by Lacey Black
“Jeez, that’s…descriptive. Anyway, we’re just not there yet.”
“That’s okay, Lex. Not everyone has to be a hobag like Payton here and sleep with the guy on the first night,” Jaime chimes in.
“Don’t get me started, hussy,” Payton retorts goodheartedly.
My sisters continue talking about sex, but my attention falls on the end cap I stopped in front of. I didn’t even realize I was looking at the display until this moment. A wide smile crosses my face as I grab two of everything here and throw it in the cart. Jaime glances my way, giving me a questioning look, and I just shrug.
Two little heathens are going to love this stuff.
* * *
It’s Christmas Eve when my phone rings. I took the afternoon off so I could get ready for dinner at Dad’s house tonight. Most of my clients are getting ready for their own Christmas gatherings anyway.
I’m stunned silent as I listen to my attorney share his news, a weird sense of relief washing over me. I don’t even remember writing down the information and dates he provides, but after I hang up my cell phone, I look down and find the notes I took. Gazing down at the details, I let out a squeal and hug that piece of paper to my chest.
Grabbing my purse and making sure that I have my keys, I fly out the door, heading towards the door of a big source of comfort and companionship. A sudden pang of sadness fills my gut when I realize that I’m not standing in front of my twin’s door. Instead, I’m about to knock on Linkin’s apartment, eager to share my good news with the man who is quickly becoming a great friend.
More than a friend.
Is this what Abby felt when she went all-in with Levi? A weird sense of happiness mixed with sadness? I’m excited for this budding new relationship I have (even if it’s still in the non-sexual stage), but also a little dejected that my twin sister isn’t my go-to person.
In the last week, we’ve spent every spare minute together. Well, as much as we can in between his two jobs, my job, him helping his mom with his brothers, and pre-holiday gatherings around town, which really isn’t that much time. But we’ve talked on the phone, texted throughout the day, and had a couple of late dinners while he was watching Jeff and Jack.
My knock goes unanswered, and sadness sweeps in. Should I go across the hall? I know Abby is there and would be tickled to hear my news. Hell, she’d probably start pouring the margaritas, ensuring we were heading full-steam ahead into sloshed before Christmas Eve appetizers.
But this is something I want to share with Linkin first.
So with my keys in hand, I head down towards my car. I know he’s off tonight from Lucky’s, which means he can only be at one place. With my purse thrown onto the passenger seat, I start my car and head out of the parking lot, my foot a little heavy on the gas.
The closed sign is showing as I pull into the parking lot for Stapleton Auto. Disappointment starts to settle into my stomach as I steer my car to the side lot to turn around. But as I round the building, I see his old Blazer parked by a door marked for employees. Without allowing myself any time to reconsider, I park next to his truck and turn off the engine.
The late afternoon air has a salty chill as it blows off the Bay and it has me pulling my sweater a little tighter around my neck. When I reach the door, I contemplate knocking, but decide on just trying the handle, since he could be working on something that’s loud. Of course, startling him if he’s distracted probably isn’t the way to go either.
I opt to try the handle first, deciding to knock if the door is locked. A smile graces my lips when I realize the door is unlocked. As I pull it open, classic rock music filters through the open door, instantly reminding me of the night he stripped to the old Warrant song.
“Hello?” I holler as I step inside, the heavy door slamming shut angrily behind me.
The shop is large with car parts and tools of all sizes scattered around. There’s a newer Mustang stripped down to primer in one bay and a Honda Accord with damage to the front end in another. What pulls my attention now is the sleek, sexy, and oh so dangerous Plymouth Hemi Cuda in the center of the room.
I think I’m in love.
“Can I help you?” I hear over the music just before a creeper rolls out from beneath the Cuda.
I’m struck speechless at the sight of him. He looks utterly edible in his tight t-shirt streaked with dirt and grease, well-worn jeans with grimy handprints on the thighs, and a pair of heavy black work boots that look like they’ve seen better days. But what holds my attention now is that little sliver of stomach that’s teasing me, enticing me, with its taut, tanned skin and dark little happy trail.
