by Stahl, Shey
I also knew that even though he was out there, he needed to eat. So I stopped by the store, picked up some food intending to cook for him.
His sprint car shop for JAR Racing (his sprint car team that he started) was located about a mile from his parent’s house and five miles from the new house on Lake Norman. It was around twenty four thousand square feet with white walls, red and black trim and the JAR Racing logo in the center of the concrete floor surrounded by a pair of checkered flags.
Don’t think I didn’t already imagine what my ass would look like sitting on it.
I must have walked right past Jameson leaned against his tool box near the wall when I heard that smooth rasp on the phone with whom I assumed was his grandpa. Grandpa Casten was a crazy old man with a nasty temper much like any Riley, who built all the race engines for both JAR Racing and Riley-Simplex Racing, the Winston Cup team. Engines were extremely expensive so it paid having family in the process. And for a new team on both sides, it was what kept them going. That and a brand new engine runs $75,000 - $80,000, and you take around four to each track, you get deals where you get them.
Some teams even went the route of leasing engines to the tune of $45,000 apiece. Currently there were five World of Outlaw teams and nine Winston Cup teams leasing from CST Engines. They were good and knew how to build strong engines.
“We have too much lift and not enough clearance. They’ll need to have pistons fly cut or we have to run a different cam.” Jameson said to him.
Most thought Jameson was just a driver. They were wrong. He knew everything about sprint cars from the setups to the engines and could build one from the ground up if needed. Though he was still learning with stock cars, he’d picked up enough that he knew what the car was doing and how to make it do what he wanted.
Jameson turned sharply when he heard the click of my flip flops hitting the heel of my feet as I walked closer.
My eyes caught his. He smirked shifting his position against the tool box to appear more relaxed. The phone rested against his shoulder as he scribbled notes across a note pad laying on his toolbox.
Dressed comfortably in loose khaki shorts and a Simplex polo shirt, he looked tempting.
I waited patiently for him to hang up but it wasn’t like his engine talk wasn’t turning me on.
“Grandpa,” Jameson sighed tossing his pen aside. “The cam is .499 intake with .520 exhaust and 1.6 rockers.” He picked up the pen and jotted down a few things before tossing it again. “We’re gonna have a spring bind problem.”
I lost track of what he was saying because though he was talking to his grandpa, his grass green eyes never left mine. “Just make the changes. Fine...tell nana I love her...yes...of course I want cookies. All right...love you too, jerk.”
When he cleared his throat, I spoke. “I came to offer food.”
His eyes flashed with humor as a smile lit up his face. “Is that so?” he asked with a certain sparkle.
He moved from his position near the toolbox to stand over an engine block that was open. Somehow my feet moved and I too, was standing over the engine.
Jameson slid a black plastic glove on his right hand. His eyes moved over my body slowly as though he was memorizing it. I shifted uncomfortably under his gaze feeling exposed.
“I need to get this camshaft in.” he said moving closer yet again.
“What’s all this?” I motioned to the engine. “Why are you doing this?”
“Grandpa needed some help this morning.” He perked up at the idea of engine building. “I’m installing the camshaft. Would you like to watch?”
I felt moisture seep down my thighs at the thought.
And then he began the most erotic engine slang I had ever heard from him.
“I’ve already installed the camshaft bearings, prepping them with assembly lube.” Jameson ran his gloved finger over the opening in the block back and forth provocatively. “Now, you take the camshaft,” he chuckled deeply, holding the long piece of metal in his hands. To tease me further, he stroked the lobes once and I elbowed him, his eyes brows raised as he giggled. Yep, he giggled.
“You should do a proper cleaning of all the journals and lobes, which I’ve done already. Then you spread lube over the distributor driver gear and all the lobes of the camshaft. It’s messy, so you start with the gear and the first four lobes at the rear of the cam.” He whispered, moving closer. “Then you spread some Molly lube on the two rear journals and insert the cam in the block slowly until you can leave it hanging on those last two journals. That way, the next four lobes of the cam are easily assessable for greasing. Each lobe needs to be fully coated.”
