Work Me Up

by Wylder, Penny

  “So,” he says, interrupting my traitorous brain’s dangerous train of thought, “next steps, then. Let’s get to it.”

  “Let’s,” I agree, and then I follow his lead, kneeling down to get ready to start on the paint.

  He opens a can, and shows me the colors inside, how to mix them together until I get a paint color that matches the door exactly. “You want to test it on little patches before you paint the entire thing,” he explains. The paint fumes swirl around us as he talks, going straight to my head. Or maybe it’s only the heated looks he’s giving me that go to my head. Because those make me just as dizzy as the fumes, if not more so.

  He gives me another one now, still with that amused grin dancing around his sexy as fuck mouth. Looking at that mouth, I can’t help wondering what it would feel like to have his face between my thighs. His tongue buried deep inside my pussy, where he put his fingers yesterday afternoon.

  “Show me,” I say, more so that I have an excuse to turn back to the car door than anything else. Because if I keep staring at him right now, so close to me, the heat from his body radiating against my side, hot enough to reach out and touch, I’ll lose my shit.

  He dips the paintbrush into the color we mixed together, which to my eye looks pretty damn close to the rest of Betty. But when he raises the brush and paints a tiny little streak on the edge, down near the bottom and some of the worst dents that I pulled back into shape, it’s too light. A cherry red where the rest of the car is more burgundy.

  “Crap,” I say, biting my lower lip.

  “It’s not a big deal,” he says. “We just need to try the mix again.” He sits back on his heels. “Why don’t you see if you can correct it.”

  I press my lips together for a moment, to hold in my protest. Part of me hates when he does this. Makes me correct all of the mistakes we make, as if I know what the hell I’m doing. But another part of me, a bigger part, appreciates it. Because I do learn a whole lot more this way than I would if I just watched him do the job all himself and didn’t have a hand in participating myself.

  So, I tug the paint cans back toward myself and uncap them, dipping the mixer in to try to swirl the colors together. “You know, when I think about car mechanics working in garages, I never really think of them as doing this kind of stuff,” I comment, as I add a little darker red to our batch, then swirl it together. “It’s almost like art.”

  “Cars are a type of art,” Antonio replies softly. “Looking at someone’s wheels can tell you a lot about who they are as a person.”

  I shake my head, because thinking about cars makes me think about my own lack of one, which in turn makes me think about why I don’t have one, which makes my hand shake so hard that I have to set the paint brush back down to run a hand over my face, drawing in a shaky breath. Another.

  Antonio frowns. “Are you all right?”

  “Fine,” I lie through gritted teeth. I wave a hand in front of my face, latching onto the first excuse I can come up with. “Just the… the fumes and all.”

  “Oh, right. Sorry.” Antonio jumps up, his arm brushing against mine as he goes, and I almost blurt out something embarrassing, like asking him to stay here with me while I get through this breathing jag. But then he’d ask what’s really going on, and he’d know it’s about more than just paint fumes, and anyway, he’s already halfway across the room now, turning on some sort of enormous fan that starts to blow across the garage, sucking all the air from the room.

  By the time he comes back to my side, I’ve recovered my senses, at least enough to sit back on my heels and look relatively normal as he joins me.

  “It’s important to ventilate when you’re working with paint,” he explains, pointing up at the fans. “As well as some of the greasier components. A lot of chemicals in here.” He smirks, then. “Sometimes I forget how used to it all I am.”

  “Sorry,” I murmur, my temples starting to throb a little. Maybe the paint fumes really are going to my head, in addition to everything else I have going on. Great. Just what I need.

  “We can take a break if you want,” he says.

  And with everything racing in my mind, all the memories that I want to escape from—and all the cars parked around me, endless reminders of it, especially this one with its scraped up door and its damaged parts—all I can do is nod.

  Antonio extends a hand. Before I can think better of it, I place mine in his, and let him pull me to my feet. He does it so easily, like it’s hardly any effort to lift me at all, even though I know, what with all the curves I have, I don’t weigh as little as some girls might.

