Chapter 7 - Morgan
His hand slips away from mine, and I immediately miss the contact.
I hate this. Hate how close we are in this tiny break room with its flickering fluorescent light and terrible coffee. Hate how kind he is, how he just shared something so painful and vulnerable with me. Hate how my eyes keep dropping to his mouth, to those lips that look so soft and perfect.
And I especially hate that he's still shirtless.
Is he fucking serious right now? Does he not realize what he looks like? All those muscles, the defined abs, the way his jeans sit low on his hips. The sheen of sweat on his skin from working in the heat.
He looks like a goddamn Greek god, and I'm sitting here trying not to combust.
I caught him looking at my lips. I know I did. His eyes dropped down, lingered for just a second too long before he pulled back. But he didn't make a move.
And I wanted him to. God, I wanted him to kiss me so badly that my whole body aches with it.
I'm fucking soaked. Have been since the moment he took my hand, maybe even before that. Every time he looks at me with those blue eyes, every time he smiles, every time he does something kind without expecting anything in return, it all goes straight between my legs.
I've been horny before. I'm twenty-six and I have a working vibrator and an imagination. But this is different. This is raw desire, the kind that makes my skin feel too tight and my thoughts scatter.
Has he been alone so long that he doesn't realize what he does to women? That he could probably have anyone he wanted if he just... tried?
Or is he just that oblivious?
"I try," he says, pulling me from my spiral of inappropriate thoughts. "To be a good person. Every single day. For Riley. Because she deserves that."
"You're not just trying," I tell him, and the words come out more intense than I intended. "You're doing an incredible job. You're amazing with her, Casey. Anyone can see that."
This time, I'm the one who reaches for his hand. He looks down at our joined hands, then closes his fingers around mine, and when he looks back up, the air between us changes.
My eyes drop to his lips again. Those beautiful, full lips that are just inches away from mine.
Should I do it? Should I just lean forward and kiss him?
I've gained some confidence over the past six months. Enough to talk to strangers, to navigate unfamiliar towns, to handle my car breaking down without falling apart.
But not enough for this. Not enough to make the first move with a man who's been nothing but kind to me, who's given me a place to stay, who's helping me without asking for anything in return.
There's too much at risk. What if I'm reading this wrong? What if he pulls away, horrified? What if I ruin everything?
But before I can overthink myself into oblivion, he moves. He leans forward, eyes closing, and kisses me. I'm so caught off guard that my eyes stay open, watching as his face gets closer, as his lips press against mine.
Soft. Warm. Perfect.
Holy shit, Casey Brennan is kissing me.
My eyes finally flutter closed as I sink into it, into him. His lips move against mine and I kiss him back like I've been thinking about doing since I walked into this shop yesterday.
He starts to lift his hand, toward my face, I think, but then stops, lowering it again. Probably because it's covered in grease and motor oil. I don't care. I don't care about anything except the feeling of his mouth on mine, the way he tastes like terrible coffee and something uniquely him.
We keep kissing, deeper now, and I lose track of time completely. Seconds, minutes, hours. Who the fuck knows?
When we finally break apart, we're both gasping.
And I'm so turned on I can barely think straight.
I squeeze my thighs together, trying to get some relief from the ache between my legs, but it only makes it worse. The friction of my panties against my pussy is almost painful, and I need more. I need his hands on me, his mouth, his cock.
I need everything.
"Fuck, I'm sorry," Casey says, running a hand through his hair. "I shouldn't have—"
"Don't," I interrupt. "Don't apologize. I wanted that. I wanted it as much as you did."
"Morgan—"
"We don't have to stop there," I blurt out.
His eyes widen. "What?"
Oh God, did I just say that out loud? Did I seriously just proposition him in his break room? What would Annie do? Probably congratulate me for having the courage, then call me an idiot for wanting to lose my virginity to a guy I just met in a fucking garage.
But I don't care. I'm done waiting. Done hoping for some perfect moment that might never come.
"Are you sure?" Casey asks, his voice rough. "Do you really want to... here?" He gestures around the dingy break room.
I laugh, a little breathless. "It's not exactly my dream location. But right now? I really don't care."
My eyes drop to his jeans, to the very obvious bulge straining against the denim. It's fucking huge, and it's throbbing, and it's because of me.
"And you don't seem to care either," I add, nodding toward his erection.