I had to physically block the neurons firing in my head to just lay myself over this goddamn engine and have him coat me in Molly lube, whatever the hell that was.
He stared down at me, the knowing smirk growing. “It’s really messy but if you lube all the journals first and then try to insert, your hands will slip off so it’s best to go a little at time.”
Just before the cam was inserted all the way, his eyes found mine. “Would you like to help with insertion?” he asked raising an eyebrow and then raising his shirt to sweep across his forehead. Though I took comfort in the fact he was just as worked up, it still wasn’t much consolation.
I drew in a breath that sounded like a wind tunnel as I stared at the cam.
“I’ll take that as a no.” he chuckled. “When you get to the end, you grab the camshaft with one hand and then reach inside the block and feed the rest through.” His hand reached over the top of the block feeding the camshaft through. I watched intently as his forearms flexed with the controlled movement.
“If you leave the cam plug out, you can ease the last few inches in easier. Then you put the upper gear on,” he bolted the gear on, “and your cam is ready to go, fully lubricated and spinning smoothly.” His wrist flicked the gear once spinning it. “See, perfect.”
I think he knew he’d gotten me but he was quick to add, “Was it as good for you as it was for me?”
Next thing I knew, we were knocking over tools, parts and using a sprint car for balance.
“Cars again?” I let a little giggle slip.
“Hmmm...yes, cars again.” His teeth did that nipping thing I loved so much. “Sprint cars. I hope you stretched.”
Hot damn.
“Mmm sprint cars.” I pointed to the floor. “Is that oil on the floor? Don’t slip in that.”
“I won’t slip in the oil.” His hands moved to my face searching for my lips.
“Be careful, you’re not paying attention.” I looked around the shop. There were tools, tires, hoses, and oil scattered throughout. “I just don’t want you to hurt yourself.”
“I won’t slip in the oil,” his hands once again, forced my attention back to him. “now you...pay attention.”
“Pay attention? Not possible, not when you...oh god...do that again...oh my...” Just as I was about to see stars, he was gone. “Hey what happened? Are you okay down there?”
“I slipped in the oil.”
I started to turn around to see if he was truly okay but he pressed me hard against the rear tire of his sprint car, my bare ass on cool rubber.
“What’s going on down there?” I noticed he wasn’t quite as, shall I say hard as before.
Jameson shrugged his eyes wary. “It’s cold in here. He’s shy.”
It was freezing in here. That was no lie. My nipples could cut through an iceberg. These days, they did that a lot.
“Shy you say?”
“Yes, shy.” The wary eyes dropped. “I just slipped trying to be sexy. He needs his ego stroked.”
“Stroked?” I reached between my legs where he was knelt, running my hand from the tip to base, he hardened further with a groan. “That kind of stroking?”
“Yes, stroking...good.”
My foot slipped against the oil pan, spraying oil against us.
“Fuck...that stings,” Jameson’s hand flew to his eyes.<
br />
“What stings?”
“Oil...in my eye. I can’t see now...there seems to be three of you.”
“Aim for the one in the middle.” I mumbled guiding his face to mine.
Thoughts of the oil spill were fleeting as he slipped inside with an oil slick of my own. It should have hurt. There I was sitting on the edge of a rubber tire as my dirty heathen pushed against me and oh was he dirty...and I mean actually dirty.
His hands were covered in grease, oil and god knows what else which in turn was now all over me. I looked like I was trying to disguise myself for battle.
“I came here to tell you I was going to make you breakfast.” I said trying to reason with myself as to why I was now spread out, once again, on a car, except this time it was a sprint car.
