside here, and just warm enough I’m starting to feel comfortable.

  “Where to, princess?” he asks.

  I tell him my address. “I don’t want to leave my car at the shop overnight,” I tell him. Not only is it ridiculously expensive, but I don’t want anyone at the shop seeing it in the morning and getting any ideas.

  “You’re not,” Levi says, taking a left, then accelerating. “I’m having one of my men pick it up and bring it to your place later.” He gives me a sidelong look. “How’s that hand?”

  A lump rises in my throat and I swallow. It hurts like fucking hell and I’m a little scared to look at it. I hate needles, and don’t want to go to the doctor if I can help it.

  “It’s alright,” I lie, but he’s not stupid. A big, calloused hand reaches out and rests on my knee. He gives me a little squeeze when he chides me in his low, rough voice.

  “Tell the truth, Tanya.”

  Tears spring to my eyes. “It hurts,” I say in a little voice that sounds so childish to my own ears, my cheeks flame with embarrassment.

  “I’m sure it does,” he says gently. “I mean, how’s the bleeding?”

  Gingerly, I pull the tissues away and look with a grimace. “Well…I think it looks better,” I mutter. “I mean it’s still totally gross, but I don’t think I need stitches.”

  He pats my knee in an almost-swat that’s both affectionate and attention-grabbing. “Something tells me you’d say that if you were bleeding out.”

  I bite my lip. He’s not wrong.

  “Will it scar?” I ask. I grimace, thinking about the jobs I have lined up next week. I haven’t said anything to him and won’t. Not yet, when he has me working for him and I need the damn car fixed.

  “If it needs stitches and you don’t get them, sure as fuck might,” he growls.

  I worry my lip in silence.

  “Why are you so worried about scarring?” he asks. “It won’t be ugly if that’s what you’re worried about. It’s on the inside of your hand and people will hardly see it.”

  “I just am,” I say, not liking the way he’s dismissing me like my concerns don’t matter. My stomach rumbles with hunger, and my head feels a little lightheaded. I put my head back on the seat and close my eyes. He doesn’t reply.

  After a minute I need to open them again to tell him where to go, and soon we pull up outside of my apartment building.

  “Thank you, Levi,” I say. “I really appreciate you driving me. I can take it from here.”

  I know he has every intention of coming upstairs with me, and part of me wants that. But first, I’m not sure where the hell this beast of a truck would park, and second, his guy’s dropping off my car and what if he sees Levi’s truck here? Third…if I get alone with him, I’m not sure what will happen. I like to be in control when I’m alone with a guy, and with Levi, I’m anything but.

  “Cute,” Levi says. “Like I’m gonna drive you home and drop you off and trust that you’ll take care of that fucking hand.” He shakes his head, narrowing his eyes on the road. “Well lookie here. On-street parking until morning, and I don’t need a resident pass for this side of the street.” He looks at me and shoots me a half-smile. “Let’s go upstairs.”

  Chapter Six

  Levi

  It comes as no surprise that the princess lives in the lap of fucking luxury. I lift her out of the truck, steady her on her feet, then take her uninjured hand and lead her to the main entrance. This place is huge, towering into the night like a castle. There must be several hundred apartments, complete with valets and door attendants. This place couldn’t be more different than mine.

  I smile to myself. And I’ve got her dirtying her hands in my shop for the next two weeks.

  The doorman opens the door, and I’m not sure if he’s more concerned with her hand or me. He eyes me with suspicion, then stares at her hand.

  “Did you injure yourself, Ms. Hayes?” he asks, his eyes dark with concern. The door shuts and he stands dutifully in his navy uniform, staring at her hand, then me.

  “Yeah,” she says. “Just cut it on a piece of glass. I’m fine though. My friend Levi was just helping me upstairs to bandage it up.”

  He raises a brow to me and I give him a look that says Back off, motherfucker. We’re from different generations, different sides of the street, but we both speak the same language. He takes a physical step back and nods.

  “Please ring if you need assistance, Ms. Hayes,” he says, pushing the call button on the elevator and giving me a look like the assistance she might need is pulling me off her. Jesus.

  “Thank you,” she says. We step onto the elevator when the mirrored doors open. “Fourteenth floor,” she says, jerking her chin at the floor numbers. There are twenty-five floors in this place. I hit the fourteen and watch as the gleaming doors glide shut. I barely restrain flipping off High and Mighty at the door. The interior is mirrored like the outside, and I take the opportunity to stare at her reflection. She’s still beautiful as all hell, long legs and creamy skin, hair that hits just above her ass. In the mirror, her face is paler than it was today at the shop, and I wonder if it’s because of her hand. I stand next to her still in my work clothes, thick beard, tats on every inch of exposed skin. We look so different it’s almost amusing. No, it is amusing, like we were paired up on one of those damn reality shows or something.

  We glide in silence upward. Just as the elevator cruises to a gentle stop, I ask myself what the fuck am I doing. I can’t go swooping in to rescue every fucking damsel in distress. Especially not this one. She’s been bred on caviar and champagne. If anything between us went wrong and her father caught wind of it, I’d be fucked. He’s a man with power and influence.

  Well, so am I.

  But when the doors swing open and she steps out, I reach for her elbow to steady her. My hand touches her creamy skin and she turns those large, wide eyes to me, and I forget Raymond Fucking Hayes.

  The elevator opens up to a hall with a chandelier, large framed prints on the walls, and a plush burgundy carpet. We don’t have a long hall to walk down to get to her apartment. This is the anteroom to her penthouse right here. She doesn’t live on the fourteenth floor. She owns it.

  She presses her thumb to a large panel outside the door, and a little green light flashes, I hear a faint pop, and she opens the door.

  “Come in,” she says, not meeting my eyes. Is she embarrassed?

  I follow her in.

  “This a three bedroom?” I ask curiously, leaning back against the wall and surveying it. Everything’s modern and opulent, shiny and new.

  She nods.

  “What do you do with the other bedrooms?” I ask.

  “Well, one’s an office,” she says. “And the other’
s for work.”

  “Yeah? What do you do for work?” I’m imagining she shuffles papers for her daddy and earns a cool mil. I busy myself at reading the wine labels she’s got in the wine case built into the wall in her dining room, so she doesn’t see the scorn on my face.

  But she doesn’t answer. She’s checking her phone and not looking at me.

  “Tanya?”

  She looks over curiously.

  “What do you do for work?”

  “Oh,” she says, looking away and not meeting my eyes. She’s trying to evade me, and I’m not sure why. “I do lots of things.”

  Evasion isn’t cool, but we’ll deal with that later.

  “Show me where your bathroom is. Do you have first aid supplies, or do we need to call the guy downstairs?”

  “Well, I think I have what I need,” she says. “But we’ll see.”

  I follow her to the bathroom, and she points to the cabinet below the sink. When I open it, I see a vibrant red bag. “This?”

  She nods, looking pale again, like she might faint.

  “Go sit down,” I order sternly, pointing to her bedroom. All I need is for her to topple over and whack her head or something.

  She sits, holding her injured hand in front of her while I open the first aid kid and assess what’s inside. I take out some materials and line them up on the counter. “Should have what we need here,” I say to her. I walk into her room. It’s dim in here, lit only by a closet light she left on. I flick the lamp on her bedside table so I can see what I’m doing better. “You’ll have to let me take a look.”

  Fear flashes in her eyes, and she shakes her head from side to side. “I think it’s okay,” she says. “I can actually bandage it up myself now.” She’s sitting on the edge of the bed, but it’s one of those high jobs with a slippery cover, so she’s having to hold herself up by pushing her toes into the carpet. She reaches for the bandages. “I can do it,” she insists.