by Mia Madison
I watch the realization dawn on his gorgeous features, rolling up like a sunrise on the horizon, or credits on the old movies we watch in his screening room. Although we barely make it past the popcorn before he’s ripping my clothes off and either bending me over the red velvet seat or pulling me onto his lap and impaling me on his magnificent royal staff.
“Christening?”
It’s hard for him to trust his happiness. I think it’s taken him by a storm of surprise how well he’s taken to being a committed lover and soon-to-be-husband. We’d be married already if it weren’t for the pile of organization that goes into a royal wedding and all the arrangements to be made for the King, Queens, Princes, Princesses, Dukes and Duchesses coming from all over Europe. Not to mention the maharajahs, emperors. – you get the idea.
“Yeah.”
“You’re -?”
I have to hold down a giggle.
“Yeah. I am.”
“Really? How?” he blusters. I can tell he’s trying to hold down his excitement, the desire to twirl me whooping around the room.
“I’m pretty sure it was the first time. The night of the State Dinner when you dragged me to the pantry.”
“Oh my god, baby. I was so forceful that night.”
I can’t hold back my laughter.
“That’s probably what did it. Those sperm ejaculated harder.”
“You know what happens when you tease me.” He frowns at me then but I can tell he’s not serious. He can hardly contain his erupting joy.
“I do and I can’t wait. But it will have to wait until after young Lucien Leopold has arrived.”
Filthy Sweet Mechanic
Chapter One - Rand
I’ve checked every battery cable and re-tightened every bolt. I’m done with this job except I can’t resist checking everything one more time. Compelled to take the wrench to every bolt and make sure they’re tight as a virgin and no accidents could possibly occur. I’m always diligent with my work but not usually this obsessed. I tug on the tool so that my forearm tautens and flexes, trying not to think about why I’m making this special effort. A sigh escapes my lips that comes out as something between a grunt and a growl. It’s hot under the engine and I’m sweaty and elbows-deep filthy. One last tighten, just to be sure.
Done.
Right then, I hear the clack of heels coming closer across the tarmac. My head instinctively turns and my eyes strain to the side to reach out from under the car over top of me. I watch mesmerized as two delectable feet step daintily towards me. I know those boots. The same scarlet red cowboy boots Caila Ferris was wearing two days ago when she came in with her father to drop off the car.
“Thing won’t move,” Mr Ferris, informed me, dumping the keys into my palm. Not exactly a technical analysis of the problem but it’s what I’m used to.
And then the passenger door opened and a pair of legs swiveled out from the Lincoln’s leather seat and she rose up like a mermaid from the ocean or some shit. I had to grit my jaw to stop it from dropping to the ground.
“When I put my foot down I expect her to respond immediately,” her father is blasting into my stunned reverie. I can think of how I’d like her to respond immediately and I’m not talking about the car.
I was almost blown away. She was so perfect. The hot curves of her little body were one thing. But her face was so pretty with large hazel-green eyes and strands of hair falling in waves over her shoulders to curl enticingly on her… I had to definitely not allow my gaze to alight on those perfect round globes for more than a second. Not with her father standing there, as protective as an armed guard. Just as he should be. I’d be the same in his place. If she were mine I’d never leave her side for a second.
Nor did I want Caila to think I was some rough monkey that objectifies women, like most of us manual laborer types. We do have a tendency to mentally use a beautiful women we want but can never have. I have to admit I’m mentally using Caila Ferris all day long as I lie on my back underneath the engine.
If she were sitting in the car right now, she’d be spread right over my face. My denim gets tight just envisioning that crazy fantasy of having the town princess. Her old man is the unrecognized head honcho simply because of his net worth.
I’ve never been ashamed of who I am now, or what I do. But that day I first saw her, I was suddenly, painfully, conscious of how sweaty I was, my hair sticking to my forehead. The sleeves of my tee shirt rolled up high on my shoulders so my tatted biceps were free of the constricting material.
