Work Me Up

by Wylder, Penny

  After what feels like eternity, a long slow slide that I never want to end, I’m finally pushed all the way inside her. She breathes in and out, and her pussy clenches once, releases, as she adjusts to my length, my girth.

  “God, I feel so fucking full,” she gasps.

  I smirk at that and tilt my head back just far enough to gaze down at her. Savor the expression on her face as I start to pull out of her again, just a little, before I push back inside. “Your pussy feels so fucking glorious,” I whisper against her lips, before I kiss her again, hard. “I could fuck you all day.”

  “Please do,” she breathes.

  So I give the lady what she asked for.

  I pull back farther now, drive into her a little bit faster, rougher. Before long, I’ve built up a momentum, pulling out of her tight, wet pussy almost entirely before I thrust back inside her, hard enough to make the car behind her rock. Her legs clench hard around me, and I brace myself with one hand against the roof of the car, the other tight around her waist, holding her up and to me as hard as I can.

  I lose track of time, of space. I forget about the garage around us, about the work we came here to do. About anything except fucking her, pleasing her, getting her off.

  After a while, I shift under her, angling my hips so my cock drags against her inner walls. She moans and arches her back, her hips granting me deeper access than ever. I fuck her until I can feel her nails digging into my shoulders and her breaths coming in pants.

  “Come for me, Selena,” I order, and that’s all it takes for her to completely lose control. She lets out a cry that tilts into a scream, as her orgasm rocks through her. The force of it makes her pussy spasm around me, clenching hard and releasing over and over in fast succession.

  All the while I keep driving into her, fucking her hard and fast. Just when the orgasm seems to have faded, I reach down between us with my free hand and stroke the hard little nub of her clit, still thrusting my hips at the same time. She jolts as if electrocuted, starts to pant again, and before long she’s shouting nonsense syllables, crying out again as a second orgasm rocks through her.

  I lose count of how many times I make her come, before I can’t control myself anymore. Before I pin her back and thrust once, twice, a third time, and let myself go, let myself come hard inside her, my hands so tight at her hips I’m sure it will leave marks tomorrow, but she doesn’t seem to care, because she’s crying out my name and burying her face in the crook of my neck, her whole body quivering.

  When we pull apart, filthier than ever, it takes us both a moment to catch our breath. To trade grins, standing there completely naked in the middle of this mess of a garage. “Come on,” I tell her, extending a hand. “I’ll show you where the shower is.”

  5

  Selena

  My father is going to kill me. That’s the only thought pounding against my temples, all night long, as I lie awake in bed and stare at my ceiling and decidedly do not relive any of yesterday.

  Okay, so that’s a lie. In fact, I can’t stop replaying what happened in the garage between us, in the afternoon, after hours of covering ourselves in grease and arguing. I don’t know how the hell it happened, either. One minute all I wanted to do was smack Antonio for assuming so much about me, acting like he knew who I was and that I was some spoiled brat just because of my father.

  The next minute, well…

  I shut my eyes, and shiver again, remembering the way his hands always knew exactly how and where to touch me to draw out yet another orgasm, just when I’d started to think having another at that point would be impossible. And I can’t stop thinking about the expression on his face when he finished, when he came inside me, growling like a man possessed, his eyes on fire where they caught mine, the kind of heat I’d never seen in a man’s eyes before.

  Like I was his. Like I belonged to him and him alone.

  And… I liked it.

  More than that. I wanted more of it, more of him. I wanted him to make me come undone all over again, the way he’d fucked me until I was screaming his name, pinning me against the very car of his that I’d half-broken.

  But Dad will kill me if he finds out. It’s all I can think about, all I can do to remind myself not to dwell on those memories.

  It’s true, too. If Dad knew Antonio and I slept together—or, well, fucked I guess, since there was definitely no sleeping involved—he’d assume I did it just to get out of my duties. Like I thought if I fucked Antonio he wouldn’t make me repair the car for him anymore, or he’d do the repairs himself and give me credit.

