by Jaye Diamond
“Do you know what happened with it?” Harris asks, as he gets to his feet and dusts off his hands. “Did you run over something sharp?”
“No. It happened out of nowhere.”
Harris picks my shredded tire up from the paved shoulder of the road, looks it over, then tosses it out into the desert.
“I can’t be sure, but I think it had an air bubble in it that caused a blowout. That can happen when you drive with low tire pressure. Did you see any dash lights on?”
I shake my head. “They didn’t warn me.”
“Then your tire pressure sensors might need to be replaced. I’ll do a thorough inspection when we get to the shop, and take care of anything that needs to be fixed.”
“I can’t let you do all of that for free.” I start doing math in my head, wondering how much money I can afford to give him before I would have to eat noodles for several weeks. It’s not like I’ve been eating well lately anyway, but life without dollar-menu meals would be rough. Greasy fries are one of the few treats I allow myself.
“Yes, you can, and you will,” Harris says, his deep voice gruff and commanding. “I won’t take no for an answer.”
Chapter Two
HARRIS
After changing Paige’s tire, I basically know everything there is to know about the sweet girl, and frankly, I’m pissed. Not at her—or anyone in particular—but at life itself, and all the shitty things in it.
She’s all alone in the world—has been since the day she was born. She doesn’t know much about her parents, other than the fact that they gave up all rights to her. Then she went into the foster care system and was never adopted out, because of a family history of mental illness that had to be disclosed to any potential adoptive parents. She lived in four different households before she turned eighteen, but never left the small city she was born in.
I’ve met a few other young people who came out of the system, and none of them seemed as sheltered and naïve as Paige, but she said she was raised by old-fashioned elderly couples and religious families, and went to a Catholic all-girls high school.
Images of her in a pleated skirt refuse to leave my head now, as I pull her car into a free spot inside my shop’s garage.
She followed me for nearly an hour, while the sun was getting low, and I kept fighting the urge to hit the brakes—jump out of my car—and pull her out of hers.
I wanted to tell her to leave her crappy car behind in the desert, because it was part of her old life, and she was going to start a new one with me. In her new life, she would never have to drive a piece of shit again.
But we just met, so I’m sure Paige would have thought I was a fucking lunatic if I said those things. She might have even gone off to the next garage she could find, and I would have never seen her again.
So, I hold back my need to say “Fuck you, world. I’m claiming this girl you screwed, and getting rid of all the worries you heaped onto her small shoulders.”
I’ll offer her a hot meal and place to stay, and fix her car, then we’ll go from there.
I climb out of Paige’s car and do my best attempt of a smile as I approach her. She’s leaning against the frame of the garage opening, looking as inviting as ever, which makes me want to do unspeakable things. Her kissable lips and young little body could be the best things I’ll ever experience, or they could be the death of me.
“It’s getting late and I’m kind of beat,” I say, “but I promise to work on your car first thing tomorrow. Would you mind staying over at my place tonight? I could cook you dinner.”
As if on cue, Paige’s stomach grumbles, and she blushes. “Mind? No, that would be great. Too great. I mean—you’re being too good to me. I used to get down on my knees and pray for help like this, when I was younger, but it never came. I had a roof over my head and clothes on my back, but I had to clean and cook for hours every day, and take care of everyone else, while dealing with my problems on my own.”
“When you’re with me, you don’t need to pray for help.” I lay a hand lightly on her shoulder and give it a squeeze. I’m barely touching it, but I hope comforting her like this will stop another hug. If she walks into my arms again, I won’t be able to let her go. “You just have to ask for it.”
And when you drop to your knees in my house, you won’t be praying.
PAIGE
My pulse beats faster when Harris touches me. His hand is huge and heavy on my shoulder and I want it to stay on my body.
I’m still not that lucky though, despite the other good fortune I’ve received since we met.
“I’ll remember that,” I tell Harris, and a second later he lifts his hand away, as something flashes in his eyes.
Was that hunger I saw? It’s hard to say. Maybe it was anger? He’s acting super nice, but that doesn’t mean he wants me around. I can’t let myself forget that feeling obligated to help someone, and enjoying helping them, are two different things. I hated essentially being a servant for the families that took me in before I turned eighteen, but since I had nowhere else to go, I didn’t complain.
I grab my things out of my car and Harris helps me move them to the trunk of his convertible before we head to his place.
His house isn’t far from the garage. It’s a plain gray square house, surrounded by big rocks and cactus gardens. Inside, it’s simple, but nice: clean and modern.
Harris shows me the guest room, and I leave my things there before I follow him to the kitchen.
“Can I help you make dinner?” I ask, as he begins scrubbing his hands in the sink.
“I’d like that,” he says, his tone unreadable.
I can’t tell if he actually wants my help or if he’s being polite, but he makes room for me, moving over to one side of the sink, so I join him.
I get my hands soapy and run them under the water while Harris dries his, with his eyes glued to the window in front of us, as if the slits in the dark blinds are more interesting to look at than me.
