She was being silly. She and Vincent had to come face to face sooner or later. Better to get this encounter over with and put it behind her. Especially since she was home to stay. “Okay. Thanks.” She turned and headed back to get her purse before she did something stupid, like tackle him to the ground and kiss him senseless.
Vincent hovered next to her open door while she collected her purse.
On the way back to his truck, she was very conscious of him walking beside him. He opened the door and held it for her. She was wearing a dress, which made things a little awkward, but she managed to climb up and get settled inside.
He shut the door and went around to the driver’s side.
He didn’t take long to get the tow truck maneuvered into place and her car hooked up. She watched him like a woman watches a chocolate cake on the third day of a diet. She wanted to eat him up.
Time hadn’t changed him much, except to maybe make him even more attractive.
He filled the cab with his sheer masculine presence when he rejoined her and began the short drive to his garage. “I’m sorry about your dad,” he told her.
“Thank you.” The loss was the main reason she’d come home. Her father had passed suddenly, leaving her mother to run the small grocery store her family had owned for generations. Her mother hadn’t asked her to come back, but Esme was tired of big-city living, of sixty-hour work weeks for a corporation that didn’t care. She missed the sense of community Sorrow Creek offered.
She’d only been back for a day, but she already knew she’d made the right decision. Her mother was happy to have her home. And Esme was glad to be there.
“So how have you been?” God, the conversation was stilted. She and Vincent had been able to talk about anything and everything. They’d spent hours sharing their hopes and dreams with one another. And they’d reached them too. Or at least some of them.
“I’m good. I like being my own boss.”
He flashed a sexy grin that made her panties damp.
“You never were much good at taking orders.” Which was why him joining the army had surprised her so much.
He chuckled. “I learned, but I still don’t like it any better than I ever did.” He put on his signal light and turned a corner. “Here we are.” He pulled into the well-lit parking lot. The building was big with three garage doors and a smaller door which led to an office.
“Durango’s” was written in big, bold red letters on a sign atop the building.
“Give me a second to get the garage door open, and I’ll move your car inside.”
“You can leave it until tomorrow.” It was already past eight. “I’m sure your family is waiting at home.”
“No family. Just me.” He motioned to the far side of the building, the area with the office. “Besides, I live upstairs.”
“You live here? At the garage?” Maybe he wasn’t doing as well as she’d heard. She ignored her overwhelming sense of relief at discovering no Mrs. Durango waited at home.
“Yeah, I converted the area over the office and storage area into a two-bedroom apartment. Since I was here most of the time anyway, it made sense. Be right back.”
The next few minutes were spent getting her car inside one of the garage bays. When the task was done, he parked the truck in the lot outside.
She hopped out before he could come around to her door to help her.
Vincent led the way inside and closed the garage door behind them.
“Let’s have a look.” But he wasn’t looking at her car. He was staring at her.
She was wearing a dress that buttoned up the front, tucked in at her waist and flared out slightly before ending just above her knees. The design was fun and flirty and something she could never have worn to work at her old job, but she’d bought it on sale because she loved how it made her feel.
“You look real good, Esme.” His voice was low and rough.
Heat crept up her cheeks, and she knew she was blushing. “Thanks.” She felt more like a teenager than a woman staring thirty in the eye. “You look good, too.” That was the biggest understatement of the year. He’d filled out in the shoulders and chest since she’d known him. He’d been a teenager then. Now he was all man.
The silence that settled over them was charged. Neither of them could take their gazes off of the other.
“I was giving you a few days to settle in.”
“Were you?” She tilted her head to one side. “And then what were you doing?”
Was that really her flirting so blatantly? She’d barely had a date in the past couple of years. Just hadn’t been interested and spending all her time and energy on her career. She’d begun to wonder if something was wrong with her. Obviously, she’d just needed the right man to get her engines revving.
He came toward her, his stride fluid and loose. She instinctively took a step back and came up against the cinderblock wall. Vincent kept coming. He placed his hands on either side of her head and leaned down. She got lost in his deep-set green eyes.
“I intended to do this.” Then he kissed her.
Vincent couldn’t believe he was kissing Esme. For years, the memory of the taste of her lips, the feel of her lush curves, and the tight clasp of her hot welcoming heat squeezing his cock when they made love had haunted him.
He’d dated and slept with his share of women, but he’d never gotten close to one, not like he had Esme.
She made a small sound in the back of her throat and came up on her toes to get closer. Her purse fell to the floor with a heavy thunk. They both ignored it.
He nibbled on her bottom lip and then ran his tongue across the center seam, slipping inside her sweet mouth when she gasped. God, she tasted good. Like a twelve-year-old scotch. And like the potent liquor, she went straight to his head.
She fisted her hands in the front of his shirt.
He wasn’t sure if she was trying to pull him closer or push him away. When he lifted his head, they were both gasping for breath.
“What are we doing, Vincent?”
He shook his head. “Damned if I know.” But he also wasn’t about to stop. He cupped her face in his hands and stared into her deep blue eyes. “I missed you, Esme.” He’d never had any trouble keeping an emotional distance with other women, but doing that was impossible with Esme. They shared a past. Knew one another in ways no one else ever had.