  But that’s not true. I don’t know why I fucked him, really. He’s not my type at all. I normally go for nerdy guys, book-smart guys. The kinds of guys I met in college, or who are all in grad school right now, like I’d planned to be, if things had gone in the way that I’d planned, instead of…

  Well. Instead of what happened instead.

  My stomach churns. Sours.

  When my alarm clock finally sounds, to wake me up for another long day of promised car-fixing, I roll over with my eyes stinging to slap it off, already wide awake. I probably only managed a couple hours’ sleep at best. Groaning, I haul myself from bed anyway, and scrub myself off in the shower, determined to wake up.

  Today, I need to be on my guard. I need to make it very clear that nothing else will be happening between Antonio and me. No more longing stares or flirtatious jabs. No more kissing. Definitely no more pinning me up against cars and fucking me until I scream.

  Today, we’re going to be all business, no play. At least, that’s what I tell myself in the bedroom mirror as I get dressed—making sure not to make the same mistake I did yesterday with the tight jeans and the see-through shirt. I wear the baggiest clothes I can find today. A pair of old boyfriend jeans I stole from a brief fling I had, and a T-shirt I’d normally only wear to sleep in because it’s so oversized. You can’t see my curves underneath it. You can’t see anything, in fact, except the band logo across the from.

  Perfect.

  Then I pull my hair up into a ponytail, add only the bare minimum of makeup—foundation and a little gloss, nothing more—and that’s that. Non-sexy-chic.

  I head into the garage right on time, and find the main garage door already open, as if waiting for me. I step under it nervously, and the second my eyes land on Antonio, I freeze.

  He’s wearing the same thing as yesterday. A tank top with jeans, both already streaked in grease. He’s working on another car, not Betty, and for a second, as he’s bent over with his head inside the hood, he doesn’t seem to notice me.

  So I let myself look. Appreciate. Just for a second. Because that ass is almost never in such a prime viewing position, and I’m only human, after all. But after a moment, some of the grime in the garage tickles my nose, and I sneeze.

  Antonio straightens and glances over his shoulder, wiping greasy palms against his jeans. “Welcome back.” He smiles, big and broad.

  Something about that smile tugs at my heartstrings. It looks so earnest. I hate to crush it. But I have to. “Yeah, well. Sort of a court-mandated punishment, and all that.” I shrug my shoulders, without smiling. “Have to be here.”

  His smile slips a little at the edges, but then he redoubles it with a shrug. “Come on. I’ve got the tools all lined up.”

  I trail after him toward Betty, making sure to keep a few paces behind him. “If we’re just working on the dents like we started last night, I can handle it. I don’t want to keep you from your other projects.”

  His step falters. He turns around, giving me a strange look. For the first time, his gaze wanders over me, and I watch him notice the baggy shirt, the new jeans. He lifts an eyebrow. “You actually dressed appropriately today.”

  I shrug, and tug at the hem with both hands. A part of me wishes I hadn’t. A part of me wishes we could just pick up right where we left off yesterday, with his hands all over me, turning me into putty in his grip. But I know better than that. I need to be smarte
r. Keep my distance. “Yes, well, I realized yesterday was… inappropriate.”

  His smile quirks up around the edges. “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”

  My cheeks flush. “We shouldn’t have…” I shake my head. “Never mind. Look, just give me the tools to work on the car door, and you can go back to your own work.”

  He tilts his head, his eyes narrowing. “You really think I’d trust you unsupervised and alone with Betty?” He smirks. “We all saw what happened the last time I did that.”

  I cross my arms. “I know better now. You taught me a lot yesterday.”

  “Oh really.” He takes a step closer, and I inhale sharply, panicking. I catch the scent of his cologne, the same scent that enveloped yesterday when he had me pinned against the car. It makes my body itch against my will, a throb starting up between my legs, as my pussy tightens at the memory of his cock inside me.