As Caila Ferris walked around the side of the Linc to stand beside her father, I watched her long legs parting and closing, parting and closing. She stopped and her eyes traveled across my chest, to my arms and her eyes widened in what must have been disgust. I’m sure she was revolted by the filthy streaks of oil and my huge gnarled hands gripping the tool I’d been working with before they rolled in.
Now those red boots are approaching again and my cock starts to unfurl even though I can only see the Cuban heels and lower half of the shaft which has intricate stitching. My own shaft widens as the image of the rest of Caila’s gorgeous body fills my head. It comes to me, the reason why I’ve been checking and re-checking every bolt on the fuel pump. Even though I had no idea it would be Caila coming to pick up the car today.
Those boots stop beside the car, straddling right over my legs sticking out from underneath. My heart rate picks up and I could easily lie there all day just enjoying the scene in my mind. Those shapely thighs apart and me between them.
Christ, yesterday she was wearing tight jeans tucked into the boots but today, what with a pre-storm heatwave suddenly upon us, she’s stripped down. And those bare legs are right over me driving me half insane.
Get it together. I huff to myself. You’ve seen a woman’s legs before. Geez I’m acting like a jock teen.
Truth is, it’s been way too long since I’ve been close to any woman’s bare legs. And I can’t recall ever seeing legs like Caila’s. Long, powerful – maybe she’s a cheerleader or something athletic like that. But so soft. From the safety of my space under the car, which is suddenly even more stifling than before, reminding me of the worst prison cell, I can tell her skin is satin soft. I don't know whether she’s wearing a mini skirt or a pair of shorts, my angle of view doesn't extend quite that high. But it is enough to ascertain that whatever she’s wearing, it’s riding high and the thought of that is making me crazy.
Geezus, if I roll out from under now, I’ll have to slide right under her open slit. My dick is so hard, I’m likely to start huffing with unrestrained lust. Crazy because Caila is not only way out of my league, she’s also way too young.
“Anyone down there?” she chirps in her softly confident voice.
“Ya, nearly done,” I grit out from under the engine.
I’m frozen there on my back half rigid. How do I play this? If I roll out head first, my face will appear under the alluring apex of her inner thighs. I’ll have to look straight up the length of those legs towards her sweetness, that point I need to avoid imagining at all costs. Geezus- too late for that now. But if I roll out awkwardly, feet first, the first thing her eyes are going to hit is the massive bulge in my dirt-smeared jeans.
Okay – just go for it fast – hope she doesn't notice. Which I don’t know how that could happen as I’m packing wood like a chucker.
“Are you done yet?”
Christ! She crouches down, not all ladylike and prim but with her knees splayed apart like a real country girl. One foot either side of my knees, her inner thighs are exposed all the way to the crease. Thank god I’m on my back because she’s enough to buckle me at the knees.
I exhale another gruff that comes out almost feral so she frowns with a look of wry confusion. I attack a last bolt, pretending it needed tightening and that’s what was holding me up.
“Good, because I have to be somewhere and I need the car. It sure looks to me like you’re hiding out under there. Is your wife on th
e prowl, the monster-in-law?”
She stands up again and my brain goes into overdrive but I take the chance. Heeling the ground to roll the creeper with me flattened on it, I go flying out between her legs, desperately averting my eyes from those thighs.
“I’m not married,” I husk as I jam my heel to halt the roller.
I flex my abs to bring me up to sitting, but I still can’t stand. My folded legs are hiding my arousal.
“So is it all fixed? I’m good to go?” she purrs.
My eyes trail up the length of her, taking a lot more time than necessary. I drink up her long thighs, the small denim shorts, the tight white tee stretching over those perfect mounds. She is pure perfection I could lick and lap every last morsel of.
Yeah she’s good to go. But I wish she’d stay a while. Just so that I can look at her. Inhale the faint whisper of aroma rising from her skin and soft hair. She’s noticed me giving her the once over and she’s grinning faintly at my discomfort.