But that was long ago.
“You don’t have a boyfriend, do you?” She definitely didn’t have a husband. He’d have heard about that at the local diner for sure.
She shook her head. “No. No boyfriend.”
“Good.” He captured her mouth and kissed her. He didn’t want to talk. He’d waited years to feel this way again. His chest swelled, and his jeans grew uncomfortably tight. But he was in no hurry. Like a kid at Christmas, he’d been patient, and now the time to come to open his present, to get his reward.
She looked fresh as a spring flower in the dress she wore. The garment was soft yellow and had pretty red flowers splashed over it. Her dark brown hair had been longer when they’d dated. Now it was cut into a short style that emphasized her high cheekbones and golden-brown eyes. She looked classy, but then she always had.
He could clean the grease from under his fingernails and pull on a sport coat when the occasion called for it, but he’d never be at home in a suit. His lack of “class” had never bothered him before. He was comfortable with who he was. But Esme always looked put-together, taking care with her appearance. But for all that, she wasn’t the least bit vain.
He went to put his hands on her but pulled them away and stepped back. “I’ll get your dress dirty.” He worked hard for a living and loved what he did, but there was no denying it was messy.
She reached out and ran her fingertips down the front of his shirt. His abs tightened, and his jeans felt as though they’d shrunk a size in the last five seconds.
“I don’t mind a little grease.”
If he was a better man, maybe he’d walk away. But h
e was a fighter. Always had been. He wasn’t afraid of a challenge, and he went after what he wanted. And what he wanted more than anything else in the world was Esme.
He wrapped one arm around her and yanked her closer. “Be very sure, Esme.” His voice was rough with need.
She swallowed, her delicate throat rippling. “I’m sure.”
He didn’t kiss her. He devoured her. Like a man who’d wandered a desert for a decade who’d finally found water. That’s what she was to him. Vital. Necessary.
He knew he should at least take her upstairs to his apartment and his king-size bed, but he couldn’t wait. His hands were shaking as he undid the four buttons that held the top of her dress together. When they finally parted, he pulled back so he could see what he’d uncovered.
Her bra was as red as the flowers on her dress. The lacy confection was molded to her soft breasts. He ran his finger along the edge. She shivered at his touch. Her nipples were visible so he brushed his thumbs over them.
“Vincent.”
He loved the sound of his name on her lips.
He put his hands on her waist and lifted.
She sighed and immediately wrapped her legs around him.
He buried his face between her breasts and inhaled her sweet scent. She might have changed some in looks, become even more beautiful—if such a thing was even possible—but her scent was still the same. The rich smell of vanilla surrounded him. The scent always reminded him of her to the point where he’d get hard walking into a bakery.
He ran his tongue over her lace-covered nipple, drawing a broken cry. His blood rushed through his body, the pulsing sound a roar in his ears. He had to see her.
Vincent pressed her back against the wall. With her legs wrapped around his waist, her mound rubbed against his erection. He was as hard as the cinder block wall behind her.
He shoved his hands inside the opening of her dress and pushed the colorful material down her arms and off. The top of her dress pooled around her waist. Then he reached around, unhooked her bra, and carefully drew it away, leaving her naked from the waist up.
Her breasts were full and firm. He’d dreamed about them for years, but the reality was far better than memory could ever hope to be. He covered them with his hands and took a deep breath, struggling for some kind of control.
She squirmed against him and then began to tug on his T-shirt. “Take it off,” she ordered. Esme seemed determined to blow any semblance of control out of the water.
He leaned back, pressing his cock more snuggly against her mound. “Yes, ma’am.” He whipped the shirt over his head and tossed it aside.
She made a small purring sound and ran her hands over his shoulders and down his arms.
He rubbed his chest against hers. Her taut nipples poked against his skin, and the soft mounds of her breasts pillowed against his harder muscles.
Vincent ran his hand up her left thigh and under the skirt of her dress. She wasn’t wearing stockings, so all he encountered was warm, smooth skin. The tips of her manicured fingernails dug into his biceps.
He didn’t stop but kept going until he encountered her panties. The material felt the same as her bra. He’d bet a week’s pay they were the same red color. His cock was on the verge of exploding.
He dipped his fingers beneath the elastic at the top of her thigh and found her wet and ready.
Esme was afraid she was going to come, and she didn’t want to do that. Not yet. Not until Vincent was inside her. God, she loved his hands. They were strong and calloused and just a little rough when he touched her.
He’d always made her feel like she was the sexiest woman in the world. That hadn’t changed. The wall was hard and cool against her back, and he was hard and hot against her front. The contrast was delicious.
She didn’t care that they were in a garage, the smell of oil and gasoline permeating the air, and bright industrial lights blazing down on them. All she cared about was Vincent.
She sucked in a breath when he pushed his fingers beneath her panties and stroked her. Her sex clenched so hard it was almost painful. “Vincent.” She could hardly believe she was here with him. It had been so long.
He pushed one long, thick finger inside. “You’re so fucking hot.” He nuzzled her neck before kissing a path up to her ear.