“Don’t distract me with food.” He warned. “Can you stick your leg on my shoulder?” Jameson reached for the hem of his t-shirt yanking it over his head in one quick movement. His muscles flexed moving closer. The bruises from his healed ribs were beginning to turn yellow although new bruises formed along his right side from his brawl with Mike.
I placed my leg on his shoulder, my foot rested against his neck as he spread my legs out in front of him.
“No talking eh? I think a little dirty talking is good sometimes. It’s a good distraction.”
“Don’t test me, honey.” He removed my hands from the tire and placed them against the wing above me. “You might want to hold on.”
“I make a bitchin omelet.”
“Omelets, really?” he groaned picking up the other foot and placing it on his shoulder. He then placed both of them together against his right shoulder. His hands wrapped around my hips pulling me toward him. “I love omelets.”
“I know you do.”
“How’s that...does it feel good?”
“Good...yes...very good.”
“Very good?”
“Amazing, back to the omelet,”
“You really want to talk about omelets when I’m fucking you against my sprint car? Because if you keep that up, I’ll be forced to fight dirty,”
“Dirtier than this?” My fingers swept down his greasy forearms and chest shuddering at the sight.
“You have no idea what I’m capable of. I haven’t even begun to show you everything I’ve dreamed of doing in this shop.” He reached for an air socket next to his bare foot, thrusting harder but keeping the air socket in his hand. Carefully he drew the cool metal of the socket up my thigh he was holding firmly against his chest. “You were saying?”
“I surrender.” I shivered. “Just fuck me already.”
I had no idea what he planned to do with an air socket and I wasn’t so sure I wanted to find out.
“Omelet for me?” He threw the socket down.
“Yes, yes, yes.”
“That’s right...omelet for me,” he bent forward and kissed down my calf. “Fuck that’s tight.”
Jameson pulled back and then pushed forward again, groaning as he did so. “Careful, don’t get tangled on that hose.”
“Hose...” he smirked. “I’ll show you a hose.”
“I’m serious. Your foot is caught in it. Just here...move...do that.”
“No, no...don’t...that...”
We landed together on the floor. “What happened to you?”
“I slipped on the hose.” I wiggled my hips reaching for him.
“I’ve got your hose.”
“Yes you do...now stop talking and fuck me,” he growled his feet rested flat on the floor pushing his hips up.
Throwing my head back and moaning like a whore, I rode my dirty talking heathen.
“Fuck that’s good.”
“You like that don’t you, honey.” Jameson grinned with a smug wink. His loops of hair were in complete disarray from the oil and his face smudged with grease.
“Yes...so good.” I speed my movements chasing the release I needed after all that teasing.
“Ah...shit...honey I’m...slow down.” His tone guttural as he tried to halt my movements but as soon as those words left his beautiful lips, I was falling; falling hard as my orgasm ravaged me, my hips rocking back and forth. His hands dug into my hips, bruising my skin, keeping me in place now.
He wasn’t done with me yet.
Flipping me over, he nudged my knees apart almost carelessly, my back pressed to the hard, cool concrete floor of the shop. His eyes burned into me as he dragged his fingertips from my mouth, down the center of my body, between my breasts. His paced quickened as he raced toward his own release.
Groaning into my ear, I could feel him shivering and pulsing inside of me, his back arching at the force as he chanted my name. Our cries of pleasure filled the four thousand square foot shop.
It took a while to be able to move again and figure out what body part could move in what direction without pulling a muscle or dislocating something.
“Why are you crawling?” I laughed watching him. “What’s wrong with you?”
“I don’t think I can actually stand at this point. I have no bodily fluids left; therefore, I’m too dehydrated to walk. I crawl instead.”
“You weren’t complaining earlier.” I pointed out still watching his crawl.
“Well no, you promised me an omelet.” He looked back at me. “Don’t forget that part.”
“Yes. Omelet. I shall cook now.”
I helped Jameson up and made it back toward the kitchen.
How many race shops had kitchens in them? Only Jameson would do something like that but it was handy for me.
