Chapter 18
EIGHTEEN
AMELIA
Weston
Meet me at the garage at dark
Make sure you’re hydrated
A bolt of anticipation lights up my nerves, shooting a line straight down from my stomach into my core at the cryptic messages. It doesn’t take much to remind my body of what this man does to it.
Maybe it’s all the true crime I listen to, but I think I’ve solved this mystery and my inner muscles clench at the thought of what awaits me.
I haven’t seen Weston as much the past couple of days while he’s been in charge of the shop. He’s been leaving early (yuck) and getting home late covered in grease and sweat, but with a smile on his face that’s not just for show.
For two people who “don’t do relationships,” we’ve been awfully cozy together lately.
Our nighttime sessions have been shorter than they were our first nights together a couple weeks back. Not that they all have to take all night, but it still feels like I haven’t quite gotten my fill of him, or hit a point where just once a night is enough for me.
He tells me we might get there eventually, that the couples he knows get plenty of sleep, but I’m not so sure. I’ve seen the way his brother looks at Rory, the fire in their eyes, the tension that you can almost feel crackling between them, even after however many years they’ve been together and having a kid.
I wonder if that need ever goes away when you have a love like theirs.
Or a lust like Weston’s and mine.
Now that I’m staying with him most of the time, and thanks to some of the earnings I got from painting all those shops with him, I have the means to expand my closet beyond just a small capsule wardrobe that fits in the drawers beneath my bed in Van Gogh. I’ve splurged on a handful of outfits, including what I’m wearing tonight walking up to the garage.
It’s a shirt made for women with pierced nipples, with holes just where you need them to thread the piercing through the material so the metal hangs on the outside of the shirt. It only comes to just below my breasts, revealing my entire abdomen to him. As for the bottoms, I went with fishnet stockings and a pair of dark, fake leather shorts that are so tiny they probably qualify more as underwear, with my favorite black combat boots to top it all off.
I hope he comes in his pants when he sees me and then comes again on me shortly after. This splurge would’ve been more than worth it.
His texts seemed like he meant business, so also with me is a tote bag full of condoms and lube from his bedside drawer, multiple bottles of Gatorade, some cans of Alani, a few energy bars I stole from his kitchen, and a change of clothes to wear out of here whenever the hell we’re done.
I hope we never leave.
When I walk in the only open bay door the overhead lights are off, just a construction-type spotlight on in the middle of the shop, pointed toward the bay doors, shining on the wall in between them, illuminating a large machine with hoses and cords running out of it.
The night air in the mountains is far chillier than the sunny warmth we’ve had during the days lately, and even if I wasn’t already high on anticipation, my nipples would pebble from the temperature alone. Seeing this setup he’s put together, the way it looks almost like a stage, spotlight shining there, waiting for a private show, I’m instantly aroused. Intrigue leads me to turn in a circle, dropping the bag down out of the way, and searching for my favorite guy.
Hearing chains rattling behind me, I spin quickly and see him standing where I just came in, lowering the garage door with the chain pulley system they have here. When the door is closed, he latches it in place with a big hook that hangs from the chains to the door to secure it for the night.
“You look good enough to eat,” he says in a low, lethal tone, stalking toward me. His eyes, normally a deep, vivid green, look nearly black right now. They soak in my body, the outfit I bought for him. Desire sparks deep in my abdomen and spreads out like wildfire at the appreciation in his gaze.
“Haven’t you told me that before?”
Weston’s voice is nearly a purr when he replies. “Think I ate you out then too.”
“Maybe you need to refresh my memory,” I tease, tapping my chin like I can’t remember in haunting detail the first time he went down on me. Every single orgasm he wrought from me that night.
“Maybe you need reminding of a few things,” he says, close enough now that he circles me, looking me up and down. “Like what the fuck I’ll do to you when you look this good.”
Weston stops walking, directly behind me, and I feel the warmth of his body against my back as he invades my personal space, but nowhere near as much as I want him to. His fingers trail up my thigh, across the fishnet, teasing the delicate flesh as they travel up until they reach the hem of my tiny shorts. He slips a finger beneath the tight seam, running it over my ass cheek, taking his time to appreciate the outfit.
“Want my tongue beneath these shorts,” he growls.
When he pulls his finger out of the fabric it snaps against my skin with a loud noise and I jump at the sudden sound, letting a moan out at this new side of him.
His hands come down on my shoulders, moving down and over my chest from above until he’s gripping one breast in each hand. Weston lowers his mouth to my ear and rumbles a deep, throaty noise that I feel straight in my core.
“Want these tits in my face while I fuck you.”