I don’t know how to capture his undivided attention, so he’ll put his eyes nowhere else. I don’t even know how to make him warm up to my presence. I wish my stomach hadn’t made noise in front of him. A belly rumbling isn’t sexy.
Harris is probably turned on by grown women who don’t need help from others, and sees me as nothing more than a kid in need of adult supervision. Maybe that’s a good thing, if it’s the reason why he won’t turn me away and tell me I’m on my own—but I wish there was another way for me to stay in his house. I wish there was a way to make him want to touch me as much as I want to touch him.
“So, for dinner,” Harris says, “how does smoked sausage, peppers, and red potatoes sound?”
“Amazing,” I say, drying my hands.
He opens his big fridge, pulling stuff out, and I get a peek inside. The fridge is well-stocked with fresh food that threatens to make my stomach growl again.
“You cook a lot?” I ask, as he hands me a packet of sausage to open.
Harris nods, clenching his jaw as he places two cutting boards on the kitchen counter, before he hands me a knife. I start cutting the sausage, while he washes off peppers and potatoes in the sink. Then he walks around the counter to use the other cutting board, putting the whole counter between us instead of cutting next to me—and I feel like pouting.
I want him closer, but he clearly wants some distance between us.
I guess I have to respect that, for now.
Chapter Three
HARRIS
Getting through dinner, with Paige so close to me, is a struggle. I woof down my food, then excuse myself from the table, claiming I have to make a phone call.
She stares down at her plate and mutters, “Okay,” and I hate myself for leaving her all alone. But, I’d hate myself even more if I swiped my arm across the table, and knocked everything off, just so I could throw her on it and bury my cock inside her ripe cunt.
I’ve never felt so out of control around a woman and it’s a little scary to me. I can onl
y imagine how terrifying it could be to her if I don’t keep myself in check.
During our meal, she casually said she was sorry if she wasn’t very fun for me to be around. She said she had not spent much time around boys or men and wasn’t sure how to act. She also said she never had a male friend and never dated anyone.
Great. Just fucking fantastic, I thought, when she told me that last bit.
Not only is she way too young for me—I’m now convinced she’s also a virgin. That shouldn’t have made my cock painfully hard, but it did, and now I have to take care of the monster in my pants.
I slam my bedroom door and press my back against it before I whip out my cock. I’m about to make a mess I’ll have to clean off the tile floor but I don’t give a damn. If I think too hard about where I’ll shoot my cum, I’ll end up dragging Paige into this room and marking her with it.
I squeeze my eyes shut and see her in a schoolgirl uniform, sliding down on my length. She grimaces when her cherry pops, but then, I show her how good my cock can be to her. I put my hands on her hips and help her find a rhythm that makes her pussy pop once more—but this time it pops like warm champagne that I want to taste on my tongue.
I cum so hard a rush to the head almost takes me off my feet, and the fantasy dissolves.
I'm left panting, alone, and the worst part is—jacking off doesn't have the desired effect. It doesn't cool me down like it usually does.
Now, I want the real thing even more.
PAIGE
Harris says a few gruff words to me before I go to bed, when he finds me in the kitchen, doing dishes.
“There's no need for you to do that,” he says. “Get some rest.”
It's a little early for me, but I can tell he wants me out of his hair, so I change into a big t-shirt and little pajama shorts and crawl into the comfy guest bed. It's so soft and warm and I pass out immediately, not even realizing that I dozed off until I wake up to the sound of two or more men arguing.
I sit up, my ears straining as I groan at the light shining into the room through half-closed blinds. The morning sun seems brighter in California than it did back home.
“We should at least consider—”
“I said no!”
I get up and follow the voices, yawning and stretching as I make my way down the hall.
Harris is in his living room, with his back turned toward me. He’s talking to a middle-aged man who has a thick moustache.
“Yes, but since you said no, he upped his offer. He’s very motivated and I think we should at least...” the man with the mustache trails off, looking past Harris, at me. “You didn’t tell me you had someone over.”
Harris glances over his shoulder and heaves a sigh. “Great. You woke my guest.”
“You’re the one who started yelling.”
“I’m Paige,” I say, introducing myself—since Harris didn’t.
I hope he isn’t acting weird because he has a girlfriend, who wouldn’t be thrilled to hear about another woman in his house.
“I’m Pat Daily,” mustache guy says, walking around Harris so he can reach me and offer his hand. “I’m Harris’ business partner, and it’s a pleasure to meet you.” He pauses, nodding in Harris’ direction. “It’s been ages since this one had a girlfriend.”
Oh, thank God. I don’t have to worry about another woman coming between me and the handsome mechanic.
“That’s not what this is,” Harris snaps, glaring at me and Pat’s joined hands. “She had car trouble and nowhere else to go.”
“Oh, of course,” Pat says, releasing my hand. “He might seem tough, Paige, but don’t let him fool you. He’s really a big softie.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I say, as Harris opens his front door.
“Pat, we’ll talk later,” he says, his tone leaving no room for disagreement.
