Chapter 12 #2
I don’t let her respond this time; I just deliver on my promise. Her cries bounce around us as I take her. I lift my foot, resting it on the bumper for leverage as I pull her hips back and hard against me over and over again.
The slap of our skin only makes me harder. The staccato “ohh” that Adrienne keeps moaning like clockwork every single time I slide deeper inside of her, pushing me over the edge.
“Oh fuck yes, take me, take me baby and don’t you ever fucking forget how good I make you fucking feel.”
My words run together, just nonsense. A word jumble of all of the filthy things I’ve wanted to confess to her over the years.
“I know I’m going to get hard just looking at this car every day now,” I continue, “thinking about you taking my cock like you haven’t pretended you didn’t want it all these years.”
I finally still, releasing myself inside her, my cock pulsing and twitching. My vision blurs, my legs suddenly feel stiff and heavy. I fall forward, my sweaty forehead against her. I’m about to ask her if she’s okay when I feel her pulse against me.
“Fuck, don’t do that, please,” I beg, squeezing my eyes shut as she does it again.
“I can’t help it.”
“Yeah, you can.” My voice shakes. I’m wrecked. “Or you’ll make me—fuck—”
She squeezes again, slow and deliberate, like she’s doing it just to hear me fall apart. My hand lands low on her belly, holding her there, my other palm splayed over the hood beside hers while I breathe through the aftershocks sawing through me.
“You’re mean,” I grit, a rough laugh tearing out of my chest.
She turns her head just enough that I catch the edge of her grin. “You like me, mean.”
She’s right. God, she’s right.
I slide my hand down to her clit again. She jerks, gasps, tries to wriggle away from the sensitivity. I pin her with my hips and murmur against her ear, “Uh-uh. You want to tease me, you can take it right back.”
Two circles, then three, and she’s panting. She’s already on the edge, strung tight from how I used her, from the jealousy I took out on her. She trembles, nails scrabbling uselessly on the hood. I catch one of her hands, tangle our fingers, and press them flat to the metal like before.
“Eyes open,” I tell her, because I need to see it. “Let me hear it.”
“Scotty—”
“That’s it. Take it.” My mouth finds the place I bit earlier; I kiss it gently. “Come on my cock, sweetheart.”
Her body answers before her mouth does, hips stuttering, breath breaking, a helpless sound ripped from her throat.
She shatters hard, squeezing me again, clenching around the thickness I still have inside her, milking me again while I work her through it.
The way she moves, desperate and greedy and so goddamn needy like she doesn’t care how badly she needs me.
I slow her down, ease her through the last tremors, then go gentle, sliding in and out of her with long lazy strokes, a palm smoothing over her belly, down her thigh, back up to hold her there while she remembers how to breathe.
We stay folded over the hood, both of us panting like we sprinted in here. I don’t pull out yet. Can’t. Don’t want to. Her pulse drums against my forearm. The shop is quiet except for the tick of cooling metal and the soft, shocked laugh she finally lets slip.
“Okay,” she whispers, voice frayed. “That was… good.”
“Yeah,” I say against her shoulder, kissing the damp skin there. “Not bad.”
She huffs, teasing rising like it always does to save us both. “Not bad? Your Yelp review is about to be savage.”
I groan a smile into her neck and finally ease back, slipping free of her slowly.
She makes a tiny sound that makes my hands tighten on her hips all over again.
I step between her legs to steady her when her knees wobble, then drag a clean shop towel off the cart and take care of her first. She watches me over her shoulder, lips parted.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I mutter.
“Like what?”
“Like you know what that does to me.”
She smirks. “I do know.”
I finish, putting her panties back in place, then haul her jeans up, one palm steady at the small of her back like I can hold the whole moment together with my hand. I do her button. She catches me at the zipper, fingers covering mine, and for a second neither of us moves.
I give myself the same brisk wipe-down, shove myself back in my jeans, belt buckled, shirt yanked straight.
She turns, and I sweep my thumbs beneath her eyes on instinct, catching a leftover crumb of mascara from last night.
Her hair’s a wrecked knot. I attempt to fix her hair, but it’s a lost cause.
“Here.” She laughs softly, catching my wrists, her fingers warm and small against mine.
“You’re terrible at this.” She twists the elastic into something that looks halfway decent and lets her hair fall down one shoulder again.
The movement, the sound of her breathing; hell, even the smell of her skin this close, messes me up worse than the sex did.
“Better,” she murmurs.
“Yeah,” I say, my voice coming out rough. “Better. We should get back to work.”
