Chapter Ten #4
The pressure inside my cock intensified with every movement. Behind me, the wrenches continued their assault against my prostate. Stars danced behind my eyes, though from lack of air or as a warning that something big was coming, I couldn’t tell.
Ghost noticed my body moving, and his foot nudged my knees further apart; the change in angle drove the metal deeper as sudden ecstasy crashed through me. I moaned around his cock, and Ghost answered with a rough growl, thrusting deeper until my throat spasmed around the ridges.
“There,” he panted. “That’s it.”
Praise.
Again.
The approval in his voice left my body desperate. I wanted to be good for him. Wanted to take everything he gave me, no matter how filthy or absurd.
The realization should have humiliated me. Instead, it pushed me closer to the edge.
Ghost filled my throat again.
My orgasm struck without warning.
My entire body seized.
The wrench and Allen key stopped the release from escaping properly. Pleasure turned into a prolonged, torturous pressure, trapped inside me until I shook violently on my knees.
A whimper broke around Ghost’s cock, and he withdrew, his hand remaining in my hair, keeping my head tilted back while I coughed and fought for breath.
He looked down at me, waiting.
I knew what he wanted.
“I’m sorry,” I managed. They were words that wild dogs couldn’t have forced out of me, the hardest phrase for me to say on a good day, but at that moment, with my entire body trembling against the bumper of my own car, I was willing to give him anything he wanted.
Ghost stroked my cheek with his thumb, smearing soot further across my face. “For?”
“For letting another man put his hands inside you when mine should have been there.”
Ghost’s smile curved, and he pushed into my mouth again.
No warning.
No gentleness.
His cock drove straight to the back of my throat, making my body lurch forward. He used my hair to control the rhythm, thrusting rapidly while my jaw and throat struggled to accommodate him.
Ghost’s breathing became rougher; his hips lost their measured pace. Each thrust landed deeper, bruising the back of my throat while his cock swelled inside my mouth.
Then his heat flooded me, his release striking the back of my throat in thick pulses.
I tensed around him. The taste was stronger than before, smoke and acrid sweetness that belonged only to Ghost. I tried to swallow, but there was too much, and I choked as he filled me, the overflow spilling from the corners of my mouth.
Finally, when I thought I might actually drown, he withdrew at last, and I bent forward, coughing into my hand. Pale liquid spilled between my fingers, thick and pearlescent, like Ghost’s paint. I swallowed what I could, the flavor clinging to my tongue and throat.
Ghost knelt immediately, one hand settling against my back. He waited until my breathing steadied before touching the tools.
“Ready?” He asked.
I nodded.
He loosened the oil-filter wrench first.
Blood rushed back from my cock, bringing a painful surge of sensation back with it. I cried out, hips jerking.
Ghost held me firmly. Then he withdrew the Allen key.
The internal pressure slid slowly toward the tip. Every millimeter sent a jolt through me until the curved end slipped free and my trapped release finally escaped.
My orgasm hit with brutal force; my cock pulsed and twitched as I spilled over my stomach and Ghost’s hand. The relief was almost painful after being denied for so long. I sagged forward, unable to support myself.
Ghost caught me against his chest.
He removed the wrenches last. The metal dragged over the sensitive place inside me one final time, forcing another weak spasm from my body before they slipped free.
Emptiness followed. My muscles continued clenching around nothing. Ghost held me through every aftershock.
“Good,” he murmured.
The word sounded like praise and possession all at once.
I hated how badly I needed it.
I rested against him, filthy and shaking, tasting smoke every time I breathed. Grease cooled on my skin while my mouth remained swollen and tender. Every muscle below my waist ached with the lingering memory of metal.
Ghost cleaned the tools with almost ceremonial care while I caught my breath. He arranged them on a fresh cloth, wiped the grease from my thighs, and wrapped my ruined shirt around my shoulders before he flung the toolbag into the passenger footwell.
He forced me to pay attention as he held up a gallon of antifreeze, and I tried to make the information he was rattling off stick as he explained how to top up the radiator and why his had blown its top.
He walked me through the process, step by step, and only then did he close the hood, the metallic slam echoing across the field.
I blearily looked up to find Ghost sat on top of it, his legs spread. He looked down at me with unbearably smug satisfaction.
I remained kneeling in the grass, covered in soot, oil, saliva, and the evidence of both our releases.
“You’re lucky,” he said.
My voice came out hoarse. “Am I?”
His smile widened. “We didn’t have to learn how to jump-start a battery.”