Motorhead

by Kate Gilead

  Her good mood is contagious, and we goof around, getting slippery and silly, letting off steam…and then things get even steamier when she bends over in front of me so that I can soap her gorgeous ass.

  She wiggles it temptingly, making it jiggle and bounce under my hands.

  Damn!

  Then she turns around and begins soaping my cock.

  I groan, instantly hard. Her attentions feel great as usual, making it hard for me to say ‘no’.

  And I try…I really try to say ‘no’.

  “Doctor’s orders, “ I intone. “Nothing strenuous, no sports, no jumping around, no excitement!”

  She pouts, and lathers soap bubbles on her pert breasts, pulling on her nipples. “But, baby, I’m horny…and sex is good for you!”

  My erection waves at her. I look down at it and then back at her pointedly. “As you can see, I’m in no position to argue. But right now, I’m not taking any chances. How bad would I look if you relapsed before you’ve even been home for a day?”

  “But…but…baby,” she says, “it’s my birthday. Don’t I get a present?” She takes my rod in both hands and squeeze-strokes it, making me groan and grit my teeth.

  I want her so bad, I can feel it up and down my spine.

  My cock wants to give her something, alright. Hard and fast.

  Damn.

  But I do happen to have something else planned, too.

  A present that I hope she’ll like… a lot. I hope it doesn’t over-excite her, but I’ve been planning it for weeks now and I don’t want to wait any longer.

  “Yes. I got you something. But you have to promise not to get too excited. Okay?”

  “Ohhh-kay? What is it?” Her shining, mischievous eyes…her sweet mouth…damn!

  “Come on, let’s dry off and I’ll show you.”

  Towels wrapped around ourselves, she follows me to the bedroom nook.

  Opening one of my dresser drawers, I take out a tiny red velvet box.

  Lowering myself to one knee, I solemnly open the box and proffer it up to her.

  She gasps, her hands going to her face.

  “Wee Marie…I’m crazy in love with you. Will you marry me?”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Marie

  The beautiful ring sparkles up at me from its velvet nest.

  But its beauty can’t compare to Mark’s sparkling blue eyes, watching me with such love, concern…and hope.

  “I…I…oh my God!” Tears fill my eyes as I try to catch my breath. “Yes…yes, of course! Of course I will!”

  Together, we sit on the edge of Marks’ big bed. He takes the ring from its box and slides it onto my finger. It’s a cluster of diamonds set in a slim gold band.

  “Oh, wow, Mark! It’s so lovely…so bright!”

  “Not so lovely and bright as you, though…if that’s not too corny,” he says, those white teeth of his flashing in a grin.

  Laughing and sniffling, I wipe my eyes and then put my arms around his neck. I nuzzle his whisker-y jaw, murmuring, “Thank you! I love you so much, Mark!”

  His face presses mine, his mouth following my jaw to seek my lips…and when he finds them…oh gosh…when he finds them…his kiss is more tender than ever before, more sweet and more tender and more full of love and promise and…oh…oh my…more full of fire….than any kiss or touch we’ve shared so far.

  A fire that flares, and catches, and then burns, steady as she goes.

  “Damn, girl. I can’t touch you without wanting you,” he murmurs, breaking off the kiss, leaning his forehead against mine. “We shouldn’t, though.”

  We’re both breathing hard. I feel for his cock and find it, grasping its hard length through the terry of the towel wrapped around his waist.

  “Yes we should,” I whisper, and when I again touch his lips with mine, our loving-tender-passion turns to loving-passion-lust; our kiss becoming impossibly hotter and more urgent, tongues darting, my teeth nibbling at his sensuous bottom lip. “I want to. I need to!”

  We both drop our towels and I lay back on the bed, eyes greedily taking in his lush body as he stands in front of me.

  With one motion, he grabs me by the knees and pulls me towards him, spreading my legs as he kneels beside the bed. He puts my legs over his shoulder, growling hungrily in his throat, and pulls my hips towards him, his own eyes riveted on my naked pussy inches from his face.

