Throttle: A Dirty Mechanic Romance Page 5

  The credits for Breakfast Club were still rolling when a pair of bright lights washed over my living room wall, bleaching out the television set. I sat up straighter and scowled out the window.

  Those massive Dodge truck headlights were filling my living room like a UFO.

  You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. I sprang up from the couch and stormed over to the front door. He’s here?

  In spite of my disgust with Andrew right now, I still brushed my fingers through my hair, adjusting its kinks and wisps, then tugged my tank top a little higher over my cleavage.

  The doorbell chimed neatly, and I glared at the front door.

  How dare he be polite?

  Taking a deep, cleansing breath, I gripped the doorknob and pulled it open.

  I’m going to take the bill from him and then slam the door in his face. He’s not going to cross this threshold.

  Andrew stood there in blue denim pants and a dirty white t-shirt, splattered with oil, dirt, and grass smudges. The shirt he’d worn to our appointment had been clean and soft; but this one came straight from work. He reeked of solid effort and the sweat it would bring. A worn leather belt pinned the loose jeans to his muscular hips. He smelled like he did the first time we were together.

  When our eyes met, he grinned down at me and swept his hand to the side in a deep bow, displaying for me the Volvo attached to the tow hook on the back of his truck. “Your carriage awaits, my lady,” he announced as he came to a full stand again. His grin was so self-satisfied, I boiled at the sight of it.

  His eyes traveled down to my taut nipples and he quipped, “Are those Tic-Tacs under your shirt, or are you just happy to see me?” as he moved to swagger into the living room.

  I dodged into his path and scowled up at him. “I thought you promised you were going to forget the way,” I seethed.

  Andrew blinked. “I thought we both realized that I was lying. Is there a problem here?”

  “You can’t just come to my house,” I informed him. “I don’t know you like that. We aren’t— This isn’t—”

  Andrew stood for a few seconds without speaking. He shook his head like he needed to clear it, scoffed softly, and then nodded. He took a step back onto the porch. “My mistake,” he allowed.

  “Where’s my bill?” I wondered politely.

  “That’s another mistake I made,” he informed me, biting down on his lower lip and skinning it beneath his teeth. His gaze was boyish and repentant and I longed for his mouth. I forced my eyes away and let the screen door drift shut.

  “Bring me a bill, Mr. Bogart.” The door shuttered and clicked into place between us.

  “I will.” Andrew’s eyes tracked me, their light slowly dying into a flatness, a darkness. “Did something happen?”

  “I know about Lola, and I don’t want to play these games with a third player involved. I don’t want to play games where I don’t even know the rules or my odds of winning.” My fingertips raced over my scalp and massaged, jamming deep into my hair. I strode from the front door and Andrew pushed open the screen door, following me across the living room, letting himself in. “I didn’t know that you were still in the middle of something else when we had sex! I didn’t know that you had a kid! If I’d known—”

  “It was a one-night stand!” Andrew reminded me. “By nature, we knew nothing about each other. But... Lola? If you’re looking for someone to be jealous of, Grant O’Connell is probably my actual soulmate.” Then Andrew settled into a more dangerous-looking anger. A calm anger. “Chet came by, didn’t he?”

  “And he told me what you didn’t,” I instinctively defended Chet, since he’d been the one looking out for me.

  Andrew threw his hands up and then let them come slowly down. They hung in my space without touching me. “There was nothing to tell,” he promised in a soft, smooth voice. “Don’t you have a past?”

  I thought of Daniel Fletcher, my former fiancé. “Yes, I have a past,” I told him in a grave voice. “And in that past, I was the loser in a game I didn’t even know I was playing with another woman. I’m not going to play that game again. I don’t want to win or lose that game against the mother of your children.”

  Andrew’s hands encroached on my body and I weakened. “Lola and I haven’t been together in years,” he assured me, his voice soft and tender, almost doting. He stepped so close that his body pressed to mine, and my chin needed to tilt upward in order to keep my eyes on his. My skin was immersed in a widespread, low-grade tingling. “I thought sex was boring until you walked into my garage.” His thumb grated over my lower lip and cracked my mouth open. “You woke me up,” he murmured, tracing over them with his own. “And I’ve been living through that memory ever since.”