Oh, that delicious little happy trail.
“Hey,” he says, humor laced in his greeting.
“Oh. Hey.” I lift my gaze to land on his smiling face, a streak of grease swept across his cheek, just above his beard. Linkin wipes his hands on a red shop towel, that cocky smile ever present. My sights return to the car behind him, my fingers twitch to touch its powerful lines and sexy curves. “She’s gorgeous,” I say, unable to stop myself as I run my fingers along the hood.
“That she is.” Linkin stands up and stretches his arms above his head. I’m rewarded with another mouthwatering and panty-melting view of his stomach. This time, I catch a glimpse of that delectable V that starts at his hips and stretches downward towards his groin.
Oh, how I’d love to get an up-close, maybe even hands-on, view of that V.
“What brings you here on Christmas Eve?” he asks, grabbing a bottle of water from the counter and drinking almost half of it in one long pull. The way his throat muscles work and his Adam’s apple bobs lulls me into some sex-crazed frenzy that makes me want to hump his leg like a dog and pant like I’m in heat.
It’s embarrassing.
“Lexi?” he asks, his eyebrows shooting skyward, the corner of his lip curving upward.
“Oh! Sorry,” I reply, feeling slightly embarrassed. “So, my attorney called me just a bit ago. He had great news and I needed to share it with someone, so I thought I’d stop by and see what you were doing.” I hope I sound more casual than I do in my own head. I also don’t mention the fact that I bypassed my own sister’s apartment just so I could tell my big news to Linkin first.
“Well, you found me working on this beauty,” he says, wiping speckles of dust off the headlight.
“She is gorgeous,” I answer, unable to stop touching the car. “A 1970 Hemi Cuda with a 440 V-8 big block engine.”
“God, you’re sexy as fuck when you talk car,” he says, his voice deep and dirty. This voice draws my attention and makes me smile.
Suddenly, he’s close. I look up and find his hungry eyes devouring me, a look of longing written on his face. The scent of his soap mixed with the greasy environment tickles my senses, a smell that’s distinctly associated with Linkin.
He gazes down at me, our bodies mere inches away from each other. I can feel his warm exhale kissing my forehead with each breath he takes. “You were saying? Earlier? The attorney?”
“Oh! Yes, my attorney called me, and guess what?” I don’t even wait for him to reply. “Chris signed the papers!” I squeal loudly, grabbing onto his forearms for leverage as I jump up and down.
Or maybe I’m just using it as an excuse to touch him again.
“Hey, that’s great,” Linkin says moments before wrapping his big arms around me and squeezing. The hug feels amazing, comforting and familiar.
And I never want it to end.
Until his lips are on mine, and suddenly, I never want this to end.
My arms wrap around his neck and I hold on tight. When he picks me up and my feet start to dangle, I do the most natural instinctive action I can: wrap my legs around his waist. His tongue is swift and hot as he explores my mouth and strokes my own tongue. I purr like a cat, feeling the groan vibrating in my chest.
Turning, Linkin positions me until I’m sitting on the fender, my legs still
wrapped tightly around his waist. “My God, I love kissing you,” he whispers against my lips.
“I love it when you kiss me.”
“When is it final?” he asks, trailing tantalizing kisses down my throat and towards my collarbone. Shivers of lust rake through my body.
“Huh?” I ask, still focused on the way his lips graze against my skin, leaving a raging fire in its wake.
“The divorce,” he whispers, placing opened mouthed kisses down to where my sweater meets my cleavage.
“End of January. We go to… God, that feels so fucking amazing…court. Yeah, we go to court on January twenty-ninth. It’ll be final. Finally.”
“And I can finally have you,” he says, his hand sliding up my side, pushing my sweater as he goes.
“You can have me now,” I groan, my body flooded with the amazing sensation of his mouth. It makes me want his mouth other places.
But not yet.
Right now, I need one thing.