“You’re all good,” I grunt.
I don’t tell her I spent a bunch of extra time triple checking everything. Just for her sake. Just because I wanted to be certain no harm would ever come to her on my watch.
“Good,” she says, pressing her lips. “My father said you had all the details for the invoice. I don’t owe you?”
“No, you don’t owe me,” I mutter, like a zombie. I’m trying so desperately not to let my wood shove up against my denim any harder than it already is.
I only wish I could think of a way to make her owe me.
With that Caila folds those long legs into the driver’s seat. She’s so petite that she has to pull the chair forward after I’d pushed it all the way back to accommodate my six feet four. She lifts her eyelashes like a pair of fluttering moths, until her eyes turn up to face me with a sparkle that has my heart drop to my gut.
“See you around then,” she murmurs, then adds; “I hope,” before putting the car into drive.
Chapter 2
Caila
As I drive away from the garage, the strangest sensation ripples down my arms and through my tummy. I laugh lightly to myself, as the feeling travels further. Into my thighs, deeper into my chasm. I can’t quite pinpoint what’s going on inside my body but it’s kind of pleasant. The tingling spreads a warmth through my chest that almost feels like happiness. Like when you’re little and coming down to see what Santa left.
“Girl, you can’t get all hot for a mechanic,” I murmur to myself as I indicate a left turn.
I laugh again and wriggle slightly in my seat. Meaning to shake off this feeling but also to rub my sensitive area on the leather seat. I’ve known Rand Aikins a few years. Not known exactly, just of him, because he’s been my father’s mechanic, working on his cars as long as I can remember.
Oh actually no, the garage used to belong to old Jock Hangeton. Rand only arrived maybe four years back. I remember the first time I saw him, walking across the street in town, heading for the bar. I was still a teen then and he definitely ignited something in my body. I couldn’t help but notice all the women doing a slight double take as they passed.
He’s hot enough to inspire a small town’s collective fantasy and I was no exception. He walks with a confident swagger, but not arrogant. His long legs thickening through powerful thighs, flexing at his low slung jeans. His narrow waist, flat and lean with ridges that form a ladder pressing through his tee shirt. I’m sure like me, every woman was jolted into a fantasy of picturing that man with nothing covering up his god-like body.
But he’s a car mechanic.
I know that sounds snobbish and I really don’t care what a man does, so long as he’s hot as Rand and kind to me. But my father has other ideas. He wants his little girl to be taken care of the way he’s taken care of me. I can’t blame him for that. It’s been just me and him since my mom died from breast cancer when I was nine. Losing her like that, so young and so suddenly, has made him even more protective. It’s a little cloying at times. I feel like I can’t breathe my own air in case it disappoints him. But it’s okay. I can live with it.
“Baby, can you collect the Lincoln this afternoon,” my dad asked as he downed his coffee, the only breakfast he ever indulges in.
“Of course, Daddy.”
I was surprised as that car is my father’s second baby. He loves it even though it’s getting old. It was the first one he bought after he achieved success – a display of his wealth designed to catch my mom.
“Okay and Trem Taylor called earlier,” he added so my heart sank into the pits of me, knowing what was coming. “Boone is desperate to talk to you. He’s sorry for whatever happened and will do anything to make it right between you. You and Boone were always meant to be a team.”
Oh yeah? He’s sorry for getting into a threesome at Penny Summer’s house after her party. I came over cramped and begged him to take me home early. I could tell he was pissed at having to leave the crazy get together she threw while her parents were away for the weekend. But did that mean he had to go back and get into a three-way?
Worse than that he lied right to my face about it. Everyone in town knows about it but me. How is that being a team? Us coupling up is the dream of both our fathers. Not mine and apparently not Boone’s.
“Can’t you hear him out, baby? We men aren’t perfect always and we need a woman like you, like your mom was, to rein us in. To show us the right path.”