He keeps his hands roving, splaying them across my taut stomach and down the bare skin there until he’s pushing the tips of his fingers into the top of the waistband of my shorts. He runs them over my fishnet-covered skin teasingly, taunting me. The response in my body is instant. Stomach dipping, core clenching, nipples peaking. I want him in a way I’ve never wanted anyone else.
“Want these hot little stockings on while I make you come,” he whispers, taking the lobe of my ear between his teeth before running his lips down the column of my neck, over my shoulder and across my back, up to my neck once more, burying his face in my hair as chills break out across my flesh.
Moaning, I’m so focused on what his mouth is doing I don’t notice how quickly he withdraws his hands from my shorts and snaps up both of my wrists in his grip.
“And I want these hands tied while I do it all,” he growls, spinning me around, arms held high over my head.
Weston marches me backward, controlling my movements with his entire body as he takes me to the wall in between the bay doors. All I can see is his strong jawline, the golden skin of his neck leading down to his broad chest, covered in a dark, charcoal tee as he manhandles my arms and hands, something cold colliding with my wrists. When I hear the metallic jangle, I realize it’s the chains from the bay door that he’s using to wrap around my wrists and secure me in place.
I do my best to keep my breathing steady, knowing we’re on the verge of a fantasy I never thought I’d see come to life. One where I give full control to someone else and enjoy every moment.
In moments he has me just where he wants me. Weston steps back to admire his handiwork, pulling gently on my arms to make sure they can’t get free from whatever he’s done to them. They’re pulled tight enough to be held high, secure, but not taking any of my weight off of my legs. They might go numb from the position, but it doesn’t hurt, what he’s done.
He’s like my favorite waking dream brought to life right now, just enough domination in his glare to turn me on without making me scared.
Weston has earned my trust in the six weeks I’ve known him, and I’m willing to explore the fantasies I’ve never been able to with anyone else because it’s him. Tied up, under his control, it’s everything I’ve let myself dream of, but yet to experience. One major, major, pin on my “Shit to Do” board that he’s checking off for me.
“You’re going to stay right there,” he tells me, voice firm, finger pointed at me, as his other hand unbuttons his jeans to leave room for what’s already trying to break free from his fly. “Come when I let you. Swallow my cum when I tell you. And scream when you need to.”
My eyes glaze over, lips parting in desire as I watch him like this. If it weren’t for that messy blond hair, that glint in the thin ring of green still in his eyes, I almost wouldn’t recognize the man he is right now.
“What happened to my Boy Scout?” I ask him, taunting him.
“He’s fucking gone for the night, angel. Tonight you’re getting the devil who took his place.”
I moan, head falling back against the wall and knees knocking together as my pussy floods.
Weston smirks at me, and it’s a dangerous look. His eyes flit to the machines next to us, and I realize there are two there but I only recognize one of them. It’s got red and black cables running from it, huge clips on the ends that are used to jump car batteries. This beast is an industrial model that you can’t get at your local store. It could probably jump start a semi.
As for what it could do to little ol’ me ?
My face heats, a drop of sweat running down the small of my back despite the chill in the air.
That glint in his eyes hardens, sharpening as he walks to the machine, hands running over the cables. He unclips one from where it’s hanging on the cart and squeezes the handle a couple of times, showing me the toothy jaws and how much force it takes to hold it open.
My mouth pops open as I imagine him putting those on my nipples, and I can’t decide if I love the idea or if it terrifies me. I think it might be both.
Am I soaking wet? Yes.
Do I think I could take it? No.
He’s not going to turn that thing on while I’m hooked up to it, is he?
I’ve heard of electroplay, but I’m not sure I’m ready for that tonight.
Smirking, Weston clips the cable back onto the stand. “Just warmin’ you up, darlin’. We’ll save that for another night. I’ve got other plans for you tonight.”
A whimper leaves me. Deliciously cruel of him to tease me with way more than I could take, and now I’m dying to know what he has in store for me tonight.
He takes a step past the cart with the jump starter on it to get to the other machine. The one I don’t recognize, with the hoses. He leans down, flicks a switch, and a loud rumbling starts up, so intense I can feel it vibrating through the wall behind me and the chains I’m strung up by.
“Know what this is, darlin’?” he asks me, picking up the thin hose that comes out of that machine and holding it between two fingers so I can watch.
I shake my head at him, clueless. I might know my way around my own van, but I’ve never worked in an auto shop before. I couldn’t tell you what two-thirds of the equipment in here is for, if that.
Weston presses the hose between my legs, against the fabric of my shorts right between my folds, and I gasp at the sudden contact. He must push something that I can’t see, because along with a deafening burst of noise, the hose jerks so violently I scream at the contact against my clit, even through the layers of clothes that separate us.
