Dirty Rescue

by Sadie May

  I try to think rationally. I try to make a pros and cons list. I try to logically assess the situation… but really, I’m in the back of a limo making out with two sexy studs I’ve been fantasizing about for nearly a year. There was no basis of comparison here, nothing to compare and contrast, no facts on which to make a judgement call.

  When push came to shove, it all came down to… feelings. Never my forte in the best of times, and right now? I have no idea what feelings I should trust.

  Dyce straightens on the bench seat beside me, his touch turning infinitely tender as he moves his hands up to cup my face. “You’re thinking too much, sweetheart.”

  I blink into his aggressively masculine face—a face that’s rugged and scarred but that’s looking at me now with such gentle tenderness it makes my heart clench.

  I feel a light kiss on my inner thigh, soft and sweet. Axle shifts back to better see me. “He’s right. You’re overthinking this. But that’s all right, we love that brain of yours. Isn’t that right, Dyce?”

  Dyce gives me a sexy lopsided grin in response.

  I can feel them backing away from me, giving me the time and space they think I need.

  No!

  Something primal and instinctive came to life inside me, and it’s screaming bloody murder at their retreat. That wild woman is alive and kicking… and I like it.

  “Don’t stop.” I surprise myself as much as them with my husky whisper. It hadn’t been me talking, it had been her. That part of myself I barely recognize. The part of me that had been relegated to slipping a hand under the blankets at night to ease the tension, the part of me that had spent months dreaming about doing something just like this but had never imagined it could actually come true.

  But now it was here—the fantasy come to life.

  After a moment of obvious shock, they quickly burst into action, their lips and their hands devouring me as I moan and writhe beneath their torturous touches. Axle gently nips at my thigh as Dyce pinches my nipples, kissing my neck and whispering deliciously sinful words in my ear.

  Then Axle finally, finally touches my aching pussy, his mouth clamping over my wet heat as his tongue licks and thrusts and drives me over the edge of sanity.

  “What do you think, sweetheart?” Dyce whispers in my ear as his best friend fucks me with his tongue. “Do you think you can take us both tonight?”

  I gasp for air, all logic long forgotten as Axle’s mouth and Dyce’s words speak directly to the primal part of me that has been craving this for longer than I can remember. Did I think I could fuck these two men tonight?

  “It would be a dream come true.”

  Two days earlier…

  This was quite possibly the worst day I’d had in years. First, my car wouldn’t start. Waiting on a cab made me late to work, and when I got here I immediately spilled coffee on my new shirt. And now?

  Well, now my boss had just given me the awesome news.

  I have to work this weekend.

  Hooray.

  As a second-year lawyer, working on the weekends isn’t new and it typically isn’t even an issue. I’m fairly new to the city so I don’t have a lot of friends and zero dating prospects.

  Who could date when they work around the clock?

  I honestly don’t mind working late nights or even the occasional weekend. I knew what I’d been signing up for when I started here. But what I do mind is working dinners with my client. Clint Fisher is the son of the CEO at Fisher Industries and he’s made himself my key contact as we work through the minutiae that’s involved in this complicated merger his company is undergoing.

  Like working weekends, I don’t particularly mind the grunt work. What I mind is having to do it with Clint. He always takes whatever opportunity he can to turn our work time into something more. Working dinners, work outings, work over drinks… you name it. Somehow working with Clint feels way more like dating than your average billable hour. He hasn’t actually done anything inappropriate—his advances always fall this side of decent. Nothing he does is outright sexual harassment, but he walks that line between flirting and joking, between comfortably friendly and too close for my liking.

  Mainly, he just gives me the creeps.

  But, since he’s never done anything inappropriate, and since he is the son of our biggest client, there’s little I can say now that won’t look like I’m just trying to get out of working on the weekend.

  So, despite the fact that my skin crawls at the thought of what lies in store, I manage a brisk nod for my boss, Garret.