  He was so thick, so fucking filling. I ached for hours afterward. Even this morning when I was taking a shower, I could still feel a dull throb there, the echo of the memory of him. And it only makes me want more. I want him again, taking control of me the way he did yesterday. Drawing pleasure out of me the same way he works his magic on the cars in this garage.

  I bite my lower lip, and I can’t help but notice the way his gaze tracks the movement, heat flaring in his eyes.

  “What else did I teach you yesterday?” he asks, his voice lower now. Almost soft. Except I can recognize the desire he’s suppressing under it now, the want, the lust that shows hot in his gaze.

  I swallow around a thick lump in my throat, and then, with all the willpower remaining in my body, I brush past him casually, toward the car. “A lot of things. How to install a new pane of glass in a car window. How to reattach the body of the interior of a door once you’ve finished installing said pane of glass.” To demonstrate, I rap on Betty’s new window, the one we finished putting in together last night, after we cleaned up from our mess—well, and after we got a little messy all over again in the small shower that’s attached to the garage workroom.

  What can I say? Antonio’s insatiable when there’s something he wants. And right now, that something is me. I can still feel the heat of his gaze tracking me, the pull of him like gravity. I was an idiot if I thought a baggy shirt and some boy jeans would keep him from wanting me.

  He already knows what I look like under all this, after all.

  His arm grazes mine as he comes to stand beside me. In the reflection of the new window, I can see his eyes seek out mine. Find them and hold on. “So that’s what you want?” he asks quietly, one eyebrow arched. “You work on this car, and I work on mine…”

  “I wouldn’t want to delay any of your work,” I say, my voice only quivering slightly, barely catching when he tilts a little closer to me, his arm so hot his skin seems to scald mine. “After all.” I straighten my spine. “I told my father I would repair your car myself in order to help you. Not so I could slow you down or delay the other cars you need to attend to.”

  “Very noble of you.” He’s smirking, still, for some reason.

  It makes my eyes narrow. “Like I told you. I have to be here. So I might as well do what I came for.”

  “Can’t argue with that logic,” he replies, and that smirk remains, dancing around his lips, as he leans down, making sure his whole body grazes against my side on his way down. He scoops up the tools at his feet and passes them to me. Then he rises again, just as slow, in order to press them into my hand. As he does, his strong, calloused fingers wrap around mine and squeeze, just hard enough to remind me where those fingers have been, and how they felt stroking me into an orgasm.

  “If you need me,” he says, his dark eyes serious where they catch mine. He nods his head toward the car he was working on when I came in, some green sedan looking thing with the hood still popped. “I’ll be right over there.” He gives my hands one last gentle squeeze, and then he peels away from me, seeming to take all the air in the room with him as he goes.

  My heart gives a lurch in my chest. But I turn back to the tools spread at my feet, trying to mentally recite all the steps he told me for popping out dents from metal doors yesterday. And then I kneel down and do my best to forget about the smoking hot man standing less than 30 feet away, with his eyes boring holes into my back.

  * * *

  I lose track of time. All I find myself concentrating on is the door before me, which I’m trying to un-dent as best I can. There’s something oddly satisfying about it, finding each little indentation and flaw, then using the tools to correct it, push and suction and pull it back into shape. When I finally finish, I get an unfamiliar sensation starting deep in my chest. It takes me a moment to realize: it’s pride.

  I did this. All by myself.

  Well, with a lot of upfront instruction, and some demonstrations on how to go about it in the first place, sure. But still. The actual hard work of it was all me.

  I’m standing there admiring the door, which now looks a whole lot more like a car door than it did a day ago, my hands on my hips, when I feel the air in the garage shift.

  I don’t even need to turn around to know that Antonio’s approaching. Something about me has been keeping track of him the entire time we’ve been in here—some sort of sixth sense that seems to always know exactly where he’s standing. I can’t count how many times I’ve glanced up at him across the room, only to catch him watching me too, before I lower my head again, my cheeks burning.