She hunched her shoulders, making him laugh.
“Ears still sensitive, Esme?” he teased.
He knew darn well they were. Most women found pleasure having their breasts stroked. While she enjoyed it, her ears were her big hot spot. And Vincent, the devil, knew it.
He caught the lobe between his teeth and tugged. Her inner muscles clamped down on the finger he had inside her. He laughed, and then used the tip of his tongue to tease the sensitive whorls of her ear. She went wild, bucking against him.
He shoved his hand more fully beneath her panties.
She heard a rip but didn’t care, because his hand was covering her mound, and his thumb rubbed her clitoris.
Years had passed since she’d felt like this—alive and passionate. She wanted to savor it, but her body had other ideas.
He withdrew his finger almost all the way before pushing it back inside.
She came in an explosion of passion that rocked her to her very core. Shivering, she shook and clung to Vincent.
She didn’t realize she was crying until he kissed her cheek and licked away one of her tears.
“Don’t cry, baby. Did I hurt you?”
The concern in his voice made her heart ache. She shook her head. “No, it’s just been a while.”
He smiled then, a smug male smile that she couldn’t even get mad about. He’d made her come faster than a rocket on the Fourth of July. He slipped his hand out of her torn panties, and she immediately missed his touch.
He secured one hand beneath her butt and the other around her back. Then he turned with her held snugly in his arms.
She leaned against him, trusting him not to drop her. She thought he’d carry her upstairs, but he only took a few steps and sat her down on the bonnet of a Dodge Charger. She didn’t know much about cars, but she recognized this one.
“Yours?” It seemed unlikely, but it looked a lot like the old secondhand one he’d bought when he was a senior in high school, only a much-better version.
“Yeah. Restored it.”
She should feel silly sitting on the hood of a car with her dress around her waist and her bra somewhere on the concrete floor, but this was Vincent. She’d never felt shy around him like she always had with other men.
She took her time and enjoyed the view of his bare chest. His pecs were defined, his abs rippled like corrugated steel. He had a dragon tattooed on one bicep and a military tattoo on the other. She ran her hands up his smooth stomach, not stopping until she linked them around his neck. She pulled him down and kissed him.
What they were doing was crazy, but she didn’t care. She had to have him. He leaned over her, planting his hands on either side of her. She let her hands trail down his shoulders. His skin was warm and supple, the muscles beneath hard and firm.
She kept on exploring until she reached the button on his jeans. In a heartbeat, she had it open and the zipper down. He sucked in a breath but didn’t do anything to stop her. He pulled back from the kiss and lowered his head, dragging in a huge lungful of air.
She shoved his pants and his underwear out of her way. His cock sprang free and into her waiting hand. She closed her fingers around him, loving the hard throbbing heat. He was long and thick, the broad flared head damp from his arousal. Blue veins pulsed up and down the turgid length.
“Fuck, Esme, that feels good.”
He cupped her breasts and teased her nipples with his thumbs.
His touch momentarily distracted her. But she’d waited a long time to touch him again and wasn’t about to waste the opportunity.
She pushed her free hand into the opening of his pants and cupped the heavy sac between his legs. It was firm and full.
He gave a rough growl and pressed a kiss to her neck just below her ear. “I’ll come if you keep that up,” he told her.
She shivered, loving his honesty. Vincent was sexual and earthy, and he brought out that side of her. “I don’t mind.”
He flicked her ear with the tip of his tongue, and her pussy spasmed. “I mind,” he whispered. “I want to be buried balls deep when you come. I want you to squeeze my dick so tight I’ll beg for mercy.”
She was breathing so hard she was almost hyperventilating. She released him, and then lay back on the gleaming black hood of the car, the same one they’d made love in all those years ago. The metal was cool, and she arched her back against the chill. “What are you waiting for?”
He swore and shoved up the skirt of her dress. Her panties were already torn, but he finished them off, ripping them in his haste to have them gone. Her shoes had already fallen off at some point.
Vincent wrapped his hands around her ankles and slid them upward.
She sucked in a breath when he passed her knees and stopped breathing altogether when he reached the top of her thighs.
He slowly pushed them open, all the while keeping his gaze locked on hers.
She gasped and came up on her elbows, watching as he pressed the flared head of his shaft against her opening.
“I’m clean,” he told her. “I always wear a condom.”
“Me, too.” When he raised his brows, she laughed and added, “I’ve always made sure condoms were used.” She didn’t want to talk about past lovers, and from the frown on his face, Vincent didn’t want to discuss them either.
He surged forward. The fit was a tight squeeze. He was big, and she hadn’t had a lover in quite some time. Her inner muscles rippled around him. He was relentless and didn’t stop until his balls were resting against her.
Esme was overwhelmed by all the sensations bombarding her. And not just the physical ones but the emotional ones as well. This was Vincent, the boy she’d once loved, the man she feared she still did.
“Esme.” He placed his hands on the car and leaned over her, forcing her to lay flat again. He was buried deep inside her, pulsing and hot, stretching her to accommodate him.
Blue Collar (A Boys Behaving Badly Anthology Book 2) Page 9
