Mechanic with Benefits

by Mickey Miller

  For a moment, I heard a lack of creaking coming through our shared wall, and I thought, maybe the rocking would be done and I could get some sleep.

  And then I heard the moans start up again. After a few minutes, the creaking was so constant that it actually sounded soothing in the way the rhythm went.

  I stared at the ceiling, and laughed out loud at the ridiculousness of the whole situation. How fucked up was this? I was being lulled to bed by the sex noises of my host brother as I wore lingerie for my boyfriend who hadn’t asked about it.

  I wasn’t sure if irony was what I was experiencing, or maybe this was payback for some past life of mine. Either way, I couldn’t live like this. Tomorrow, I would have a chit-chat with Chandler and ask him to keep it down. I wasn’t going to put up with this shit during the two and a half months I would be staying with Doña Maria.

  Should I take off my lingerie? It felt like a shame to let a good show go to waste. I laid on my back, under the covers, and ran a hand down my stomach.

  As long as I was riled up, I might as well take care of myself tonight. Orgasms were therapeutic, right?

  I slipped my panties to the side and put my middle finger on my clit. I closed my eyes and tried to think of Scott.

  Our fight overtook my consciousness, and my head repeated the words he’d said and the way he’d snapped.

  Weirdly, thinking of him seemed to dry me up. Damn.

  I contemplated pulling out my phone and going through my Tumblr app, which was my go-to when I needed a little dirty inspiration.

  That’s when Chandler’s girl’s screams began to crescendo. She was about to come.

  Oddly, that turned me on, and I found myself good and wet again.

  This wasn’t right. I’d never been a voyeur of any kind. Yet my arousal was uncontrollable.

  “Yes, yes!” she screamed, through through the walls. “Oh my God!”

  I leaned back, continuing to finger myself. I ran my finger in my slit, and started to work it inside myself.

  I pulled off my lingerie bottoms and spread my legs shamelessly.

  I doubted a guy—a man—like Chandler would ever want a girl like me. I was another girl from the suburbs with brown hair and light brown eyes studying marketing.

  Even if Chandler did want a girl like me, I could already tell he was bad news.

  Still, it couldn’t hurt to imagine what he’d feel like inside me. On top of me. Underneath me. I didn’t even know the man, and he already had me so damn wet.

  I flipped over onto my stomach and bit into my pillow. How would his muscular body feel as he fucked me? Would he have a gentle touch to go along with his massive muscles? The fact that he was a basketball player seemed to indicate he had more finesse than the average jock.

  Those big hands. Running along my spine. Pulling my hair.

  How big was he? I couldn’t help but wonder. Even though we’d only had one meeting, it was evident he was cocky as hell. And the way she was screaming in pleasure, it sounded like she was being exorcised of her sex demons. A sexorcism.

  On my stomach now, I hooked a finger inside and found the spot I was looking for. This wasn’t right, fingering myself to someone else.

  No, it’s fine, I told myself. It was just like watching a porno. Or specifically, listening. This was live-listening, action porno.

  I found a one-two rhythm and pressed inside my walls.

  “Harder, Chandler,” she moaned. And by the increasing volume of the skin on skin slaps, he evidently obliged her.

  My pleasure built until it was pounding through every inch of my insides. When I climaxed, the feeling overtook my entire body. My legs trembled. I let out a soft, timid moan.

  Without even taking my makeup off, I fell asleep in a pool of my own satisfied sweat.

  In my elated state, the noises next door became less annoying, and simply soothing.

  Still, Chandler was an asshole. As hot as my session right now had been, I couldn’t put up with this on a nightly basis. Tomorrow, I would have it out with him and set some boundaries of what’s acceptable. And, Chandler wasn’t my type. I never liked the jock types.

  I was fine with indulging in a fantasy for a night, but I’d never be with anyone who was as much of a manwhore as Chandler.