  He dismisses me with a wave. Neither of us tends to be particularly chatty and we share a similar gravity, particularly when it comes to work. I appreciate that about him. A lot of the other lawyers—even some of the best in our office—tend to joke around too much or ask personal questions.

  I understand that many people hope to forge friendships in the workplace.

  I am not one of them. I don’t do friends.

  No, that’s not entirely true. I have friends I’ve accrued over a lifetime. I’m still great friends with my best friend from kindergarten, Jane, along with a handful of other close friends I’d garnered over the years. Not a lot, but I’m the type who prefers to have a small handful of good friends over dozens of friendly acquaintances.

  Needless to say, I suppose, I’m a bit of an introvert.

  I head back to my office and try to salvage my shirt with some more fruitless dabbing. It’s time to admit defeat. There’s no window in my office so yet again I’ve lost track of time. A quick glance at the clock shows that it’s quitting time. Actually, quitting time was a while ago, but I never keep traditional hours. Even when it’s not required, I tend to work longer hours than most.

  But today, I’m heading out at a semi-decent time because it’s now crucial that my car be in working order. If I have to meet up with Clint this weekend, there’s no way I’m leaving myself in a position where I’m at his mercy. If he got wind that my car was out of commission and that I intended to take a cab, I’d be in the uncomfortable position of having to accept or reject his offers for a ride home.

  And he would offer, of that I had no doubt.

  I grab my purse and head out, using an app to hail a cab as I do. For the first time in a long time, something else in my life takes precedence over work. I can hear my best friend Jane’s voice in my head. Will wonders never cease.

  She’s constantly on my case to stop working so much. To slow down and smell the roses. Or, as she puts it, “kick your feet back and enjoy a good lay.”

  Jane puts quite a bit of emphasis on sex in life. In her world, sex is as important as food and water.

  For me? Not so much.

  Of course, Jane argues that’s just because I’ve never had amazing sex.

  At this point in the argument, I typically roll my eyes and admit defeat. She’s right and she knows it, I’ve never had great sex. So that particular argument is difficult for me to combat. I’ve tried to explain that sex just isn’t a priority for me, and neither is love.

  But Jane is a romantic so trying to get her to understand that is difficult.

  Still, we’re best friends so it seems we rehash this argument on a monthly basis, at the very least. At some point perhaps she’ll agree to disagree, but knowing Jane, probably not.

  I’m just grateful she’s stopped trying to set me up on blind dates. I’m pretty sure she had to stop because she’s already set me up with all of her male friends. Until she found some new friends, I was in the clear.

  I have the taxi drop me off at the corner of my block. I live in a part of town that’s “up and coming.” What this means is that it’s mixed zoning, so it’s part residential and part industrial. Up until about five years ago it had been a dodgy area but recently it’s been getting a trendy upgrade, with organic coffee shops and art galleries popping up in between the old butcher shop and a new highrise.

  I’d been there long enough to miss the old neighborhood, though I couldn’t exact
ly complain at some of the new perks. I’ll admit it—I like my fancy coffee on Sundays.

  One of the older establishments is a garage on the end of the block. I pass this place at least twice a day, heading to the parking garage where I keep my car.

  My apartment building is not one of the fancy new ones that has a parking lot of its own so I shell out every month for the distinct pleasure of not having to circle around the block eight million times. Since I work such crazy hours, I don’t have time in my life to circle for parking. I’d rather pay, thank you very much.

  Plus, as a side benefit, walking to and from the parking garage gives me time to gawk.

  No, I’m not a creeper, but I am a red-blooded woman and, despite what Jane says when she’s teasing—I do so have a sex drive. I just choose not to let those primal instincts rule my life. We’re grown women, I like to remind Jane, not chimpanzees. We can determine our lives using logic and reason and not live our lives at the whims of hormones and the reptile portion of our brain.

  I don’t read sexy romance novels and I don’t watch porn… but I do get turned on. Regularly, in fact. How? By walking past the R&R Garage every day, twice a day. The guys who run the place are hotter than hot. Seriously, they look like action movie heroes, complete the with the big bulging biceps and the sweaty, grease-covered T-shirts that cling to sculpted pecs.