  Teasing touches land on my skin, his hot breath tickling as he nibbles and licks everywhere but there, mischievously rubbing his whiskered chin over the delicate flesh of my thighs, making me shiver and giggle and cover my eyes with delicious anticipation.

  Lifting my hips easily, he flicks the ring of tender flesh around my anus gently with his tongue, his light touch making me gasp with pleasure. Moving on to nibble on mouthfuls of my inner thigh, he makes light purple hickies that will last for days.

  He torments me like this until my hips are arching towards him, circling and rocking, my breathing ragged and begging, “Please, baby, please…”

  And then…oh yes….ohhhh God yes….his tongue plunges into me, into and out of me, his grunt of satisfaction telling me he likes what he’s tasting as much as I like being the feast.

  That tongue…that incredibly talented tongue moves down to my asshole and back up once more, now delicately flicking and circling my clit before searching deep into my pulsing entrance again and again.

  Now he fastens on the hard ball of my clit, sucking it gently between his lips as his naughty tongue flattens and then flicks it, alternating with gentle and then harder suction until my eyes roll back in my head and that familiar, bright-white sensation starts with a clenching and loosening in my belly, way down deep inside.

  “Ahhh, yeah…uuhhnnn…ahhhh….oh yeah….” I’m panting and moaning, my hands on either side of his head, hips circling and thighs quivering, thrumming with my approaching orgasm.

  Lips fastening firmly now, tongue flattening and then flicking, he growls against my throbbing nub as he feels it hardening…as my legs stiffen and shake against his shoulders…and oh God oh God here it comes…ahhh Jesus ahhh God I’m coming, I’m coming, and I pull my hips away because it’s so intense, it’s so good…but he pulls me hard against himself and plunges his tongue into me again, lapping and slurping and extending those delectable contractions, licking up my freely-flowing juices with that throaty, greedy, growl and those dirty-sexy-juicy noises we make together when I’m coming all over his face.

  “Was that good, baby? That was a good one, wasn’t it?”

  I can’t speak, I can only whimper and nod, one hand reaching down to cover my pulsating pussy as he leans back, the other hand reaching towards him, grabbing at his beefy shoulders, beckoning him to climb up and climb aboard.

  “Fuck yeah…fuck yeah,” he pants, his voice urgent and gritty, “I fucking love making you come.” I spread my legs wide for him as he stands between them, “I fucking love how soaked and delicious your pussy is.” He takes his cock in hand, its tip deep red and dripping, and slowly, so slowly, he pushes it inside me. “Uuuhhnnn, yeah,” he breathes, then he grasps my hips in his hands and lifts me towards him, sheathing me onto his rock-hard length.

  My eyes close in ecstasy. He’s hard, so hard…and then, his big strong hands on my hip pulls me into him, snugging me against his groin.

  Then he rocks into me until I am completely impaled upon his length, grinding his own hips into mine, spearing me with pleasure, through and through.

  Raising and lowering my hips upon his flesh, he spears me, again and again, grinding me with glowing, golden pleasure, molten, profound and engulfing pleasure that grows with every circle of his hips.

  His lips draw back, his breath hisses between his teeth, his own eyes close and, cock hardening and throbbing, he unleashes himself in my depths, crying out… making me cry out with him…surprising me as a second, liquid-honey orgasm rushes through me, flowing from somewhere deep
inside…filling my being with bright, sparkling love, and light, and pleasure…so much pleasure…so intense that it drives all words and thoughts from my head.

  Twenty minutes later.

  We’re laying together in bed, having drowsy, soft pillow talk and admiring how lovely my ring looks in the mellow glow of the bedside lamp.

  “What a crazy, awesome weekend! The cherry on top is getting engaged to the man of my dreams!” I snuggle into him.

  “Yeah. It’s all a bit much, isn’t it, baby? But I wanted to make this a special birthday.”

  “You did! I’m so happy!”

  “You gonna start telling people right now? Phone your mom?”

  “Yeah…no…I…don’t know. Maybe…or, maybe we should wait until we all get together. Keep it between us for a bit. Let things settle.”