  Three

  Amy

  I was tossing and turning for most of the night that when I did finally get some rest, I was thrown into such a slumber that the next morning I slept straight through my 7 a.m. alarm. I woke up at quarter to nine or so and I’d already missed my 8am class. If I hurried, I could make my Tuesday Spanish Lit class at 9:30.

  Rushing around and all the while swearing at Chandler for his late night activities, I quickly wiggled out of my lingerie, grabbed a towel and padded down the hall to jump in the shower. I rinsed off quickly then turned the water off to shave my legs.

  My host mom had thoroughly drilled into me the fact that Spain was in a drought, and as a result, we needed to turn the water off for whenever we were doing anything non-shower related.

  So, like a good little water conservationist, I turned the water off and applied shaving gel, all the while ruminating and scolding myself like I usually did. If I wasn’t careful, I could head back toward full-on depression mode, negative self-talk and all. Even though I recognized myself-chiding thoughts, I couldn’t stop them.

  I’d missed class in just my second week and it was all Chandler’s fault. This damn guy. I had only met him for fifteen minutes during breakfast, and yet, he had my blood boiling.

  Maybe I was just jealous of him and the fact that he actually takes care of his girl. Shouldn’t a guy want to screw his girlfriend for an hour every night? Or at least every once in awhile? Talking about sex with Scott had become a huge area of contention between us—or rather, not talking about what was off lately. I had no problem talking about anything or trying new things in bed but Scott was putting it all on me—shutting me out—and that wasn’t fair.

  I ground my teeth. Thinking about Scott and Chandler’s good or bad character or bedroom prowess was pointless. I felt powerless in both situations, and it only served to infuriate me more.

  Suddenly, through the haze of my rumination, I heard water running in the bathroom.

  Was someone else in the bathroom?

  My heart beat out of my chest as I peeled the curtain back and peeked.

  A broad-shouldered man stood with his boxers pulled half down his ass as he peed. It was quite a nice ass, too.

  I heard the sound of a solid stream of water running into the toilet.

  Chandler.

  Of course asshole roommate would just barge in! Did this guy even knock?! I fumed, getting exasperated that he acted like he owned the place and had zero consideration for anyone else in the apartment! The door was freaking closed!

  I’m a very nice person until you cross me. And this asshole was about to get a strong dosage of Bitch Amy. Coupled with my disaster call with Scott last night, I was going to let Chandler have it.

  I opened my mouth, but then I became flustered the more I noticed his—well, all of him. Suddenly, I couldn’t find the right words to say what I wanted to. And he, apparently, didn’t even see me, off in his own little world while he did his business.

  The thud-thud of my heart went faster as I stared at Chandler. Anger mixed with lust as my eyes scanned his body. He was tall with the broadest shoulders I could ever remember seeing. And oh, dear God, those back muscles. He looked like he was flexing as he leaned one hand on the wall. Was he flexing? Who flexes when they are just peeing?

  He yawned and let out a loud, low, throaty noise that was close to a growl. I guess he was probably clearing his throat, but this really sounded like he might be imitating a tiger’s low grumble. Finally, his stream ended. I snapped out of my haze, and found the nerve to say something to this entitled asshole.

  “Doesn’t anyone knock any more?” I piped up loudly from the shower, my tone seething.

  He whipped his bo
dy around, facing me. I had my angry face on and used the curtain to cover my body while I glared at him.

  “What the fuck? I did knock. Three times,” he shot back in an accusatory tone. “And I said ‘hola, alguien está?’ Did you not hear me?”

  My heart dropped to my stomach as I realized that I’d been so far in my own world, I might have not heard him at all. Right about that same moment, my eyes went wide and I couldn’t help but drop them below the Chandler’s waist. I couldn’t look away. I’d seen good ones but my God. This man was blessed by the Almighty Father. And for some reason my eyes lingered on his cock like I was a moth and it was the fire.

  “My eyes are up here, by the way,” he said, smirking.

  He pulled his boxers up so I couldn’t see the giant one-eyed snake I had been staring at for too many seconds. I brought my eyes upward, to the face of the man who’d been the basis of one of my inward distractions in the shower. My anger momentarily melted away as I stared at his dark blue and green eyes, cocky smile, dark hair, and muscles that rippled from head to toe.

