Leo Page 2

  It’s so much sensation, too much, and yet nowhere near enough. He lifts his head and stares down at me as I moan again and his fingers flex at my throat, making me smile at the heat and power there. I’ve never liked being controlled by my previous boyfriends. That’s probably why I’ve never actually got to the point of having sex with any of them. This guy, though, I’ve seen his hands at work on my car, and that’s a privilege precious few have enjoyed. His hands on me are something else, and all I can think is more.

  His eyes darken impossibly and the smile fades from my face. Have I misread this? Am I about to die a horrible death?

  Then he shakes his head and lowers his head to run his tongue up the side of my neck, and I give a strangled cry at the hot wet slide of his tongue against my skin.

  “You taste so good,” he murmurs in my ear, before nipping my earlobe and making me yelp even as my body jerks against him. He fists a hand in my hair, drawing my head back to allow him greater access to my neck, then nips and sucks a trail down to my collarbone and back up to my lips.

  His weight settles over me, pinning me to the solid metal of the hood. Thank God for old muscle cars, I think. You couldn’t do this on a modern Toyota. The thought of a flimsy modern hood buckling under my curves makes me want to laugh, but then he nips at my lip, yanking my attention right back to him. I look up at him and realize he knew I was thinking about something else. He wants my attention on him, and I’m not about to complain because, oh God, as his hand closes over my breast, I’ve never felt anything this good in my life.

  He presses a kiss to my lips, sliding his tongue in and out of my mouth a couple of times until I’m mewling for more, then he withdraws and cold air replaces the hot, heavy weight of him. Before I can overthink it, though, his hands are skimming the length of my body, sliding heavily over my breasts, my ribcage, and down over my belly to the hem of my shirt. His fingers slip beneath the fabric, then rise again, lifting the shirt over my head, but leaving it tangled around my arms. I start trying to pull my hands free, but he’s already slid a hand beneath me, releasing the clasp of my bra, and when his palm closes over my flesh, my head drops back against the metal hood. I have no strength to try and free my arms, I can only feel.

  “Such perfection,” he says, right before taking my nipple into his mouth. I make a garbled sound, half moan, half shriek, as he nips my sensitive flesh, his tongue drawing circles around my areola, the slick slide driving me crazy. His other hand molds my other breast, pinching my nipple, then rolling it gently between his fingers, soothing the sting, making me moan and twist beneath him.

  He moves to lick hot, wet circles around my other breast, as I gasp for breath, just waiting for him to touch my aching, dry nipple. By the time he does, I’m almost sobbing, desperate for relief as the ache builds to the point of pain. When he finally wraps his lips around my iron hard nipple, flicking it with his tongue, a heavy tightness invades my lower body, the ache building between my legs pulling deeper and tighter, making me circle my hips against him, searching for release.

  “So you want more?” He asks, and for a moment I can only gasp for breath, panting as though I’ve run a marathon. He arches an eyebrow. “Well?”

  “Yes! Please.” I’m not too proud to beg. I didn’t even know sex could feel this good, but I want, no, I need more. I spread my legs and wrap them around his hips, pulling him against me, although when the solid package at his groin settles against the apex of my thighs, my eyes fly wide with shock. I don’t know if he’s got something else going on down there, but he feels huge.

  His eyelids lower as he watches me, making me gasp as he pinches my nipple. “Be careful what you wish for.”

  He lowers his head and licks up the side of my throat, and I moan, then yelp as he nips at the delicate skin beneath my ear. “Do you want my mouth on you?”

  “Yes,” I gasp.

  “Here?” He asks, sucking at my throat. “Or here?”

  He moves lower, taking my breast into his mouth and rolling my nipple between his teeth.

  “Oh God, yes,” I moan.

  His hands trail down my body, over the worn denim of my jeans, his thumbs settling over the seam covering my pussy. My breath seizes in my throat and my hips twitch as I try to move closer to his touch.

  “Or maybe,” he says, his voice dark as engine oil at midnight, “You want it here.”

  “Please.” I can barely breathe, barely think, I just know I need more, and he’s the only one who can give it to me. “Please.”