The rest of the afternoon Jameson worked on his sprint cars. It seemed to provide a good distraction for him. We both knew what was waiting for him once he returned to the track.
His distractions got the best of him and we soon found ourselves paying Emma back for the cougar in the hospital. Like I said, Jameson with free time wasn’t looking good for Emma.
We had a plan, only our plan went haywire somewhere along the way.
“Don’t touch that.” Slapping my hand away from the electronic tarantula, he glared. “Leave it alone.”
“Why not?” I placed it back on the ground pushing back away from him, resting my head against Emma’s wooden bed frame.
There we were, dressed in our black hoodies again, pranking Emma.
“It’s perfect the way it is.” He told me. “Don’t touch it.”
“Do you really think this is going to work?”
His eyebrow arched. “Don’t question my skills, Sway.” His expression was total disgust that I would even think he didn’t have this all covered accordingly.
I shook my head in disbelief as he began crawling away on his hands and knees. “Why are you crawling again?”
Jameson looked over his shoulder. “Ambush 101,” and then the disbelief expression returned. “Have you no skills in this department?”
“What, did you take a class?”
He just grunted in reply.
I got down on my hands and knees to follow him. Strutting, I purposely tried to mess with his intensity. He deserved to be put in his place and it worked.
“All right...that’s hardly fair.” He growled scooping me inside Emma’s closet. “Here’s the plan.”
I giggled, the frivolous expression was back.
He glared of course when I let a squeaked giggle escape. “Pay attention...I can’t have you messing this up.”
“What the fuck?” I punched his thigh. “This was my idea, asshole.”
His frivolous expression suddenly turned curious when we heard laughter from downstairs.
“Shit...is Aiden with her?”
This was not going to turn out good, I knew that much.
For one, you could see in the room, directly to the bed.
Two, they sounded drunk.
And third, Emma drunk equals horny Emma. Funny, it seems to run in the family.
I turned my attention back toward Jameson.
“Don’t move and for shits sake,
don’t say anything.” I warned. “It was your idea to hide in the damn closet, remember that!”
A few things happened rather quickly.
Emma came into the room naked. Aiden followed, also naked. Jameson turned a bright shade of red.
Emma and Aiden started humping like porn stars and lastly, I giggled.
What was even funnier was Jameson tackling me to keep cover. How Emma and Aiden didn’t notice me giggling like a goon or the thuds of Jameson tackling me was unbelievable. The act itself lasted way longer than Jameson and I wanted.
“My god!” Jameson was mortified with the sounds of his baby sister mounting her cowboy. “Just stop already!” Whining to himself, he covered his ears, humming loudly, in attempt to drown out the horrific noise coming through the wall.
Again, how could they not hear that?
I used my only source of distraction I knew. I showed Jameson the swollen funbags.
“Aiden, not so hard,”
Jameson eyes shot to mine. “You have to be fucking kidding me?”
I couldn’t offer him anything at that point, as nothing would have helped. Even the funbags weren’t holding his attention. I had nothing left.
Another five excruciatingly long minutes later, the moaning and grunting reached a climax of epic proportions. I was actually surprised at how loud they were—as was Jameson.
His hands were covering his ears, his head buried in my lap as he hummed loudly.
Another five minutes later and at last, they were sound asleep. Jameson designated me with making sure Emma was covered before we snuck out. She was, so we made a mad dash for the hallway. We couldn’t go far, so we sat on the other side of the door, Jameson turned the spider on. “That was horrible.”
He was still cranky having heard that. Setting the mechanical spider on the hardwood floor, he laid on his stomach and then cracked the door to see inside the room. Getting the spider in the room was one thing; getting it on the bed was a whole other feat.
Once again, I had to go back in there. Crawling on my hands and knees, attempting to ease Jameson’s mood, I tossed the remote control spider on the bed.
“Did you turn it on?” he asked when I returned, panting. I was evidently extremely out of shape.