  I think my staring impacted my balance, because I suddenly slipped back, beginning to pull the whole shower curtain down with me, the rings ripping off the rungs holding it up.

  Chandler saw what was happening and quickly reacted. He jumped toward the shower and grabbed my body through the shower curtain, his huge hands wrapping around my waist and holding me up like I was nothing but a feather. My head was inches from coming into contact with one of the ledges in the shower, and I was breathing hard from all the adrenaline being pumped through my body. I grabbed Chandler’s shoulder for balance. He would have been touching my naked body if not for the thin layer of shower curtain separating us.

  “Holy shit,” Chandler whispered, his eyes inches from mine and as wide as they could go. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. I’m okay.” I gripped his shoulder for better balance.

  “Careful. Here, let’s get you back on solid ground.” He lifted me up from the slick shower floor and set me on the plush mat. The shower curtain had completely torn off, and was wrapped around me.

  “Thanks,” I breathed, my chest heaving.

  He glanced inside the shower. “You don’t put the tub mats down?”

  “Well, usually I do, but I was a little out of it this morning…”

  I swallowed hard and I’m pretty sure I licked my lips, thinking about what to say. Part of me was intimidated by him and that was rare. But as the adrenaline wore off, and I remembered that I was annoyed with him, I knew I had to set the rules of how things were going to go down in this house if we were going to live peacefully for the next couple of months. I had always been someone who spoke her mind, and there was no reason I should back down from Chandler, as much as he put me on edge.

  I let go of him and looked him straight in his pretty blue-green eyes. My tone was firm and businesslike. “You know, I usually do put the mats down. But my mind’s been a little funky this morning. I couldn’t fall asleep last night because you and whatever her name is were having extremely loud sex in the room right next to mine.” He opened his mouth, probably to say something to annoy me even more but I cut him off and raised my voice. “And because of you and your late night sexcapades, I couldn’t sleep, and now I missed a class this morning and will probably be late for my next one. Have some thought for the other people that live here. It’s not ‘Chandler World’ and Doña Maria and I just happen to exist in it. Got it?”

  I’m sure I looked ridiculous with the shower curtain wrapped around me as I stared up at Chandler. And I do mean stared up, because I’m five foot two, and he was at least a full foot taller than me. His jaw dropped and his eyes widened at my tone. This was the type of man who was used to charming the pants off of any women he met and getting his way. Yes, he was that guy. He needed to know here and now that I wasn’t about to stand for his bullshit.

  “Damn,” he finally said, blinking slowly at me. “Tell me how you really feel, why don’t you?”

  “Just did,” I said, keeping the shower curtain securely around me. I eyed the door then him. “Now, if you don’t mind, I would appreciate it if you would stop gawking and leave so I can finish my shower.”

  His expression changed again from slightly caught off guard back to a cocky smirk. “Gawking, eh?” He raised an eyebrow. “Fine—go ahead and tell me to keep it down so you can sleep. But if there’s one thing I don’t like, it’s a hypocrite.”

  I gasped a little in indignation. “A hypocrite?! How am I a hypocrite?”

  “Look, Squirt. Listen good. I won’t be told that I can’t gawk at your sexy little body.” He leaned in and lowered his voice to a low throaty tone. “Especially when you just stared at my cock for at least a full five seconds.”

  A shiver ran through my body. I was both infuriated at how right he was and by how much I needed for him to get the hell out of the bathroom, lest I get more turned on.

  He turned to go, took a step, and looked over his shoulder. “Leave the shower curtain, Squirt. I’ll fix it when I take a shower later today.”

  “Why are you calling me Squirt?” I squinted at him.

  “Yeah. Squirt. That’s your new nickname. You know, a small, short person.” He pointed to the mat. “Better put the mat down next time, Squirt.”

  He winked, turned back, and continued out the door.

  “Asshole,” I muttered out loud when he had gone.