  He’s quiet for a moment, thinking. “Alright. Good idea. We need a break from excitement.” He shifts his position, scratching his leg thoughtfully. “Maybe it’s weird but I didn’t anticipate any crash. What I visualized was more along the lines of, me and you in the winners circle, you looking up at me adoringly as I give interviews to the press and hold that ridiculous giant check.” He chuckles. “Then, dropping to one knee and proposing to you right there, in public. I trashed that idea once I understood that you’re not really a public kind of girl.”

  I look up at his face from my spot on his chest. “Sorry, sweetie.”

  He snorts and kisses the tip of my nose. “I’m not.”

  Another moment of silence passes.

  “But I always knew that I’d propose it right after I won that pot of money. That was never in doubt.”

  “Which was never in doubt? That you’d win, or that you’d propose?”

  “Both.”

  “Wow. You’re pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you, mister?”

  “Yep.” But he fidgets a little…enough to let me know that he’s not telling the whole truth.

  I wait, giving him a chance to come out with whatever’s on his mind.

  It doesn’t take long.

  “Hmm. If you wanna know the truth…? I was hoping to buy us a proper house before Christmas, actually.”

  “Oh, baby! Really? That’s…that’s fantastic, but I’m happy to be here with you. This is a pretty cool apartment, you know.”

  “I know. But my wife will have a proper house and that’s all there is to it.” He pauses and lets out a big sigh. “I was really, really hoping to have it done by Christmas. Moved in and all. The racing purse will pay for the equipment I need for the shop, plus give us a down on a house. But I think getting it all done by December twenty-fifth will be too much of a stretch. I doubt we can get it all done in what…three months time?”

  “Yeah. You might be right. Still…you never know. Christmas is a magical time…maybe a miracle will happen.”

  He snorts and squeezes me closer. “I love it when you’re optimistic.”

  Speaking of miracles…I’m quiet for a moment, thinking.

  I want to tell him.

  I want to tell him that a miracle already happened, in the form of that dream that I had of my dearly departed Aunt Kazuko.

  After viewing the crash videos, I’m sure that it was her––her dream warning––that kept us from a much worse crash.

  The way the blow-out made his vehicle swing towards the space where my car’s front end had been, only a second earlier…what if I hadn’t moved to the other side because of Kazuko saying “Don’t follow!”

  Jesus! Surely, if I hadn’t moved, I’d have T-boned him. Surely! Maybe even killed him, if I’d hit him hard enough. All the safety harnesses in the world can’t save a man from a head-on collision…can they?

  I don’t think so.

  And surely everyone else who viewed the footage sees it, too?

  Suddenly, I realize that if anyone sees it, they’re certainly not going to say anything about it to me. They probably think I don’t know!

  Mark’s phone, which has finally fallen silent for the first time all day, peals out a text notification, startling us both from our thoughts.

  “Shit,” he says, reaching over to pick it up. “What time is it?” He lays back and props the phone up on his chest, where we can both see it.

  It’s almost ten-thirty. Late for a Sunday night, but not too late.

  The preview screen for the text shows a grainy, dimly-lit photo…that looks like a bunch of older cars, all parked close together.

  “What the heck? Looks like a…what is that? A ferry full of cars or something?”

  He touches the screen and the photo opens into full-size. It’s still hard to make it out.

  “Hey…they…those cars are all older Lambos, Marie.”

  We stare at the photo silently for a moment.

  “Whose number is that?”

  “Not sure,” he says. “Might be a wrong number. I’ll ask.”

  But first, a text appears.

  Hello Mark, it’s Harold DeSouza here.

  “Old Man DeSouza?” Mark says. “Huh. Remember I told you about him? The guy with the Citroen? Retired accountant, he was friends with my dad.”

  “Yeah, I remember. Why is he sending you pictures of classic Lamborghinis?”

  “Damned if I know,” Mark says. Then, another text appears:

  Congratulations on your win at the charity race today!

  Mark starts typing.

  Hello Mr. DeSouza. Thank you!