  His mouth captured mine and I crackled with electricity, eagerly returning the pressure of his body on mine. His fingers skirted up beneath my tank top and tugged it over my head and I stuck my arms up and felt it go and did nothing. I wanted him to see my breasts. I wanted him to take his dick out. I wanted all of it, even though I knew it was a bad idea for at least three decent reasons. I still scrabbled to help Andrew pull his t-shirt over his head and expose the washboard abs beneath. My fingers went to stroke over him, and I distinctly heard his belt tinkle open and come slithering through its belt loops.

  He backed me up against a wall. I didn’t know it was even happening until my heels struck against it and I yelped in surprise. Adrenaline prickled at my lips and my toes and I wanted to feel him inside me. The anticipation had to break.

  Andrew’s face was serious as he gathered my wrists in his hands and stretched them up the wall.

  He paused and lovingly caressed my tits with his gaze. I could see on his face that he wanted to take each nipple into his mouth, that he wanted to bite their round bottoms and rake his fingernails down my torso. His dick was so hard that his pants were pulling open for it.

  “I can show you the truth,” he whispered into my ear.

  Andrew wrapped his belt around my wrists and secured them to a metal prong sticking out of the wall. Normally, coats were supposed to hang on it, but this time, it was me.

  “I can show you how I feel.”

  His hand slid into my boxers and skated between my slick labia, fondling my button knowingly. Like he still remembered every detail of my body since last time.

  I wilted around his pumping fingers, eyes rolling into the back of my head.

  His teeth teased over my hard nipple, and I called out his name. He pumped me harder in response. He gave up the teasing and committed to sucking hard at each nipple. I bucked my hips against him, begging for attention. I didn’t care about the other woman. Fuck her. I believed him. I wanted him inside me. Damn it, I couldn’t think straight. My mother was right about me.

  He pulled away. My breasts tingled all over. My pussy felt like it was going to explode by his toying fingers, and then they disappeared, too, leaving my body famished for his touch.

  His zipper peeled open. The broad, smooth head of his cock nuzzled at my lips, hot to the touch. His prick was thick enough to separate my labia with its hardness, and when he rubbed into me, he touched every ridge of my pussy with the top side of his cock. Jesus, he was such a tease. I wanted him to fill me and unleash an orgasm deep inside me, simultaneously slamming himself against my clit hard enough to trigger an orgasm from that part of my pussy, too. I wanted him to set me off like a fault line.

  And then I felt him drape my shirt over my eyes and secure it at the back of my head, blindfolding me.

  My stomach squelched at being immediately vulnerable in the house. What if he just left me here, half-naked, dangling from a goddamn coat hook, blindfolded? The cop next door would find me like this. Chet’s words from this afternoon echoed back to me: Been to jail for theft himself, you know.

  “Hey,” I whispered. “Could you not—?”

  Andrew pulled out of my space. His prick must have been soaked by my juices during that brief dance. “What?” he panted down at me
.

  “Could you not tie me up? And blindfold me?”

  “Oh... yeah,” Andrew said, swiftly removing the blindfold from my eyes first.

  “It’s just—I just got robbed, you know,” I explained, like an idiot. “And it makes me feel so vulnerable...”

  Andrew’s brow furrowed. “We can close the door,” he said, half-laughing to himself. He untied the knot of leather around my wrists and gestured to the front door that was, indeed, still open. “But you don’t have to feel vulnerable. I’m here. Anybody coming through that door is going to have to go through me.”

  I stared up at Andrew and felt an ice-cold guilt swell through my system—and Andrew must have seen the way my face changed. His face changed, too. His eyes fractured, like something in him fell and broke.

  “You think I might take something,” he realized aloud. “It’s not... them you don’t trust.” He pointed vaguely at the front door. His finger dropped. “It’s me.”

  I swallowed. I had to say something.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I don’t know what I’m saying.”

