Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
WESTON
Wyatt ducks his whole upper body beneath the hood, getting his face right up and in there as his arm slips between parts to finish threading the last of the bolts. The concentration on his face means he’s not watching me give Amelia the eyes . Reminding her of what’s coming next. Her. Then her again, her again, and eventually, both of us.
I doubt she’s forgotten. It’s been tough for me to think of anything but tonight, unless of course, I’ve been thinking about last night. And last night isn’t what I should be thinking about when I’m close enough to my fucking brother for him to feel my stiffy if it decided to poke its head up.
So I force my eyes back onto the engine, the rebuild and install that’s being given the final QC by the boss of this garage. Yeah, it might’ve taken me a lot longer than Wyatt to do the work needed on her engine and transmission, but he only had to spend a few hours in total to oversee the whole thing, and that saved Amelia a ton of money. I’m not complaining about all the extra time I got with her either. Painting building after building during the day, her sitting out to work on her laptop while I worked on her parts at night.
I make plenty of money to get by when I accept jobs, not like I couldn’t part with half of it to give her for her time, and it was good to do something fun with my hands—something I used to love—in my off time.
Not like I could do my usual routine of barhopping and breaking backs while I’m under adult supervision from my brother anyway. Or that I’d even want to when there’s only one woman both my heads are thinking about lately.
Hell, I’ll almost miss this project when she drives outta here shortly.
I’ll definitely miss her company when I show up to paint alone for the first time in a while on Monday morning. Hopefully this weekend resets me, recalibrates me back to my original factory settings. The way I was fine to be alone a month ago, before I met her. My curse is something I know how to deal with.
“All right,” Wyatt says, pulling himself free of the mechanical maze he managed to fold himself into.
Abruptly, my eyes turn from heated to neutral. From on her, to on the engine. And I feel her gaze cool and retract as well. Where her eyes were glued to my chest, my arms, my back, they’re now large, innocent, and on my brother as he wipes his hands and prepares to speak.
“Not bad, West,” he tells me.
Why does that feel like an accomplishment coming from him?
And why did it take until I’m thirty-three to get those simple words?
“Should be good to go. I think she’s ready for a spin,” Wyatt says.
I let him do the honors, stepping back and watching from beside Amelia as he starts up Van Gogh. The garage doesn’t explode, so I’m thinking we’re off to a good start and I might even get invited to Thanksgiving this year if nothing goes majorly wrong on this test drive.
We both watch the taillights light up and take off out of the open bay door, and it feels like a punch in the gut when I realize that the next time I see those bad boys turn red, it’ll be the last time I see that van, or the girl who lives in it.
It’s been nice having something of a partner as I work. Companionship without judgment is rare for me, and I’m pretty sure it has been for her too.
“You did it,” Amelia breathes out, turning to face me. Her nose wiggles, the small septum ring that goes through it twitching with the motion. “You got us up and running again.” Her voice is softer than usual, but I can’t read it for once. “For a while there I wasn’t sure we’d get out of Smoky Heights. Seemed like Van Gogh was dead, and I was stuck.”
Is that hint of sadness at a future where her van was dead and she was confined to one place? Or is it possibly at the thought of leaving?
Now I’m just getting hopeful. Knowing one night with her won’t be enough, but I’m gonna have to do everything in my power for both of us to get our fill before the sun comes up and she’s just a silhouette on the horizon.
“Thank you.” The words are so soft, I’m not even sure what they’re in reference to at this point. For helping on the van? For the company, letting her feel like a normal twenty-something woman for a few weeks instead of a stranger to everyone she meets? For the night we already had that will fuel my fantasies for months, maybe even years? Or the one that’s yet to come that will hopefully convince her to come back once in a while for a repeat?
“Of course,” I tell her with a lift of one shoulder.
“You’ve done me so many favors already, and now…” The way her voice trails off, was that supposed to imply that tonight is another favor ?
Placing one finger under her chin, I bring her teal gaze back to mine, no matter how interesting she seems to find the floor right about now.
“And now what ?” I ask softly, hint of danger peeking through at that inference in her tone, like anything about what’s coming next is a favor, not because my veins will fucking explode if I don’t finally get to have her.
Favor is a dirty fucking word compared to the need I have for this woman. There’s nothing charitable about it.
“Choose your words well, Amelia. They’d better not disparage this. Us. You.” My free hand motions between our two bodies, hers so much shorter than mine.