I hand her the socket wrench, trying not to notice how her jeans sit lower now, the waistband still slightly wrinkled from my hands. She crouches at the fender, wiping grease from her fingers onto a rag, then reaches for the parts tray. I stand behind her, trying to look anywhere else.
“Hand me the bolt set?” she asks.
“Mm-hm.” I grab them, step in close, and reach around her, my chest brushing her back. The contact is small, barely there, but it lights a fuse straight up my spine.
She freezes. Just long enough for both of us to feel the air shift. Then, quieter, she says, “You okay back there, boss?”
It makes me laugh. “You’re gonna make me miss the hole.”
Her smile flashes instantly. “Trust me, you never miss the hole.”
“Smart-ass,” I mutter, trying to refocus, but she’s looking at me with that look on her face. I should step back. Instead, I reach around her again, guiding her hand to line up the part, my forearm grazing her ribs.
“Here, let me show you.” She watches my hands take over hers. Her breath catches. I can feel it. She doesn’t move. Neither do I.
Our eyes meet when she looks over her shoulder. Her lips twitch. “You staring at me or the bolt?”
“Bolt’s not looking at me like that,” I mutter.
“Like what?”
“Adrienne.” I reach past her again, sliding the socket onto the nut, my fingers brushing hers. “There. Like that.”
“Thanks,” she whispers, turning slightly, just close enough that her shoulder grazes my chest.
That’s all it takes. My arm moves before my brain can stop it, looping around her waist and pulling her in. The wrench clinks out of her hand and hits the floor. She doesn’t reach for it.
Her breath hitches. Mine stalls completely. She turns in my arms, eyes on my mouth. The second she sighs against me, the second her hands slide up the front of my shirt and fist in the fabric, I’m lost in her again.
I deepen the kiss, tongue sliding against hers, one hand gripping her hip, the other at the back of her neck. She tastes like coffee and adrenaline. When she moans, I swear I feel it all the way down to my toes.
I lift her onto the hood again, between the same smudges I just wiped clean, her legs parting instinctively to make room for me.
Her heels dig into the back of my calves as I crowd her in.
She grips my shirt, pulling me closer until I’m lost in the smell of her shampoo and sweat and the faintest hint of motor oil.
“Scotty…” she whispers between kisses, her voice wrecked, soft and trembling.
I pull back an inch, breath ragged, forehead pressed to hers. My pulse hammers like I’ve been sprinting.
“What are you doing with a man like me?” I ask before I can stop myself.
Her lashes flutter, her mouth still hovering close to mine, and she doesn’t answer right away. The quiet between us stretches heavy and charged, alive with everything we’re both too stubborn to say.
Then she smiles. Her eyes are dark, mouth curved like she already knows she’s got me. Then she leans in, fingers trailing down my chest, over my stomach, lower. Her palm settles against the bulge straining in my jeans, and she gives one slow squeeze that drags a curse out of me.
“Maybe I like that I shouldn’t want you,” she says, voice low, almost thoughtful. “Maybe I like that you don’t try to impress me. Maybe I like that you fuck me the way I want to be fucked—rough, dirty, like you can’t help yourself.”
Every word hits somewhere different: chest, gut, cock, until I’m standing there struggling to breathe, half-aching and hard.
“Adrienne…” I rasp, but she keeps going, thumb stroking lazy circles that make my vision blur.
“You drive me insane,” she whispers. “And maybe I like that, too.”
I grab her wrist, stopping her movements just to breathe. Her pulse jumps under my fingers, matching mine beat for beat. The hollow opens in my chest again, same as before. She’s talking about sex. Not about us. Not about anything that lasts longer than the next heartbeat.
She doesn’t even notice the way the words cut; she’s too busy smiling up at me like she already knows how this ends.
I shake my head once. “You think that’s rough?” Her brows lift like she’s challenging me. “You don’t know rough yet, sweetheart.”
That wipes the smirk clean off her face. Her breath catches, pupils wide, and I feel the shift. “Come back to my place,” I growl. It’s not a request.
For half a second, she just stares, like she’s weighing what it’ll cost her to say yes. Then she nods once, slowly. “Okay.”
I search her face, half-expecting her to laugh, to change her mind, to remind me this is supposed to be casual. She doesn’t. She just looks at me steadily, hand still resting against my zipper, daring me to follow through.
“Okay,” I echo, quieter this time.
Neither of us moves. The bay hums with fluorescent light, the air thick with oil, sweat, and whatever we’ve just set in motion. When I finally step back, it’s only because if I don’t, we’ll end up right here again.