  “You were about to have my dick in you, no trace of latex in sight,” Andrew reminded me hotly. Then he pointed to the center of his chest. “But you don’t trust me.”

  “I don’t really know you,” I said, my hands coming up to cup my own breasts and hide them from his view. “Chet—”

  “Chet again?” Andrew threaded his belt back through the loops in his jeans. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, Michelle.”

  “He told me that you’ve been to jail for theft, Andrew!”

  He fastened his belt and scoffed, running his fingers through his hair. “This isn’t about my history,” he explained to me. He leaned down and snatched his rumpled ball of t-shirt off the floor. “This is about my character.” He shook his head and the shirt fell back over his face, his shoulders, covering his body again. “What, did you think me giving you that coil for free was an indication of my greed?” he demanded, and I winced at how good of a point that was. “That I told you to get out of there because I wanted to find a way to use you up?”

  Andrew shook his head and pivoted, marching across the living room floor. “You’re right,” he growled, blowing through the screen door. “You don’t really know me.” And he thundered across the porch, back out of my life again.

  * * *

  The following morning, I downloaded the dash-cam footage from Chet’s cruiser onto my work PC and pressed play. I steeled myself for sexual banter regarding Andrew’s ex, Lola, causing him to bristle into hostility and violence.

  But instead, I watched as Chet swaggered up to the parked Dodge truck and shined his flashlight directly into Andrew’s face. To his credit, Andrew only seemed bored and exhausted during the conversation—until Connie came into it. It was 2:37 a.m. on the tape, and I heard every word of the audio crystal clear. Chet needlessly antagonized a respectfully irritated, law-abiding citizen. The focus of the altercation was Connie, Andrew’s daughter, not Lola, his ex. Chet called Andrew “grease monkey” and “asswipe” multiple times, and the obstruction of justice charge was ridiculous. It was a delay of a handful of minutes caused solely by Chet Browntooth himself, who never requested any documentation from Andrew to begin with. Andrew didn’t even need me on this case. He could win blindfolded with one arm tied behind his back.

  My heart sank at the thought.

  I witnessed Chet drag Andrew out of the truck by his shirt, swiftly elbow him in the face two times, and then slam him down on the hood of his truck, clapping handcuffs over him with sadistic relish. The entire time, Andrew seemed nothing more than perplexed and aggravated, the way absolutely anyone would be. He didn’t fight back at any point, though he had a few opportunities and Chet was significantly smaller than he was.

  My mouth hung open, and I felt cold all over after watching that tape.

  I’d made a huge mistake. What had I done?

  Chapter 5

  Andrew

  I tried to stay away from her. I wanted to hate her guts. I wanted to shove that invoice for the damn steering belt in her face and collect her cold, hard cash like there had never been anything between us. I wanted to hurt her the way she’d hurt me. I was about to drive so deep into her, to take us both to the edge, and then she ruined it. With my dick wedged between her pussy lips and the crotch of her panties, she’d all but called me a thief.

  I couldn’t get her off my mind, though. That quickie with Michelle six months ago had far and away been the most gratifying sex I’d ever had. She fit my cock perfectly, as if by design, and she came so hard around me. All I had to do was thrust, and I could see her eyeballs roll, feel her pussy quiver and clutch. Maybe this seemed like I wasn’t a proud man, but here was the thing: I was. Did I want to forgive her? Yes, eventually, but first I’d like to see some squirming.

  At the same time, you have no idea what it’s like to have your dick inside a girl’s soaking wet panties, rubbing her up and down, ready to slide inside, and then your ego is bruised and you leave. Why had I left? Why hadn’t I fucked her and then left? Now the scent of her pussy was going to haunt me forever.

  My hard-on wouldn’t go away no matter how many times I stroked it down. It sprang up again. It couldn’t be quenched. I needed Michelle. I needed her thick, creamy thighs wrapped around my hips. I needed her to melt all over my sheets like vanilla ice cream.

  But I couldn’t. I couldn’t do it.