When my meaning hits her, her entire demeanor changes. Her eyes light up with mischief and the corner of her lip folds between her teeth as she bites down on it, chin still in my grasp. From shy and self-deprecating to sexy and playful all in a flash. I want all the sides this gorgeous girl has to show me.
“Now…” she draws out the word, reworking her sentence, “I’m going to show you how much I appreciate you,” she says with a devilish smirk that matches those dirty little secrets of hers.
The ring through the nipple, those perfect tits I’ll never get over, so unexpectedly filthy beneath that angelic exterior. The way she gets off, so unapologetic, so needy. I haven’t stopped dreaming up all the ways I can give her what she needs.
At this point, my plans for her should require a permit.
“You’re mine to appreciate, darlin’,” I tell her, and I watch desire course through her, melting down through her body and pooling somewhere low in her middle. I can’t wait to taste that desire later.
Vaguely, I consider whisking her away to the dark office along the side wall, or perhaps one of Wyatt’s vehicles around here, a little payback of my own for those marks on my Charger. But the sound of Van Gogh’s arrival interrupts those thoughts and reminds me that I want seclusion when I finally get to have all of her.
Seclusion and one other thing.
The entire fucking night.
I could imagine a world where I’ve had her enough times that a quickie would suffice. A strong imagination I was blessed with, because five or ten minutes wouldn’t even begin to scratch the surface of what I need from her right now.
My hand drops away faster than a car backfiring and the two of us separate instantly, turning to face the open bay door, the thick silver chains that control the garage doors hanging vertically along the concrete block walls, framing either side of the middle bay.
Van Gogh comes to a stop on the gravel just outside the garage and my brother hops out of the front seat and down to the ground. In his trademark dark Henley with the sleeves pushed up to the elbows, engine tattoo on display on his forearm, he runs a hand through his nearly black hair and gives a small tilt of his head. That’s about as much enthusiasm as we’ll get out of Wyatt, unless his wife or daughter are involved.
“She’s all good?” It’s nearly a squeal from Amelia.
Wyatt nods his head once. “Yep.”
I watch in a flurry of motion, some strange mix of slow-mo and fast forward that doesn’t feel real, as Amelia gets her keys from Wyatt, pays the final invoice (a thankful smile my way when she sees the reduced total), and he waves goodbye to her. Like she’s just another customer, like the town will continue to go on just fine without her in our midst.
Part of me wonders if when my time here is done, if I could follow Van Gogh. Hit the road and find work town to town, following adventures wherever they go, as long as it’s her I get to curl up with at night.
But that’s insane. It may have been a month of getting close to her—strangely close for two people who were so recently strangers—but we haven’t even hooked up yet, for crying out loud.
Besides, I have jobs I’ve committed to here through the rest of spring. And she’s clearly in solo mode, in a one player game.
What is with me? Am I the one catching feelings for once?
That’s ridiculous, right? This is just what weeks of anticipation looks like instead of instant gratification like I’m used to. It’s all culminated in a thrumming, uncontrollable desire.
Best not to let my mind wander on things that could never be beyond that.
I know all too well that the familiar itch of boredom will creep under my skin as soon as the fascination with her wears off. Probably about an hour after I’m out of her bed. It always does.
But first, I have a different itch to scratch. One particular to a petite woman with a fierceness that pulses just beneath her skin, pulling me to her, and I’m ready for her to unleash it all on me tonight.
I head to my truck as Wyatt closes up the garage, probably eager to stop working extended hours and get home to his girls. Amelia thanks the both of us, like this is goodbye, but I jump in the cab of my pickup before I hear the words come out of her mouth. I’m not ready for them.
Waving before pulling out of the gravel lot like it’s any other regular old night, I play it cool for the last of our audience—like I’m not leading her somewhere private to get her all to myself before she’s really gone.
I lay a path for her to follow to an overlook point that’s always empty. A gorgeous grassy field of wildflowers with the perfect view of the nearest ridges of the Smokies, where she can park her van for the night and no one will bother us. Hell, no one will even pass us, much less notice us.
Practicing patience, something my brother thinks I don’t have a drop of in my blood, I wait by my truck door, one leg bent, foot flat on the door, as she backs Van Gogh up and lines up with my truck in the perfect spot to be able to open the back doors of the van and watch the sunrise come up from behind the peaks, right from her bed. Like camping, but better because she’s got A/C, power, and all the creature comforts of a portable home.