Ripping his shirt from within his pants, I push it up and grip the taut muscles of his chest, scratching at his skin with my nails to get as close as possible. Linkin grabs his shirt and pulls it over his head, exposing every muscle, ripple, and divot that God gave him. His body is simply amazing.
And I’ve only seen half of him.
Reaching for his belt, I start to pull at the leather. “What are you doing?” he asks, stalling his kisses and dropping his eyes to where my hands release the brown strap.
“Celebrating,” I answer, my green eyes meeting his brown ones. They’re dark and hot, and searching for the confirmation to his unspoken question. “Please.” My plea comes out just above a whisper, but it might as well have been yelled.
It only takes a few seconds for Linkin to understand. Quickly, he helps me up from the car to stand before him. With swift movements, he slides my sweater up and over my head, exposing my red satin bra. “My God, you are stunning,” he groans, rubbing his thumb over my nipples.
Before I can formulate any sort of response, his mouth descends on my chest, his big fingers moving my bra and exposing my sensitive breasts. The flash of cool air is quickly replaced by the warmth and wetness of his mouth. My fingers remove the belt and swiftly work at releasing the button and fly of his jeans.
Our hands are frantic as we help shed each other’s clothes. My ankle boots land somewhere in the garage, along with my jeans, panties, and bra. We don’t waste time removing his boots. Instead, I slide my hands along his hips, pushing his jeans and boxer briefs down as I go.
His cock is amazing. Long, hard, and throbbing in my hand. Just the way I’ve pictured it in my dreams. You know the ones where you wake up so wet and aroused you have no choice but to make yourself come in under five seconds? He flexes in my hand, his muscles tightening throughout his body as he releases a torturous groan of pleasure.
In one swift motion, I’m back in his arms and his lips lock on mine once more. The cold metal of the Hemi Cuda is shocking against my ass, but it’s nothing compared to the sensation of being possessed by Linkin Stone. My heart hammers in my chest and my body throbs with desire as he steps in close. So close, his cock is sandwiched between us.
His finger slides between my legs. “Fuck, you’re so wet,” he moans before his tongue delves back into my mouth. Gently, he pushes one finger inside of me, quickly followed by two. The stretch is almost a burn, but the discomfort is nothing compared to the overwhelming need to have him fill me.
“You sure?” he asks, giving me one last chance to stop this.
But there’s no way in hell I’m stopping this. If it were to come to an end before we ever really get started, I might actually die. You know, drop dead from lack of orgasm. And something tells me an orgasm administered by the massive cock of Linkin Stone’s is something to write romance books about.
“Yes. Very sure. So sure that there’s nothing I want more than you, right now.” My voice is breathy, my words choppy, but I think he gets my point.
With one thrust, he’s there, filling me completely. I cry out in both pleasure and a little in pain. It’s been months since I’ve had sex, and I had started to wonder if maybe AJ was right. If you don’t use it, it closes shut.
Linkin stills within me, his breathing labored and the muscles of his back and shoulders tight with tension. “Okay?” he asks, searching my face for signs of my discomfort to ease.
“More,” I instruct, the slight burn already turning to incredible pleasure.
You don’t have to tell him twice.
He slowly eases out, our gazes locked, as he pistons his hips and slams into me. Again, I cry out, this time in complete pleasure. My ankles are locked around his waist as he sets a bruising pace, filling me wholly, over and over again.
All I can do is hang on and enjoy the ride.
Get it?
Car humor.
I have no time to enjoy my dirty pun because I’m quickly racing towards an orgasm. My nails dig into the hardness on his upper back and I hang on for dear life. Linkin grunts as I leave my mark on his sweaty skin. The orgasm tears through me like a jolt from a live wire, alive and free. I fly over the edge, blinding white light clouding my vision.
Linkin pounds into me once, twice, three more times before stilling. He grunts and groans his release, grinding his pelvis against my throbbing clit. The friction sends me soaring into a second orgasm. Linkin rides out my second release, rubbing and grinding against me until we’re a mix of heavy breathing and sweaty limbs.
“Fuck,” he groans slowly, running his nose against my neck.