“Look at you, already screaming when you need to. You listen so well, Amelia.”
Gasping for breath, my head falls down, system still shocked from the sudden burst of that contact, and I hang, limp, trembling as I try to recover from the jolt of pleasure.
“You keep this up, you’re going to do just fine, angel.”
Weston removes the hose, humming as he runs his hand along my shorts, right over my pussy, soothing me with his touch. Mewling softly, I feel him pull the material of my shorts to the side and stick his fingers inside, weaving through the openings in the fishnet stockings to check on me.
“Fuck, darlin’. You liked that, didn’t you?”
He pulls his fingers out and holds them up in front of my face so I can see what I already know is there.
My desire shines on his fingers, beneath the glare of the spotlight that’s pointed right at us.
“My girl likes to get a little freaky, huh? Don’t be scared to use your safe word if you need to.”
All I do is whimper, fascinated by this version of him.
Weston wipes his fingers on my lips, smearing my arousal on my own mouth roughly, then leans in to kiss it off of me. His tongue presses past my lips, letting me taste what he’s doing to me, and my eyes flutter shut, my thighs clamp together, savoring the fresh rush of heat between them.
If he could only see how pebbled my nipples are right now, I know he’d take them in his mouth, and for a moment I curse my choice of outfit. What I wouldn’t do to feel his mouth on all of me right now.
He pulls back too soon, and I groan at the lack of contact.
Like he’s instructing me, Weston holds the hose up in front of our faces, and says, “This is called an air compressor. Does all sorts of shit in the shop. Tonight, it’s got a new job. It’s gonna get you off.”
Jaw hanging just enough so my lips are parted, I watch this beautiful man transform into an actual beast in front of my eyes.
He presses something on the nozzle end of the hose, and I can see the burst of air that comes out of it. The noise alone is so loud it hurts my ears, but the pressure coming out of that thing could probably knock me over if I wasn’t strung up.
My eyes feel like they belong on an anime doll they’re so damn round, and he must read the uncertainty on my face because he bends over, turning a knob on the machine before standing back up again.
“Don’t worry, angel. I’m not going to hurt you.”
He pushes the trigger again and it blows out another puff, much less violent than the first ones.
“I know,” I tell him softly, licking my lips at the fire in his eyes. The potential of what’s in his hands.
“Let’s see how many puffs it takes for you to come,” he says, mouth twitching up as he drops to his knees in one motion. A scuffing sound against the cement floor makes me realize he’s wearing kneepads. This motherfucker planned every bit of this.
Weston kneels between my feet, spreading my legs out to fit his body right where he wants it. I watch, so eager for whatever he has in mind, as he presses one palm against the inside of my thigh, holding me open for him as he lines up the other hand, positioning the nozzle.
Holding it a good six inches or more away from my pussy, still covered by the fishnets and my shorts, Weston touches the trigger so briefly it barely goes off, just a quick blast of air, over in a flash. It’s powerful enough that it nearly triggers an orgasm instantly.
I moan loudly, not worrying about trying to keep it in. My stomach flips, tugging with need as molten desire pools, hot and low in my abdomen.
“Fuck that’s insane,” I tell him, breathless.
“That’s one,” he counts off. And he presses the trigger again, for longer.
My legs shudder, nipples at full attention, goosebumps all over from the intensity of the pleasure that brings.
“Fuck!” I scream the word, and he smiles at me, a wicked thing.
The orgasm building from this treatment is going to be violent, nothing sweet about it.
“Two,” he says, and he presses it again.
I feel my skin flutter beneath the pressure of the air flow, and he jiggles the hose in his hand this time so it feels like I’m being finger fucked by a goddamn ghost of porn star past.
Another curse leaves my lips, and I don’t have the breath to scream it this time. I can barely get air, gasping, bent over as much as my restraints allow, watching Weston work on me from below.
“There’s three.”
Blasts four, five, and six nearly wrench my soul from my body. Each one could make me come in and of itself, but he turns it off so fast every time I’m left panting, on the edge of breaking, going mad from his brand of torture.
“Please!” I cry out. “Give me more.”
“More pressure?” he asks, brows up.
“No.” I shake my head adamantly. “I’ll die with more pressure. Just give me a whole second of it like that.”
His head tilts to one side, thinking it over.
“Thing is, I’m kinda having fun watching you shake and tremble for me just like this. I’m not in any hurry here, darlin’. We’ve got a couple days, at least, before anyone’s gonna come looking in the shop.”
My knees go weak at the image of being here, at his mercy, strung up in chains for another day or two.