  If he’s waiting for me to crack, though, I’m not going to give him the satisfaction. This is a business arrangement, nothing more. I might have slipped up yesterday—slipped up, fucked up, fucked him against this very car—but today is a new day. A fresh start. Today, I will keep my head screwed on straight, and I won’t succumb to my baser desires.

  Even if he’s the first man in years, or maybe ever, to make my pulse jump so hard and fast just by stepping closer to me. Even if every time I catch his eye, I feel a tightening behind my navel, a gut-deep sensation, like he’s got hold of something vital in my core, and he’s tugging me toward him, magnetic as gravity.

  “She looks good,” he says now, his voice a low hum, a vibration that I can feel throughout every inch of my body.

  I swallow, hard, and hope he doesn’t notice the fact that my hands have started to tremble ever so slightly, my breath hitching before I respond. “Thanks. I think so too.”

  He chuckles softly, and his breath tickles the nape of my neck. Only then do I realize just how close he’s standing, mere inches from me. It’s as if the very air in the garage warms between us, thickening. I remember the way he caught my hips yesterday, the way his hands glided over my curves, down, down, until he cupped my pussy and pushed his finger inside me, making me groan and beg.

  Fuck.

  I grit my teeth in order to keep my head in the game. “So, what’s my next step?”

  “That depends,” he says, and something about the way he says it, with a little purr on the end of the words, makes me turn to look at him, curious.

  That was a dangerous move. Because now my eyes flash to his, and our faces are just inches apart, and he’s staring at me like he’s hungry, like there’s nothing in the world he wants more than me. “O-on what?” I ask. My voice comes out barely louder than a whisper. Damn it, Selena. Get it together.

  He tilts his head, his smile widening. Turning cocksure, because this man knows exactly what he’s doing to me, the bastard. “On how much work we plan to actually get done this afternoon.” He reaches up, then, and catches a stray strand of hair that I didn’t notice had fallen across my eyes. With a slow, gentle motion, so slow that it gives his fingertips plenty of time to graze my temple, then the delicate shell of my ear, he tucks that strand of hair behind my ear, out of my eyesight.

  My heart is beating so fast I’m surprised he can’t hear it trying to punch its way out of my chest. There’s got to be some kind of reward for most dangerous look a man can
give a woman—and it’s the one Antonio is firing me right now. It promises pleasure—no, better than pleasure, it promises ecstasy. Screaming orgasms like the ones he gave me yesterday.

  But it also promises danger. A whole hell of a lot of it. And I don’t know whether I can afford to take the risk.

  With a colossal effort, I tear my gaze from his, and glance over my shoulder at the car instead. “I came here to fix Betty. Let’s fix Betty.”

  “If that’s what you want.” Antonio’s hand comes to rest on my shoulder. The skin there burns, as if his hand were white-hot, leaving a brand on my skin.

  It’s so hot that I’m almost surprised, when he lifts his hand away, to find there’s no mark where his fingertips just were. “It’s what I came here to do,” I repeat, because I can’t say I don’t want it, not to his face. He’d call out that bald-faced lie in a second flat.

  “Such a dedicated worker,” Antonio says, and there’s something lighter in his voice now, almost amused.

  I square my shoulders. “I might be a spoiled rich girl, but I’m one who knows how to get her hands dirty,” I snap. Then, when he doesn’t reply for a moment, I glance sideways to find him watching me closely, a smile curling the edges of his lips. One that I can’t quite read. He looks almost… surprised? But pleasantly so.

  “I noticed,” he says. “Got to admit, when you first agreed to this, I didn’t think you had it in you. But you’ve proven me wrong.”

  “I prove a lot of people wrong,” I say, almost without meaning to.

  His expression doesn’t shift. If anything, his smile only grows wider. “Oh, I’m sure you do, Princess.”

  I narrow my eyes. Yet the word doesn’t feel like as much of a dig today as it did when he last called me that. Because we know each other better now, perhaps. Or because of what he just said about me working hard and being capable of surprising others.

  Or maybe just because I know what it feels like to have his cock inside me, and I’m no longer bothered about him giving me cute nicknames.