Once she’s got herself situated just how she wants, the van’s engine turns off, but the low hum of the house batteries that power her residence stay on. Painfully slow seconds later, the side door slides open.
In a throwback I didn’t know I needed, Amelia is standing in the doorway, topless. The dark, star-studded night sky as the backdrop to my latest fantasy, this woman stands there, hands on the edge of the door, backlit by the dim under-cabinet lighting, casting a nearly white glow around her perfect form.
Her wavy brown hair tickles her shoulders, feathery bangs framing her delicate face, ring through her nose, all making her look like that sweet, dark angel I’ve become so enamored with.
But as my gaze travels down her slim form, catching on her chest, the metal in it glinting at me in the low light, her flat stomach, and the gorgeous pussy I know is hidden beneath her short shorts, it’s the devilish side of her that I want to get to know right now.
“Fuck, darlin’.” One hand drops down to readjust my boys, my cock that’s getting a little too excited this early in the game. “You look absolutely edible.”
“So come have a taste.” Amelia raises one shoulder in a way that moves her breasts, too, and it’s impossible not to trace their motion with my eyes. “One night only, it’s all you can eat, Boy Scout.”
She doesn’t have to ask me twice. The only thing covering her delicious frame from my eyes, or the rest of me, is a tiny pair of hot pink athletic shorts that barely come down past her ass. I’ll have them gone in a blink.
My hands come out of my pockets as I push myself off the truck door and stalk toward her. She backs up with each step I take, not in fear, but to draw me closer. This might’ve been the trap she set for me all along, and I’m the prey who’s going to walk willingly into it.
One foot onto the stairs and the van rocks with my weight as I step into her home. It’s not the only rocking it’ll be doing tonight. The door slides shut on the rollers with a simple tug, and we both watch it latch shut, the lock clicking into place with one touch of a button on the fob in her hand, before I hook the secondary lock into place. She places the remote on the counter, then rests her hands on the edge of the butcher block surface behind her, arms bent as she watches my approach.
I tear my shirt off, grabbing hold of the back collar and ripping it right off my body, letting the white cotton fall to the floor in the front of the van, near the driver’s seat. Then, I pounce. Springing forward, I close the distance between us in one final motion that has her gasping when it happens so suddenly. But it’s her web, I’m just the lucky fucker who got caught.
Smile on my face, I grab hold of her hips and pull her up onto my waist. Her legs wrap around me instinctively, knees gripping the bare skin on my back to hold herself upright. My hands stay on her ass, just to be sure. Safety first, and all that shit you’re taught when you’re working on motors and moving parts from a young age.
My eyes, though, they’re on her face. The way her teal eyes are alight with wonder and need, like twin pools of some exotic sea, private, warm, and inviting, and something so fucking special you never thought it’d make it off your bucket list.
“There’s so much I want to do with you.” She says the words quietly, more like a thought that was breathed aloud than something meant for my ears.
“I know exactly where I’m starting with you,” I tell her, not a trace of doubt in any bone in my body.
Taking the few steps to reach her bed, I lean forward to drop her backward, and she lets go, falling, arms splayed, and bouncing there. Watching the whole way, my eyes trail down to her breasts that are too perky and full to be natural, but I wouldn’t ask for them to be any other way. Like the little nose ring and the nipple ring, everything she adds to her body suits her perfectly, like she was always meant to look this way.
Wasting no time, I slip the tips of my fingers beneath her waistband and pull the bottoms right off of her, leaving her naked, fully on display for me, sprawled out on her bed. Small noises come from Amelia as I relish the moment, sparing a second to just take her in.
I’m not sure if what I’m doing would be considered grunting, growling, or maybe it’s more of a purr, like a wildcat who knows they’re about to enjoy their meal they’ve worked so hard for.
Dropping to my knees, I slide my arms under her thighs and hips, pulling her forward, exactly where I need her. She slides easily, tiny thing that she is. But she hums as I move her, her body slipping over the light comforter as I pull her to the edge.
This is where my preparation kicks in. All of my research these past nights, learning exactly what she likes.
It’s not that I wouldn’t like to take my time, enjoy every inch of her, get acquainted with all the secrets her body is hiding along the way. It’s purely because I only get one night with her and, fuck, do I have a lot planned, that I dive right in, with no other foreplay. Only because I don’t have the luxury of time.
“You have no idea how badly I need this,” is the only warning she gets.