  Mr. DeSouza is like, four hundred years old. Or, okay, probably in his seventies, at least. Maybe it’s a miracle he even has a cell phone and knows how to use it. It’s no wonder he’s slow at texting.

  But we wait patiently and are rewarded with his response:

  Mr. DeSouza: You’re welcome. I returned from a trip today and caught a news teaser on TV. I spoke to Carson to find out how his daughter is doing. He tells me she is well and resting at home now?

  Mark: Yes, she’s fine. Thanks very much for thinking of us. And how are you, sir?

  After a bit, this appears:

  Mr. DeSouza: Oh, I’m fine, thank-you. Actually I’m glad the race is over and that you won. Now, I’m hoping that I can involve you in a special project of mine.

  Mark looks at me, frowning, then shrugs. Thumbs flying, he texts:

  Mark: Project?

  Pause.

  Mr. DeSouza: Yes, Carson and I have been brewing this for some time. You received the photo I sent just now?

  Mark: Yes. We were just puzzling over it, actually.

  Another lengthy pause.

  Mr. DeSouza: Yes, I imagine so. Before I continue, everything I’m about to divulge is confidential. Will you agree to non-disclosure?

  We look at each other and shrug. “Sure, I’ll bite,” I say.

  Mark: You have our word.

  Mr. DeSouza: Excellent. This is just a partial representation of the cars I have in my possession, stored in a facility just outside of town. I have purchased and sold some very nice cars over the years. Now, I wish to begin restoring a selection, and auctioning them off.

  Mark: Those are classic cars?

  Mr. DeSouza: Indeed. My secret passion, you might say. I’ve been collecting for over thirty years.

  Mark and I stare at each other, wide-eyed, for a moment.

  Mark: Thirty years? In secret?

  Mr. DeSouza: Yes. I believe it may be one of the largest collections in the United States.

  We look at each other again, mouths hanging open, minds blown…and both waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  Why’s he telling us this?

  Mark: That’s incredible.

  Mr. DeSouza: When you visited me recently, you mentioned your entry to the charity race, and your interest in purchasing shop equipment with the purse money. Now that you’ve won, do you still intend to go through with that?

  Mark: Of course!

  Mr. DeSouza: Good! So, would you be interested in rest
oring any of my cars?

  Chapter Thirty

  Marie

  Mark makes arrangements to meet with Mr. DeSouza at his secret warehouse for the following week, asking permission to bring me along. DeSouza says he’d be delighted to see me, so long as we don’t mind if some of Mr. DeSouza’s colleagues attend the meeting as well.

  Then he swears us to secrecy once again, and wishes us a good night.

  Even though we’re exhausted, Mark and I talk excitedly for another hour or so, looking at the photos again.

  We both recognize that this is might be an opportunity of a lifetime. Soon, Mark will obtain the equipment the shop requires, enabling him to take on more work and hire more staff anyway.

  If Mark gets this restoration work, it will lead to more high-end jobs. Which means, Mollenkamp Motors will be lifted out of the bang-and-grind of work-a-day motor repairs and into the rarified, moneyed circles of classic vehicle restoration…and into direct competition with my father’s business unit doing the same thing.

  The kind of work that currently employs Tommy…and lately, me. The work that we just completed that pain-in-the-ass audit for, in order to complete the cost/profit analysis and determine if high-end car restoration is even worthwhile for Sinclair’s to be doing anymore.

  Either way, in all reality, there’s enough work to go around, so it’s not exactly competing with Dad that worries us.

  Well, we’re both nervous about that, but, determined to do it anyway. Mark has the right to succeed.

  It’s just that neither one of us wants to rock the family boat again, especially since it seemed to knock my Dad so far off course that he basically checked out of the family for a while there.

  Especially since a fragile peace has so recently been established again.

  So we make a plan. We’ll see how the meeting with DeSouza goes, and then we’ll get together with my family for my birthday celebrations…and also, to make the announcement of our engagement.

  That’s two secrets we’re keeping, then.

  Well, three…for me anyway.