  When we make it to our feet, Antonio keeps hold of my hand. Part of me knows I should tug it free from his grip, push him away. But I can’t bring myself to do it. Not when his touch feels so grounding right now, such a potent, much-needed reminder of where I am. When I am. Of what’s in the here and now, where I need to reside, to keep my brain from flying off into past memories.

  I trail him through the garage, deeper into it than I’ve ever gone before, picking our way through a veritable minefield of car parts and tools, strewn every which way.

  “You really don’t tidy after yourself, or between projects, do you?” I ask as we walk.

  Antonio chuckles. “Not a lot of spare time for that. Normally I’m on pretty tight repair schedules in here. Advantages and disadvantages to having a really booming small business.”

  I glance over my shoulder at the garage. At all the other cars in here, up on blocks. Cars that I know he’s been neglecting, for the most part, in order to teach me how to redo his own car, painstakingly slowly. I bite my lower lip, feeling a twinge of guilt. “Have you ever thought about hiring some help around here?”

  He shrugs. “Had a couple of other guys who’ve worked for me over the years. Most of them turn out to make one too many stupid mistakes, and I have to let them go. The decent ones always seemed to end up moving out of town or opening their own garages instead.” He heaves a sigh. “Hard to find people who are willing to get their hands dirty when it comes to work anymore. Used to be this was an honest job, good money. It still is, but nobody sees it as prestigious anymore. People want white collar jobs, to be paper pushers locked inside an office all day long and barely ever see sunlight.”

  “Because you see so much sun in here,” I can’t help joking, glancing back over my shoulder at the darkened garage.

  He smirks. “Point taken. I get out of the garage from time to time, though. I’ve got blocks outside I can work on when it’s a real nice day, too.”

  “But you don’t,” I reply, studying him.

  His shoulders sag a little. “I guess not, no.” He eyes me then, considering. “Thanks for the pointer. I’ll try to get more fresh air.” Then he reaches over with his free hand, his other still wrapped tight around mine, and brushes a finger down the curve of my cheek.

  The move sends shivers all the way from the top of my spine to my toes.

  “Especially if it means rescuing princesses in distress from paint inhalation.”

  “For the millionth time,” I snap.

  “I know, I know.” He chuckles. “Not a princess. Got it, Princess.” Then he pushes open a door I’d never noticed before, a small one at the very back of the garage, near the little off-shoot bathroom where we… well. My cheeks flare red.

  Where we showered together last time. And where he pinned me against the wall of the shower to finger me until I was crying his name out all over again.

  He shoulders open the door, and I blink at the sudden brightness.

  He really does have an outdoor area, I realize. We step out behind the garage and onto a plot of land that overlooks a rolling hillside. It slopes away from the garage, on and on for miles, until it reaches what appears to be a vineyard next door, though the little farmhouse attached to the vineyard is so far away it’s really little more than a brown dot on the horizon.

  I knew his garage was a bit far outside the city limits. But from the front, it ju
st looks like a tiny little roadside stop next to a main highway. I had no idea this was out back here, just waiting to be tripped over.

  My lips part with surprise.

  Antonio steps closer to me, and his hand gently unwinds from mine. I almost protest, but then his hand trails up my arm, from my wrist to my elbow, up to my shoulder. He steps up beside me, and folds me against him in a side hug, my body curving against his strong, solid frame.

  “It’s beautiful,” I murmur.

  “I know,” he says. But when I tilt my chin back to look up at him, to see him admiring his own view, he’s not looking at the field. He’s gazing down at me, and there’s something deeper than lust in his eyes now. Something soft and heart-achingly sweet.

  He bends toward me so damn slowly. He’s giving me plenty of time to stop him, to push him away. To change my mind if I don’t want to do this after all. But I do, oh, I fucking do, and I find myself frozen, all thoughts of my father and how he’ll kill me if he ever finds out about this fleeing my brain in the span of a split second.