“Far as I can tell, I could keep you here this whole time, never letting you come, just keeping you on the brink until your pussy drips right through those hot little shorts you’re wearing and you’re so turned on you’ll come from a single little breath anywhere near your cunt.”
Tears brim my eyes at the picture he paints. “You wouldn’t,” I gasp.
“Nah,” he says, easy smile back on his gorgeous face. “If you wanna come, you’re gonna come, angel. How could I not reward you when you’re being so good for me?”
He reaches up with the hand that isn’t controlling the nozzle and pinches my unpierced nipple, rolling it between his thumb and finger through the shirt. My head falls back, pleasure burning a trail from my nipple to my clit, it’s like a hotkey to getting me off. His hand pulls back just before it gives me what I need and I could sob at the loss of his touch.
I get another puff of air, this one a little longer, but still just shy of enough to give me the release I’m aching for.
Weston hears me falling apart, damn near crying at the way he’s bringing me to the edge without letting me fall over, time after time.
“What do you want?” he asks me. He always asks me what I want. So fucking thoughtful. Even when he’s the one in control and I’m at his mercy, it’s all about me .
“To come,” I tell him, without a second thought.
“Mmm,” he groans, pressing the sound into my thigh, lips on my flesh, before biting the skin there gently. “I want that too,” he says, admiring the marks he left in my skin.
Weston leans forward, pressing his tongue to the leathery material of my shorts, and licks a trail up my pussy, pushing in with his tongue enough to separate my lips and reach my clit, even through the fabric.
My legs shake around his upper body, and he gives me a filthy grin as he feels it.
So often when we’re together it’s like he can’t even take the time to remove my clothes. He needs me so bad he starts with them still on and in his way. I hope that never changes.
Shoving his fingers beneath the hem, he yanks on the fabric, pulling it to the side so he can watch for himself. “Fuck, you’re a mess right now, Amelia.”
“So clean me up,” I demand, praying he does.
His tongue comes out and I watch as he slowly plunges it into me, through a wide hole in the fishnets, soaking in everything my pussy’s been giving him. Those gorgeous green eyes close tight, and the moan he makes rumbles against my pussy in a way that feels like the start of an avalanche. I’m so close, if he gives me just a little more, anything more, I’ll fall, and it’ll just keep going and going. Shit, it might never end, he’ll bury me in pleasure and I won’t complain.
“Please,” I beg him.
He doesn’t answer with words, but with his mouth. His tongue licks a path through my pussy and then he presses the flat of it against my clit, hard. My legs jerk, I’m so fucking stimulated and I scissor forward, the chains yanking me back by the wrists, clanking as they do.
His mouth moves back down to my core, spearing my entrance and fucking me with his tongue. Once his eyes shut, slamming closed, it only takes me a second to figure out why. He’s let some of the material cover me up again, and with his tongue still buried in me he brings the hose back up and gives the trigger a long, long press.
Air crashes against my clit through the layers as his tongue devours me, and I’m done for. Body tingling, my orgasm crashes into me, coursing through me like a tsunami, barreling me over with pleasure that feels like it takes over every single nerve in my system. There is only one signal going to my brain right now—no dark past I’m running from, no bad memories flickering behind my eyes, not even my pessimist has any critiques on this moment—it’s nothing but pleasure, and I never want the moment to end.
I can’t help the noises I make as I come, or the fact that I have no control over what’s happening to my body, legs jerking, kicking, as he fights to keep me in place while he milks the orgasm from me, forcing me to ride the entire thing out rather than cutting it short by letting off on any of it.
Pretty sure I visit other planets, entirely different solar systems or galaxies as I come back down to earth, dangling from the chains—legs long since given out—Weston rising from between my legs to hold me as I come down from the most insane release of my life.
When my murmuring becomes more coherent once again, he pulls back, pushing some hair behind my ear as he watches me. “For the record, that took eight puffs,” he says, an easy, teasing smile gracing his lips. “Good girl for screaming when you needed to, and coming when I let you,” he praises me. His words send flutters through me, a tingling warmth that spreads throughout my center at hearing I did well for him.
But as the fuzz in my head clears, I remember that was only two of the three things he wanted me to do.
“When do I get to swallow your cum?” I ask, somehow mustering the strength for words.
“When I tell you to,” he says, slapping my ass without enough force to hurt, just enough to jolt me back to the present, out of my hazy, post-orgasmic reverie. “But first, you’re going to come again.”
His lips close around my nipple through the shirt I’m wearing, teeth tugging on my piercing outside of it, and I know tonight is going to be one for the Pinterest board. An adventure more fun than anything van life has ever offered me.