  I stared at the invoice on my computer screen. Even though she’d asked to be billed regularly, I was only charging her twenty-five dollars for the part, not the labor. It was only an hour of my life. She could keep it.

  My cell phone rang, and I saw that it was her. I let it go to voicemail and then immediately listened to the message.

  “Hey, um, Andrew. I’m really sorry about the other night, again. In—in regards to your case—” She sounded like she was struggling to be professional and not cry. “The sheriff’s department sent me Chet’s dash-cam and I heard and saw everything. And you were right. And I’m really... really sorry that I didn’t trust you. Please come by my office any time—so we can discuss this development to your case.”

  A grin tickled at one corner of my mouth. I could hear how badly she wanted me in the rawness of her voice. And I wanted her, too. I didn’t want to fight. I wanted to be deep inside her.

  Planning to do exactly that, I took a long, thorough hot shower and put on my best jeans—no holes, no stains, nothing—and a gray button-down. I wanted to look good for her. I didn’t even consider touching my hair. I slid on my boots and went to her office as twilight fell. We were supposed to get rain to break this heat spell soon.

  When I entered the austere little Victorian home, I heard her voice floating down to me from upstairs, just like it had the first day we’d really met. “I’ll be right down,” she called. “Do we have an appointment?” I heard her heels clicking on the stairs and then her body, draped in a sunny yellow dress, came flouncing down the stairs, hips swaying heavily from side to side. “Normally, the courthouse will—”

  She froze on the stairwell when she saw that it was me. “Andrew,” she breathed. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

  I closed the door behind me and locked it.

  Michelle swallowed.

  “I came to see you,” I told her. “We have to talk.”

  “Okay.” Michelle sounded uncertain as she traveled to the foot of the stairs and peered up at me. Her dark hair was loose on her shoulders. The last time I’d seen it like that, it was because I’d pulled her ponytail out myself. A muscle in my jaw ticked and I clenched my teeth. She made me feel like an animal. It wasn’t just the tits and the ass, which were arguably peaches. It was her soft, pink mouth, her doe eyes behind those glasses, and the way she held herself so tight, so rigid, just silently begging for someone to unlace her invisible corset. She needed to be able to dissolve shivering into a puddle of cum at the end of the day. I could see it in her tight should
ers, in the way she chopped her words just so. She needed to come hard, let the steam stream off of her, and reset all those pressure gauges.

  And that kind of thing was my job.

  It was my job to twist and pinch and squeeze with my bare hands. It was my job to fix her overworked system.

  “Are you mad at me?” she wondered, peering up at me.

  A slow grin spread over my lips. “No,” I told her, and I meant it. “I want to give you the chance to show me how you feel.”

  Her big eyes shimmered up at me and a thrum of blood traveled down to my cock.

  “What can I do?” she whispered.

  “Whatever you want to do. If you could do anything to show me how you felt, what would you do?”

  Her eyes flicked down to my thickening manhood, and then back up to me, meticulously unbuttoning each of my buttons as we maintained eye contact. She descended to her knees as my fingers found the button and the zipper, peeling it down for her. The engorged cock trapped inside sprang out at her, and I shivered at the cool kiss of her fingertips on the shaft.

  “This is how I feel about you,” she told me, her soft lips enveloping my head. She worked me over slowly, tickling me with her tongue, testing the depth of her throat inch by inch. I breathed in and out and let her go at her own pace. She randomly skated my full length and my abdomen jolted with surprise. It had been so long since a woman truly treasured my staff. In fact, I’m loathe to recall a prior incident off the top of my head.

  My eyes closed and my head rolled back on my neck. I forgot myself, the room, the situation. She may as well have enveloped my whole consciousness in her mouth. All I felt were her lips all over my body. One hand came up to cup my balls, rolling them high in her hand, and I swallowed thickly. My member tingled on the edge of orgasm and her lips popped over the ridge of my head, then descended again, becoming hungry for more. I could tell. She flashed me a look—a wild look—and I knew she wanted to make me come. She wanted redemption, and she wanted me, and she wanted my cock.