  Antonio’s lips find mine. It’s not like yesterday, all white hot fire and lust. That’s there too, but this kiss is so slow. So soft. We sink together, like we’re tasting one another for the first time. I turn toward him and he mirrors me, his hands sliding up my arms until they reach my chin, and he cups my face between them, his palms so hot against my skin I ache.

  My arms slide up and over his chest, wrap around his neck. I pull him against me, at the same time that I arch my hips up against him. I’m rewarded with a faint groan that he makes, deep in the back of his throat, his lips still crushed against mine.

  “Antonio,” I breathe when we separate, but it’s only for his lips to keep touching me, to kiss their way along my jawline and then down my neck, his stubble scratchy against my smooth cheek.

  His lips find that sensitive spot, right where the crook of my shoulder meets my neck, and he bites down just hard enough to elicit a gasp from me. He chuckles then, his breath hot against the skin he just kissed and licked and bit. It’s my turn to groan now, which makes his arms circle my waist once more, possessive.

  “I thought you’d never give in,” he says, tilting his face to peer up at me with a sly smile.

  “What can I say?” I arch an eyebrow, eying him with a grin. “I’m stubborn like that.”

  “Lucky for me, I’m more stubborn,” he replies. And then, without another word, without so much as a warning, he bends down and scoops me up into his arms.

  I let out a faint squeal of protest, kicking my legs. But only a little. Because it feels so good to be held like this, cradled against his chest, as he carries me toward a nearby picnic table I hadn’t noticed earlier. He sets my ass on the edge of it, and pauses to kiss me again, hotter this time, harder. I kiss him back like I’m desperate for air, and he’s oxygen, because he pretty much feels like it right now. Filling my lungs, breathing new energy into me.

  When we break apart again, he pushes me down so I’m lying along the table, and then he spreads my knees, stepping between them so he can lean in to kiss the curve of my throat, my clavicle, my chest. “I spent all night dreaming about you,” he murmurs. “Thinking about all the ways I want to fuck you again.”

  The tightness I felt earlier behind my navel travels down, tenses, until my pussy feels clenched hard with anticipation, my clit a heavy weight between my thighs. God, yes. I can’t remember the last time—aside from yesterday in this same damn garage—that I ever felt so turned on.

  “Antonio…”

  He pauses, quirking an eyebrow at me. “Selena.”

  I wet my lips. Catch my breath. Hesitate, but only for a second longer. “I dreamt about you, too. About this. About you stripping me down and taking me.” Even from here, I can see the hard bulge against his jeans. God, he’s already rock hard. And I remember all over again how thick his cock is, how full he made me feel yesterday. How even this morning, I was still a little sore from him—but a good sore, the best fucking kind of sore.

  His smirk says he already knew that. But he’s enough of a gentleman not to call me out. Then he leans in closer, and I forget about anything else.

  6

  Selena

  When Antonio kisses me, I swear I see fireworks behind my eyelids. When we break apart, I let out a little faint gasp of protest before I can help myself. But it’s all right. He doesn’t go far. His hands slide down the curve of my sides, over the arch of my hips, until they move of their own accord, pressing up and against him.

  Fuck. He’s already so fucking hard.

  My hands slide down his waist, following his lead, as a little sigh of pleasure escapes me.

  “I love all those sounds you make,” Antonio murmurs, from where his lips are pressed against my neck now. He nips at my skin, just hard enough to make me shiver, and chuckles under his breath. “I love when you do that, too. You’re so easy to get riled up…”

  “Are you calling me easy?” I say, but I’m grinning, because my hands have reached his jeans, and I slide one down the front to grip his cock tightly between us. God. Just the outline of that glorious fucking cock between my fingers is enough to get me wet.

  “Not at all.” He leans back to catch my eye, wearing a sly grin of his own that also makes my pussy clench in reaction. “In fact, I’d call you difficult.”

  “Somehow I don’t think that’s a compliment either,” I tease, my eyes narrowing.