My face crashes down against the cradle of her thighs, and I latch straight onto her clit. Lips suctioning, tongue flicking over the engorged bud, I’m ready for her instant reaction. My arms band tight around her hips and thighs as her back bows, her entire upper body coming off the bed as I suck on her clit.
She squirms, she damn near screams, she pulls back, but she doesn’t get away from me as my mouth works her just like that little mint colored toy she’s so fond of does.
Every motion she makes brings her tighter into my hold on her, closer to my mouth, my grip on her more sure the more she wriggles and bucks from the intensity. Gasping, her hips jerk, legs twitch, but Amelia can’t shake me as I continue pulsing and sucking on her, doing my best to liquify her entire body as I work her over.
I can feel her pussy flooding near my chin, dripping with how turned on she is, and she’s making these incomprehensible noises, almost in distress, whimpering like she needs help. But then she does this thing with her breathing, this staggered, sexy scale of a cry that tells me it’s not a complaint. That it might be out of her control, it might be overwhelming, an onslaught of pleasure she wasn’t expecting, she wasn’t prepared for, maybe even more than she thought she wanted, but she’s very definitely going to enjoy what’s happening to her right now.
I’ll help make sure of that.
The thing is, we’re both so wound up, so fucking hot for each other, I know she’s going to come so fucking fast this first time. I’d rather get that done and out of the way so I can have some fun with the next few.
So I keep her in position, arms locked around her so she can’t wriggle free. My mouth might as well be glued to her, for all her whimpers and attempts at bucking and moving her hips, my face hasn’t moved even a fraction of an inch.
Precision. Constancy. Unrelenting pleasure as I move my lips and tongue to emulate that clit sucker she’s been using for so long while thinking of me. I’ll give her something new to think of while she’s using it next time.
It’s fast, so fast, I’ve barely registered the sweet taste of her and stored it away for my own purposes when her legs start shaking. More than her legs, her hips, her entire midsection is practically vibrating with the approach of her orgasm as her whole body hums.
“Weston,” she calls my name, some sort of pleading, panting mess, and it’s never sounded so hot before.
My eyes flick up to hers, across the flat plane of her stomach, those incredible tits, I catch her eyes watching me, and my cock thickens even more at the look on her face. Disbelief, incredulity, rapture.
It’s me that’s making her look like that.
If my mouth weren’t so busy blowing her fucking mind, I’d use it in other ways to help push her over the edge.
I’d tell her, You look so fucking good on my tongue, darlin’.
I could tongue fuck you all day just to hear those noises.
You taste as good as you look, angel.
A dozen other lines running through my head that would have her coming for me.
But my mouth is busy right now, so I let it do what it does best. I amp up the suction, matching one of the strongest levels on that toy I’ve been studying in my lonely nights.
Amelia’s jaw drops just a bit, eyes rounding, brows low and heavy, mouth forming an O as her pussy starts to give me one of its own. She watches as long as she can, and it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, the way she’s looking at me like she can’t believe what’s happening while I’m getting my first taste of her, her chest heaving, legs shaking as she struggles to take it.
The pleasure overtakes her entire system and it’s the purest thing. There’s nothing demure about it. She gives in fully, turning herself over to the sensations wracking her body as her eyes slam shut and she throws her head back, convulsing, riding out the waves as the release hits her.
She calls out again and again, more noises than words, and I follow the rhythm of her body, the way she leads me through touch alone, and I give her what she needs, relishing in the ripples, the aftershocks of pleasure I can sense rolling through her body right now, from her entire midsection, deep in her pussy, all the way down to her toes against my back.
It’s addicting.
It’s nowhere near enough.
Forcing myself to pull back, I slowly lower the pressure I’m using until the suction is entirely gone, and it’s just my tongue caressing her softly, lapping at her bud as the occasional twitch makes her hips jerk against me, while she murmurs incoherently somewhere from the mattress above me.
Slowly, I move my head to the side, trailing kisses across her soft pussy and over to her thigh, continuing to taste her while she comes down, groaning in a puddle that used to be Amelia on the bed.
I don’t give her that long to recover though. I can’t.
Time is what we don’t have enough of tonight.
My lips keep moving, roving, until they’ve found their way to her center and I can taste what I earned. Tongue lapping, I hold back a groan at the concentrated taste of her. Mostly I keep the noise in just so I don’t miss any of the sounds she’s making.