He lets out a strangled sound that's half-laugh, half-groan. "When you look like that and kiss that well, it's impossible to control myself."
No one has ever said that to me before. That I look good, that I kiss well, that I make them lose control. Men have kissed me before, sure. A few awkward makeout sessions in college, a couple of disappointing dates where the guy seemed more interested in his phone than my mouth.
But no one has ever looked at me like Casey's looking at me right now. Like he wants to devour me.
"Give me just a second," he says, already moving toward the door. "Let me make sure everything's locked up. That no one will interrupt us."
He disappears, and I hear the front door locking, the click of the deadbolt.
My heart is racing. This is really happening. I'm really doing this.
The string of my panties is rubbing against my clit with every breath, every tiny movement, and I'm so wet I'm worried I might have soaked through my jeans.
If I were alone right now, I'd have my hand down my pants. I'd be touching myself, getting myself off, anything to relieve this pressure. But I'm not alone. And in a minute, Casey's going to come back, and then—
"We've got the whole place to ourselves," Casey says, appearing in the doorway.
He looks at me for a moment, and I see the same lust reflected in his eyes.
"Follow me," he says.
I do, my legs shaky, every step making my panties rub against me in a way that's both torture and not nearly enough. He leads me through the garage, past the cars and tools and equipment, to a small room in the very back that I didn't even know was there.
It's cleaner than the rest of the shop—white walls, a desk in the corner, some shelves with what looks like art supplies.
"I set this up for Riley," Casey explains, closing the door behind us. "Thought she might want a place to paint or draw while she's here. But she prefers being out front, talking to everyone who comes in."
"It's nice," I say, but I'm barely paying attention to the room.
I'm paying attention to the way Casey's looking at me. Like he's about to eat me alive. He moves so fast I barely have time to register it. One second, he's by the door, the next he's scooping me up like I weigh nothing and carrying me to the desk.
He sets me down on the edge of it, and then his hand is on the side of my neck, tilting my head back as he kisses my throat.
Slowly. Passionately. Like he has all the time in the world.
"Fuck," I breathe, my hands clutching at his shoulders.
This is torture. Beautiful, perfect torture. I've never been this wet in my entire life. Never wanted someone to fuck me this badly.
His hands move to the hem of my shirt, and he pauses, looking at me for permission. I nod, and he pulls it over my head, tossing it aside.
My breasts are spilling out of my bra. It's not the sexiest one I own, just a plain one, but Casey's looking at me like I'm wearing the prettiest lingerie.
"You're beautiful," he says, his voice rough.
Then his hands are on my breasts, cupping them through the fabric, and I moan. He takes my hands and places them over his, encouraging me to touch myself with him.
"You like that?" he asks, his thumbs brushing over my nipples.
I nod, not trusting my voice. If I open my mouth, I'm afraid I'll say something ridiculous. Something that will break this spell and make him stop.
But I need to tell him. I need to be honest.
I put a hand on his shoulder, and he immediately stills.
"I need to tell you something," I say.
He steps back slightly, concern flickering across his face. "Are you uncomfortable? We can stop—"
"No," I interrupt. "It's the opposite. I want this so fucking much, Casey. But I need to be honest with you."
He waits, patient, and I take a deep breath.
"I'm a virgin."
Casey blinks. "You're... what?"
"A virgin," I repeat. "I've never... done this before. Any of this."
"Are you serious?"
"Yes. And I'm sorry, I should have told you sooner, but—"
"Morgan." He cups my face with both hands, grease be damned. "There's nothing to apologize for. But... are you sure about this? Losing your virginity to someone you just met, in a garage... that's not exactly ideal."
"Stop," I say firmly. "I want this. I'm old enough to know what I want, Casey. And if I regret it later, that's on me. Not you."
He searches my face. "Are you absolutely sure? Because I want this. Fuck, Morgan, I want this so badly. But if you say yes, I'm going to go for it. I'm going to eat you out, and then I'm going to fuck you right here on this desk."
"Yes," I say, and my voice comes out louder. Desperate. "Yes, Casey. Please."
His eyes darken, and he leans in close, his lips brushing against my ear.
"Then hold on tight, sweetheart. Because I'm about to make you feel so fucking good."
His hands move to the button of my jeans, and he pauses one more time, giving me a chance to back out.
I don't.