  These guys work crazy hours too. It seems they’re always working. No matter what hour I walk by, the doors are always up. They’re not always working on cars, but they’re there, in the garage. One or both.

  My favorite is when they’re both there. They complement one another so perfectly, it’s a visual feast. One tall, dark, and burly… and a little scary, to be honest. He always seems to be scowling, and on the odd occasion that our glances meet, I’m quick to look away from those harsh features and those cold blue eyes.

  His friend is the smiley one, with a leaner build and lighter brown hair. His brown eyes are warm and he always seems to be smiling or laughing. When he spots me walking past he gives a wave or a nod.

  I always look away. Not to be rude, just because… oh, I don’t know why. I guess I feel like I’ve been caught when they see me staring. Or maybe I get paranoid that they can see the effect they have on me.

  Maybe they can sense that I’m drinking them in so when I’m alone in my bed, I can call up their images. And that’s what I do. Every night.

  I told you, I have a sex drive. I have urges. I just handle them on my own. Me and my vibrator have a standing date every night and these guys? Well, I have a standing date with them too… they just don’t know it.

  I’m sure as far as fantasies go, mine are kind of humdrum. I’m the first to admit that I don’t have a lot of experience to draw on, and none of it is spectacular. Jane is right on that front… I’ve never had great sex. Hell, I don’t think I’ve even had good sex. The only orgasms I’ve had come from my handy vibrator and the only actual sex I’ve had was with my college boyfriend who didn’t like to have the lights on and had never heard of anything but the missionary position.

  Not that I’m well versed, but I’ve seen some sexy movies. I know there’s more to it. But still, knowing and being able to fully imagine it while lying in bed are two different things so my fantasies are about as exciting as my actual sex life. I go back and forth between the two in my daydreams—the big one will be fucking me against a car in the shop, for example, and then he leaves and the other takes over, bending me over the hood to finish me off.

  It’s not exactly wild and exciting as far as fantasies go but it never fails to get me off. Every single time.

  So now, as I get out of the cab and make my way to the shop, I nearly turn around and bolt. I can’t believe I’m actually going to talk to these guys. I can’t even make eye contact in passing, how the hell am I going to hold a conversation without my cheeks bursting into flames?

  Get a grip, Charlotte. I mentally scold myself for being ridiculous. I need a mechanic and these guys are literally on my block. They also have amazing reviews and reasonable fees—I checked. Not even sexy fantasies can change the fact that I’m a pragmatist through and through.

  The smiley one is there when I enter and I let out a sigh of relief. At least I got the less intimidating one. He smiles now as I approach the counter, where he’s doing something at the computer.

  “Well, well,” he says as I walk toward him. “Our dream girl finally stops to say hello.”

  I freeze midstep. Dream what now?

  Then his teasing grin hits me and my panties melt. I never knew that was a real thing before, but I swear to God, I am so fucking hot and wet, it feels like they’re going to melt in a puddle at my feet.

  His voice is low and he has this Southern twang that makes every word out of his mouth sound sexy. “What can we do for you?”

  I once again regain control of my legs and walk to the counter where he’s come to stand, leaning forward so that megawatt smile is aimed at me in full force. God, he has the sexiest grin. There’s something knowing about it. Not cocky, necessarily, but it’s confident and assured. Like he knows he’s hot as hell and he’s just fine with it.

  Like he knows that I give myself an orgasm every night thinking about him and he’s more than happy to make my dreams a reality.

  I give my head a shake. I’m being ridiculous. For all I know this guy has a girlfriend or a wife or something—although if he does, I can’t imagine when he sees her because he always seems to be here at the garage.

  He’s waiting for me to talk and I open my mouth to do just that. I’m a big girl, I can do this. I can handle a simple transaction with a man, sexy or not.