  He winks in response, completely shameless. “Trust me, it is.” He leans in to kiss higher up my neck again, and now my jawline, his tongue flicking across the skin just beneath my ear. “I’d rather a challenge any day, believe me.” As he talks, his hands slide to the fly of my jeans and start to undo it, one slow button at a time.

  As for me, impatient as ever, I tug at his, practically ripping it open.

  He chuckles again, softer this time. “Eager today. And here I thought you were giving me the cold shoulder earlier.”

  My belly tenses. I didn’t think he’d notice. Or rather, I’d hoped he would notice, but not actually call me out on it. “I…” I start, but he shakes his head.

  “You don’t have to explain yourself.” He steps back from me, and my whole body feels cold all over where he was touching me a second ago. As I watch, he reaches down to finish the job himself, undoing the clasp of his jeans and pushing them off. Even through his boxers, his cock is magnificent, standing hard and erect. My mouth starts to water at the sight, and my pussy starts to throb like it’s beating in tune with my pulse. He arches an eyebrow, noticing the direction of my gaze, and a smirk forms across his sexy as fuck lips. “Just prove you’re sorry, and it’s all forgiven.”

  I blink once, twice. Lift an eyebrow at him. “Oh really?”

  He arches his right back. Then he pushes his boxers to the ground. “Unless you don’t want to suck my cock, Selena?”

  My gaze goes straight to his cock, the second those boxers fall. I can’t help it. Fucking hell. He’s even bigger than I remember, standing hard and erect from the base. I lick my lips without even thinking about it, and he laughs softly, which makes me realize what I just did. My face flushes. “I…”

  He shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “Not a problem if you don’t. We can —‚”

  “I want to,” I blurt, cutting him off. I want to taste him. I want to make this sexy, in-control man lose control of himself, the way he keeps making me do.

  Before he can take back the offer, I push off the picnic table and drop to my knees before him. The grass is soft underneath my knees, which I appreciate. I hesitate, my eyes level with his hips now, and for a moment I just… look. The veins stand out along the sides of his cock, and there’s a little glistening pearl of precum already gathered at the tip, like he wants me so badly he can’t even contain it.

  I lean in before I think better of it, and gently lick that droplet up.

  Fuck, he tastes good. Salty and savory, with just a hint of musk. The same way he smells. The same way th
e whole garage smelled yesterday after we finished dirtying it up, fucking in it. My belly clenches with a deep, animal want.

  Above me, Antonio sucks in a slow breath, then reaches down to wend his hands through my hair. “That’s it, Selena. Taste me. Lick me.”

  I follow his instructions and lean in to press the flat blade of my tongue against the underside of his cock, licking up his length from base all the way to the tip of his shaft. In response, his fists tighten in my hair.

  Then I reach up to wrap my hands around the base of his cock, both of them, so I can fully circle him. I hold tight, as I lick him again, again, stroking my tongue along each side of his thick, veiny cock. I keep going, teasing and slow, until Antonio murmurs something in the back of his throat.

  “What was that?” I pause to look up at him, his cock pressed against my soft cheek, knowing how I must look right now, kneeling in front of him. His hands tighten in my hair, and he guides my face back toward his shaft.

  “Put my cock in your mouth, Selena.” The calm command in his tone makes me quiver with anticipation, sends an electric jolt of heat through my belly.

  I press my lips against the tip of his shaft, and then slowly, slowly, I push forward, so his cock inches into my mouth, spreading my lips around him. I keep one hand around the base of his shaft, and reach up with the other to gently toy with his balls, rolling them between my fingertips lightly, tugging them away from his body ever so slightly.

  I’m rewarded with another groan, deeper this time, like it came all the way from his core. I glance up to find him watching me, his eyes searing with heat.

  “Just like that, Selena, yes…” He keeps watching me, so I lock my eyes on his as I press forward, inching his cock deeper, deeper into my mouth.

  Just when I think I can’t take him in any further, and I slow to a stop, his hands tighten in my hair, press me forward a little bit further.

  “Relax, Selena,” he says, his voice going soft and gentle now. “You can take more. You can take my whole cock in that sexy mouth of yours.”