I ought to just tell my father what Boone did. Except he’d load a shotgun and go over to the Taylor McMansion to pepper his ass with lead for mistreating and disrespecting me like that. I don’t want my father to end up in a cell, or to lose his friendship with Trem that goes back before Boone or I were born. It’s as though our fathers swore their two kids would end up together and are conspiring to make it happen.
Now I’m on my way to meet Boone and hear what he has to say.
I really doubt that whatever it is will change my mind, but I did dress in a flirty, almost provocative, manner. Just to show him what he gave up on.
Seeing the reaction I got from Rand boosted my confidence big time. I could feel his gaze blasting right through my outfit and searing every pore in my skin. Funnily, it wasn’t douchey, even the way his eyes fixed on my rear as I bent to get into the car.
He snapped them away immediately, before realizing I’d caught him. Not at all smarmy the way Boone and even his friends sometimes look at me. I felt Rand’s appreciation blossom and that brought my body to life in response from the older man. Such a hunk despite being closer to my father’s age than mine.
I wonder how old he is. I notice how my fingers are absentmindedly stroking the smooth curved wood of the steering wheel as I sit at a light with the image of gorgeous sexy Rand filling my head. The sheen of sweat across the hard round swell of his bicep muscle had again caught my eye.
He’d jostled that reaction in my body when daddy and I dropped the car off. I just didn’t get around to acknowledging it until now, what with my father standing right beside me like a papa bear.
The last two days, my fantasy dreams have been full of a strong man with a broad chest and bulging arms, powerful enough to wrap around me and carry me off wherever he wanted. I should have been pining over my useless untrustworthy boyfriend. Instead I thought of a man that works with his hands, that could take care of everything instead of having to call the help to do it.
A man with a chest so broad I could lie across it and be protected from every storm. His arms around me would be delicious. His hard hands on my body would be… damn, Boone is already here. His Camaro is parked in front of the coffee shop in town we agreed to meet at. I flatly refused to go for a drink at night, knowing there would be pressure from him. Not to mention the gossip when people saw us together. That’s the challenge of living in a town where everyone knows your business.
I pull into a space a few cars in front of Boone’s and when I climb out, his door also opens. He was waiting outside the cafe. He never likes
to sit alone anywhere. It’s one of the things that drives me crazy, being led around wherever he wants to go in case he gets lonely. Never having time to dip into a good book or just indulge in me time. Now I get it – he can’t stand being around him either.
“Hey Babe,” he smirks, strutting toward me all swagger.
“Hi, Boone. Listen, I’m only here out of respect to daddy. There’s nothing you can say to make me get back together with you.”
“Well, don’t start this off being a bitch,” he snaps.
I turn my back and head straight back to my car. We’re done here.
“Wait, Caila,” he shouts. He dashes up behind me and grabs my arm, spinning me around.
“Ow, that hurts,” I say, yanking my arm away.
“Okay, okay, relax,” he says, not apologizing. “You just set me off all wrong that’s all. This is hard enough as it is.”
“What, having to admit you were wrong?” I snip.
“No – it was a party for chrissake. What do you want from me? I was drunk.”
“Good excuse.” I say.
“Ah, sarcasm woman,” Boone snarls then again tries to cover it up and play nice. “If you hadn’t left early nothing would have happened.”
“That’s the problem Boone,” I say. “I don’t want to be your caregiver. I want to trust a man to handle himself without me alongside watching over him twenty four seven.”
“Come on Caila, give me another chance. My old man made me promise I’d get you back.”
I look at his smooth face, pleading his cause and wonder.
Chapter 3
Rand
I see her instantly as I’m walking up the street. I had to park my truck down the block, every closer space taken. Town is busy today. My eyes are pulled to her like a pair of magnets tugged to its pole. I had the time to read a bunch of books and it was interesting to note that it’s completely different types that attract while similar ones repel. But while the guy she’s talking to looks repellent to me, he’s definitely her type.