  The man certainly knew how to get my shower curtains in a bunch.

  Four

  Amy

  I was distracted all day in class, thinking about what I was going to say to Chandler and how I was going to finally get him to wipe that cocky smirk off his face. Instead of paying attention like I usually did, I just made a list of all the ways I could tell him off.

  I thought about going the ‘pout to my host parent’ route, but Chandler had already been there for several months before me, and he had earned Doña Maria’s favor. Hell, she called him mi hijo—my son—and treated him like one. He was also the star basketball player for the University of Barcelona’s club team. He had already made lots of local friends, which I hadn’t been able to do yet.

  I managed to zone back in as the professor kept talking about how Don Quixote was the mother of all satires in the Western Literature cannon. That’s when I got a sharp poke from Becca, who was also in a study abroad program, but we hadn’t really hung out beyond the classroom.

  “Amy,” she hissed. She poked my arm again, shocking me out of my day dreaming status.

  “What?” I stared back at her blankly.

  “What are you doing tonight?” Her smile was positively devilish. Becca was a Cali girl and looked the part—model tall and thin, blue eyes, and blonde hair. Everything she said seemed to take on this drawn out importance. Even going out on a Tuesday.

  “Need to go to bed early,” I whispered. “I woke up late.” And I needed to make sure I was asleep before my host-brother kept me up all night.

  “Why?” Becca asked, scrunching her brows. “This is college.”

  I paused, keeping track of our professor at the front of the room. “I got into a passive aggressive fight on Skype with my boyfriend and then my host brother was up all night making his girlfriend moan against his headboard,” I explained quickly under my breath. I opted to leave out my solo session.

  She nodded, processing this information but I could tell she wasn’t sure how to take it.

  “Who is your host brother?” she asked.

  “I’ve only seen him twice because we have opposite schedules, but he’s a basketball player on the program here, from University of North Carolina. Chandler. Chandler something…”

  I trailed off and frowned as Becca’s jaw dropped nearly to the floor. Meanwhile, I was realizing I knew virtually nothing about my host brother beyond the very basics and only through observation. He and I rarely spoke to each other in the week or so we’d been living together. Most of my intel came from Doña Maria and it w
as very fragmented since my Spanish still sucked and her English was barely passable.

  “Get out!” she whispered loudly, on delayed reaction. “Chandler Spiros is your host brother?”

  “Yeah. Why, you know him?”

  “Yes I know him!” Becca licked her lips. “I go to UNC with him. He is like the hottest guy on campus. Really good basketball player but it’s what he does off the court that he’s known for.” She leaned towards me, ready to spill more dirt. “He’s got a reputation for being the best ever at—”

  “Ahem! Chicas?” The professor cocked his head at us with an accusatory eye from the front of the room and cleared his throat.

  “Lo siento, professor!” Becca belted loudly from the back of the classroom. The man continued droning on in Spanish that I only half understood. I felt slightly bad for ignoring him, but this was the most boring of all the classes I was taking, which was really saying something. Still, I turned my head back toward the front of the room and feigned attention until Becca poked me again.

  “The professor answered that pretty well,” she giggled. “Chandler’s got a reputation for chicas. He walks into a room, panties melt. I’ve never seen anyone quite like him. I knew girls in my dorm floor freshmen year who would have killed for just a night with him, to see if the rumors were really true.”

  I swallowed the lump in my throat. As open as I was, I didn’t want to admit that I’d gotten aroused listening to him last night. Wishing that I could be the one he was giving the experience to. “Rumors? What rumors?”

  “He’s got a golden tongue. And a golden…something else, too.”

  I swallowed hard. So my fantasy last night had been right on the money.

  “Let’s go get fire shots tonight,” she whispered, quietly, changing the subject again.

  “What are fire shots?”

  “There is this one bar in Barcelona’s downtown area that serves flaming shots. They literally light them on fire right in front of your face. It’s awesome. A couple of those and you’ll pass out like a baby tonight. Loud Chandler or no.”