“You could say that again.”
“Fuck,” he mimes and I feel the smile against my skin.
“Already done that.”
He pulls back, gazing down into my eyes. There’s a mixture of emotions I’m not ready to diagnose shining back in those dark chocolate eyes. My fingers twitch to touch him, so I take a long, leisurely path of running my hands up his torso, his neck, until I’m caressing his jaw. The beard is prickly, and it makes me wonder what it would feel like on a more sensitive area. My thighs clench.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks, tenderly stroking my neck with the pads of his long fingers.
“Your beard,” I answer honestly, loving the feel of it against my hands. “I bet it’ll leave marks on my thighs.”
Linkin laughs as his lips find mine once more. The kiss is slow, sensual, and starts to spark to life my under-used libido. “That could be arranged,” he quips, nibbling on my swollen lower lip.
He pulls back more, looking down to where our bodies are still joined. “Shit, I didn’t use anything,” he says before meeting my eyes once more.
“It’s okay. I’m clean. It’s actually been quite a while for me, and I’ve only been with Chris for seven years.” Linkin tenses when I say my soon-to-be ex-husband’s name.
“I’m clean too,” he confirms. “And I always use condoms.”
Our gazes remained locked and I can feel so many unspoken emotions bubbling to the surface. I wasn’t expecting to feel anything for anyone so quickly after leaving my husband. Is this too soon after coming out of a long-term relationship? Or is there more here?
Linkin slowly eases his body from within mine, warmth and wetness spilling out. He reaches over and grabs a clean shop towel from the pile beside the Cuda. With delicate movements, he tenderly cleans me up before tending to himself.
When he’s finished, those dark eyes find mine once more. My heart is pounding in my chest and I can’t help but reach for him. I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him against me, skin on skin. My legs encase him, loving the way the scratchy coarseness of his legs feel against the smoothness of mine.
I ease him forward until our lips meet in another slow, tantalizing kiss. He explores my mouth, dipping his tongue into each recess and sliding it gently against mine. “I could kiss you all day,” he whispers, barely breaking the kiss.
“That sounds lik
e an amazing day,” I reply, my hands sliding over his shoulders and onto his upper back. Linkin winces. “What?” I ask, pulling back.
“I think a tiger got a hold of me,” he says with a smile and a wink.
Moving his big body isn’t an easy task, especially while sitting atop a classic muscle car, but when I finally get him to turn, I see exactly what he was referring to. “Oh my God, did I do that?” I gasp, taking in the angry red lines that resemble claw marks.
“Fuck yes, you did. I wouldn’t trade those war wounds for anything,” he chides, spinning back around and wrapping his arms around me. “Those scratches I wear like a badge of honor.”
“You’re weird.”
“Maybe,” he says, placing a chaste kiss on my lips. “We should get dressed. I’m pretty sure that door over there isn’t locked.”
Well, isn’t that a pleasant thought. Anyone could have walked in and seen me getting the ride of my life on the hood of a freaking car. Awesome.
Linkin helps me down from the car before lifting his pants, which are still gathered around his ankles. Without even buttoning them, he works quickly to gather my clothes. I’m securing my bra when I feel his eyes on me. He’s fully dressed, watching me as I fasten the bra around my chest.
Suddenly, he’s moving.
I’m wrapped up in his arms once again, our lips hungry and urgent. The kiss goes on forever, or maybe that’s just wishful thinking?
Eventually, I pull back, gasping for air. “We really should get going,” I tell him, my hand resting over his chest where I feel his heart pounding and his lungs working frantically to pull in oxygen.
“Where are we going?”
“My dad’s. It’s Christmas Eve.” Linkin stares at me, one dark eyebrow raised high. “I want you to come to my family’s dinner tonight. Lots of laughs, some cards, probably some really gross PDA from my grandparents. It’ll be fun.”
He seems to struggle with saying yes, glancing between the car, his watch, and me. “Mrs. Case is going to be here in about thirty minutes to pick up the car. She bought it for her husband for Christmas.”