“Want to be alone with your new friend?” Pat says, with a wink. “I can understand that. Just pick up your phone when I call, so I don’t have to drive all the way out here.”
“Fine,” Harris says, slamming the door shut after Pat walks out. Then he turns to me. “What are you wearing?”
“Uh . . . shorts and a t-shirt. I know you can’t see the shorts, but I swear they’re under here." I go to lift my shirt, but Harris stomps over and slaps my hand away from the hemline.
“What the hell are you thinking?” he asks, his eyes sweeping over my body, lingering on my bare legs and braless chest. “You can’t walk around like that in front of two men you don’t know, but I bet you’d even answer my door like that if you heard someone knocking.”
“I might,” I admit. “If you weren’t here, and it was a delivery man or—"
“For fuck sake,” Harris says, gripping my arms tight and shoving my back against a wall.
“I—I’m sorry,” I say, feeling sticky warmth in my panties. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you in front of your partner.”
A man has never touched me like this before, and I can’t tell if I’m getting wet because I like the rough treatment, or because I’m finally feeling Harris’ callused hands on my bare skin.
“That's not why I'm pissed!” he shouts in my face. “I’m pissed because you’re acting insanely fucking stupid. Do you how many bad guys there are, who would love to take advantage of a pretty thing like you? Who would restrain you, then fuck every one of your little holes, if they were given the chance?”
I shake my head, speechless. I can’t believe how graphic and crass he’s being, and how it makes my pussy throb.
His grip tightens for a moment, but then he lets go of me, panting as he steps back.
“Shower, eat something, and get your tiny ass dressed,” he orders. “Then I’ll take you to the shop with me.”
“To the shop?”
“Yes, you’ll stay there while I work on your car. I’m not leaving you alone.”
Chapter Four
HARRIS
Fuck. I must have scared the hell out of Paige, but I couldn’t help it—not when she was dressed like that, strutting around in front of another man. What the fuck was she thinking? This is what happens when you hold back, and don’t claim what you wish was yours. I have to find a way to keep her here and make her mine, without breaking any laws. Although, dressing her like a schoolgirl and cuffing her to my bed is a tempting option my depraved mind keeps producing.
And the outfits she chooses are not helping one fucking bit.
“Hey, is this better?” she asks, when she finds me waiting for her in the garage.
She’s wearing a sleeveless white crop top, with a red and black, plaid mini-skirt, and Converse sneakers.
My dick likes what she has on—but the thought of her tight clothes making anyone else’s dick happy makes me see red.
“I don’t get it,” I say flatly, trying to keep my voice even. “Why does a broke girl like you wear flashy outfits?”
Paige could scoff or act offended by the question, but she doesn’t. She comes a little closer to me, which is a happy surprise. Maybe I didn’t scare her too much—or she’s just too brave for her own good. That seems like a distinct possibility.
“Well, all my life, the only clothes I had in my closet were plain, boring hand-me-downs,” she explains. “So, when I got an after-school waitressing job, I decided part of the money I would save to move across the country would be spent on clothes. I know that’s not the smartest decision to make if you’re low on cash, but I really wanted to own fun and cute things, for once.”
“Cute isn’t the word I’d use for what you’re wearing,” I mutter under my breath.
“Huh?”
“Forget it.”
“What about you?” she asks. “Out of all the colors you could choose from, what’s a guy like you doing with a yellow car? You’re not exactly a sunny person.”
Well, hell. She’s got me there.
“When I bought this car, it was a shadow of its former glory, and everything from the yellow exterior to the black leat
her seats made it harder to restore,” I explain. “And I like a challenge.”
“That,” she says, giving me a long look, “is something we have in common.”
That is one thing I have to admire about this little angel. She may be too innocent to travel all this way on her own, but she didn’t let any trepidations stop her from doing what she wanted.
“Let’s go,” I say, walking around the car and opening the passenger door for Paige.
Her skirt rides up her thighs when she sits down and I can’t take my eyes off her young, flawless skin as I shut the door. Thankfully, she doesn’t notice, because she’s not looking at me. She’s looking at the gearshift.
“I’ve never driven a manual car before,” she says. “Is driving stick as hard as it seems?”
“It can be for a beginner,” I say, as I slide into the driver’s seat. “But I wouldn’t mind teaching you how to handle a stick.”
PAIGE
I flush, my heart beating fast in my chest.
I can’t tell if Harris knows I’m flirting, and is flirting back, or if he’s just being nice. Perhaps nicer than he wants to be, because he feels guilty for pushing me against a wall, after I pissed him off by acting so clueless. I was a bit stunned when he put his hands on me, but when that wore off, I realized he was right to be angry. Prancing around in pajamas like that, in front of strangers, was pretty foolish. But I don’t like to think of Harris as a stranger. I feel like he's something so much more already.
“I don’t think you have time to teach me. You should be done with my car soon, and then I should go,” I say, my voice coming out weak, and a little raw. A lump of sadness is forming in my throat, just at the thought of us saying goodbye to each other. “I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”