  But then the other one steps out from the office. He pauses in the doorway just behind the friendly one so they’re both there watching me. Waiting for me to speak. The big burly intimidating one hasn’t taken his eyes off me since he walked out of that office and I can feel his gaze on me, raking over my body, my face, taking in every detail with a quiet, intense focus.

  Being the object of that undivided attention is disarming. I’m not used to men looking at me like that.

  I’m not unattractive, I know that. But I don’t go out of my way to dress sexy or wear lots of makeup or anything. If anything, I sort of go out of my way to not draw attention to my looks. Life in a mostly male office tends to be easier if I’m not drawing unwanted attention.

  Too much time passes and I realize they’re still waiting for me to speak.

  The friendly one takes pity. Coming around the counter in his grease-stained overalls, he wipes his hands on a rag. “I hope we don’t make you nervous, sweetheart. We’ve been hoping to meet you for some time now but you always seem to be in a hurry.”

  I nod quickly. “Yes, I, uh—” Shit. It had never even occurred to me that they might acknowledge the fact that I pass by here every day. Somehow in my mind it’s me watching them. I never really thought that they paid me much mind. I wasn’t even sure they’d recognize me.

  I glance at the big one over smiley’s shoulder and bite my lip. “I’m always coming to or from work.” I give a helpless shrug. “Never much time to chat, I guess.”

  I’m rewarded by another slow, sexy grin from the nice one. The other one? Who the hell knows what he’s thinking. Despite the fact that it’s spring and not super hot yet, he’s wearing a cut-off T-shirt that reveals muscular arms—we’re talking major muscles, not the kind one typically sees in real life.

  Or not the kind I’ve seen, anyway. But then again, I’m usually surrounded by lawyers or finance guys. Not exactly the venue for it, I suppose.

  “Well, you’re here now,” the nice one says. “What can we do for you?”

  My nighttime fantasy rears up in my mind, vivid and detailed. You can bend me over the hood of that car right there, if it’s not too much trouble.

  Oh shit. Now my face is turning red and I still haven’t told them what I’m doing here. Panic makes my adrenaline rush. Is it too late to turn back?
Abort mission. Abort mission!

  But it’s too late to run now so I force myself to swallow, ignore the heat in my cheeks and spit it out already. “It’s my car,” I said. “It’s not starting and I was hoping you guys could take a look at it.”

  Take a look under my hood.

  I mentally roll my eyes at my silly inner voice which has suddenly turned risqué with its humor. Wonderful timing. Or maybe it’s just the nerves talking. The big one is still watching me and I can’t quite bring myself to meet his gaze.

  “Of course, sweetheart,” the chatty one says in that drawl that would make Matthew McConaughey proud. “Where are you parked?”

  I tell him the garage on the end of the block and he and the other one head toward the door. Just like that.

  “We’re going now?” I ask.

  “Of course. You need our help, you’ve got it.”

  I blink up at him as I walk between them. Well that’s just… wow. I’ve lived in this city for two years but I hadn’t made many friends. Definitely not a lot of people who would drop whatever they’re doing to help me.

  On the way there, my tensions ease a bit as Axle, the friendly one, asks me some questions about when it stopped working, sounds it made, and things like that. I answer to the best of my ability, the questions a nice distraction from the fact that I’ve got two sexy hotties on either side of me, walking so close I can feel their body heat.

  If only Jane could see me now.

  I wonder briefly if there’s any way I can surreptitiously take a selfie of the three of us for proof, but rule it out. I’m just not that stealthy.

  The parking garage is largely empty of people and our voices echo in the cavernous space as I lead the way to my car. Well, my voice and Axle’s echo. The big guy—Axle introduced him as Dyce—he has yet to say a single word.

  But holy cow, his presence can be felt. He radiates heat and his big, bulky arm brushes against mine as I try to walk between them without touching anyone.

  I fail. But I don’t think it’s necessarily my fault. They’re so close. So freakin’ close. It’s hard to breathe they’re so close.