I watch as her head flops from side to side, still overwhelmed by her release, and now the feel of me soaking every drop of it up.
“Fuck, Weston. You’re killing me. I thought you were gonna suck my soul out for a minute there.”
A dark chuckle, so unlike my usual, spills out from between her legs. “There’s still time,” I tell her.
My tongue plunges in deep, finding new ways to taste her, feel her, and this time I can’t hold the groan in. She’s so small, so tight, so fucking hot, the width of my tongue can barely probe her. My cock doesn’t stand a chance, but this is something I’m not going to quit on. We’ll find a way to make it work.
Amelia moans, noises of complaint, a grumble about it being her turn , but I’m nowhere near done with my turn yet. As I eat out her core, ignoring her protests, one of my hands slides out from under her leg and I use the thumb to start teasing her clit by pressing on it through one side of her pussy. Not direct contact, but enough pressure to stimulate it just the same.
She jolts, whimpering my name, but my finger keeps working her clit, while my tongue fucks her the way I can’t wait to shortly. Well, maybe later is a safer word. I’m not in any fucking rush right where I’m at.
As patient as I’m capable of being, I give her a couple minutes to finish winding down from the last orgasm before my tongue slides up from her opening and finds her clit again. Her entire body shivers, but I’m delicate enough this time that she doesn’t pull back or try to get away.
This time it’s slow, savoring the feel of her soft skin beneath my mouth. Her taste that invades my entire being. That musky, feminine flavor—only enhanced by her scent overpowering me, something fruity, like coconut, something spicy—might never leave my memory.
I drag this one out, being slow and deliberate with every swipe, every stroke of my tongue as I find what else she likes.
When one spot in particular seems to drive her crazy, I play with it. Lick it, nibble at it, pull back just enough that she soaks my mouth in her need for more.
Amelia leans over, propping herself up on an elbow to watch closer as I make a hobby out of having my cake and eating it too.
Pulling my mouth back, I unwrap my other hand from her body and bring my fingers to her entrance, both of us watching intently.
Amelia curses breathily as I put just the tip of one finger in her pussy, feeling it grip me instantly.
“Jesus,” she gasps.
“I’m the one fucking you, first with my tongue, now my fingers, and next, my cock. Mine is the only name you should be thanking tonight.”
Her eyes heat, flaming with a raw kind of desire that lights my insides up.
I push that finger in just a bit further, up to the first knuckle, not even an inch in. She lets out a little moan at the tease, and her warm heat is so inviting, I push in farther, unable to stop myself from finding out what she feels like.
She leans forward, watching almost as closely as I am as my finger pushes all the way into her. The noise it makes is obscene. Filthy. Delicious.
And this time, it’s my name she calls out, eyes fluttering shut at the feel of me inside of her.
When I pull back out of her, I add another finger in and plunge back into her, painfully slow. I feel her inner walls clamp down on me as I do, so tight they only just let me in.
“You’re so fucking tight,” I tell her. “You can barely take my fingers. Gonna take some work to get you ready for me.”
Amelia drops her upper body back onto the bed with a huff of impatience, hands in her short hair as she lets out a noise of frustration.
“Don’t worry, angel. It’ll be fun,” I promise, and turn my attention back to her pussy.
Sliding the same two fingers in, I use the thumb to press on her clit as my fingers ride her front wall, exploring, searching.
A sharp inhale from the girl on the bed and a change in texture beneath my hand tell me I’ve found just what I’m looking for. I play with that spot, stroking, pressing, working it when I find the rhythm and pattern that takes her breath away.
Leaning forward, my mouth gravitates back to her clit, and my tongue takes its time playing with its new favorite toy.
My hand, mouth, and fingers work in tandem. One in her pussy, the other roving up her body until it finds her nipple ring and starts toying with it, too, tugging, teasing, tweaking. She gasps softly, urging me on.
I draw it out, not shoving her over the edge this time, but letting the pleasure build slowly, rising within her until it spills out and over, almost gentle in comparison to the harsh abruptness of that first one that ripped through her like lightning.
Her sweet noises, the way she curses, whispers my name in increasingly needy tones as I let the crescendo build gradually until she finally peaks and it bubbles over into long moments of pleasure, it’s going to stick with me.
I pretend it’s her pussy, this physical chemistry between us, that’s what I’m going to miss most. Not the girl who’s the reason for the sting in my chest when I imagine her pulling out of here for good, just hours from now.