  His jaw tightens, and for a terrible moment I think he’s going to refuse, but then his mouth crashes down on mine, his lips branding me while his tongue dominates my mouth. His hand slides beneath the waistband of my jeans, and the button slides free and he pulls the fabric down my thighs, taking my panties too, leaving everything wrapped around my ankles. Then his mouth leaves mine, sliding, hot and wet, down my throat, over my breasts, teasing my nipples with tongue and teeth before continuing on, lower, ever lower. His tongue slides into my navel, making me twist, my pussy throbbing.

  His hands grip my hips, holding me firmly, and now he moves slower, kissing and licking my soft flesh, nipping at my tender skin. I moan and beg, but if anything he goes slower and slower, until his tongue is sliding down the crevice between my thigh and the dark, throbbing heat that has taken over my lower body.

  “Please, please…” I’m begging almost continuously now, desperate for what only he can give me. I’m on fire, lightning and flame and liquid heat twisting me up inside.

  I’m so desperate, so helpless, so needy, that when his tongue slides over my clit, the avalanche of sensation is almost too much to bear. I arch in his grip, screaming with the force of it as pleasure and pain tighten into a knot, throbbing in my pussy, making me beg and plead, for less, for more, for everything.

  It doesn’t matter what I say. His tongue slides and caresses, up and down, over and over, slicking back and forth over my clit until my universe has narrowed only to him, and his tongue, and what he’s doing to me.

  Then he moves lower and thrusts his tongue into my aching channel. I shriek as a new tsunami of pleasure washes over me. Thrusting and withdrawing, as I imagine his cock would, and my hands clench into fists around the fabric of my shirt as my body tightens into a single ball of lava, harder and closer and hotter than I’ve ever felt. His hands grip my hips ever tighter as I writhe and twist against him, and the pain of his fingers digging into my flesh becomes part of the pleasure/pain cocktail his tongue is feeding me, my pussy aching with a tension that’s taking over my body, making me stiffen up, one joint at a time.

  Then his tongue leaves my pussy and slides up to cover my clit. He closes his lips around it, flicking with his tongue. My breath is gone, there’s no air on this mountain, every limb a mass of quivering need, and then he rolls my clit between his teeth and sucks.

  I wail like I’m dying, and I think maybe I am, as I shatter into a million pieces, torn apart by an orgasm so powerful I nearly black out. Screaming and screaming, I’m hurled off the top of the mountain as his tongue continues to torture my clit, sliding up and down, before moving to my channel and licking it avidly, as though drinking from it.

  He continues well past the point where I can no longer bear, forcing me to endure wave after crashing wave of pleasure, so that when he finally raises his head, I can only stare at him, panting, eyes half open, my body a limp, quivering mess.

  His eyes lower to my pussy and he licks me from channel to clit, one long smooth stroke that makes me groan, before stepping back and carefully pulling my panties, and then my jeans, back into place. He reaches over me and secures my bra, then pulls my shirt back over my head before turning me so that he’s sitting on the hood and I’m cradled in his lap while he strokes my hair.

  I can’t remember the last time I felt so cherished, and I relax into the warmth and solidity of his embrace. My eyes are getting heavy. I could happily fall asleep now. I vaguely remember there’s somewhere
I have to be, but right now, I can’t think. I just want to sleep, held by this pair of strong arms, surrounded by body heat and a warm, musky scent that carries faint traces of motor oil.

  “Not that I’m complaining about the location, but I think phase two should really take place in a bed,” he says, his voice laced with amusement.

  A bed sure sounds good right about now and I’m about to agree when I suddenly realize what he’s saying. What I’ve just done.

  I’m a virgin, for Christ’s sake, and I just let a total stranger eat me out at the side of the goddamn road. What the fuck?

  I freeze and he goes still. I take advantage of the moment to catapult off his lap, now wide awake. I grab my toolbox and the Maglite and throw them in the car, sliding in after them. Luckily, I never took the keys out of the ignition and I turn them now, praying for the new part to be good.

  He jumps off the hood as the 289 engine roars to life beneath him, and I pull onto the road, fishtailing wildly as I floor the gas and the tires send gravel flying before biting down onto solid asphalt. And then I’m away, my body still shaking with aftershocks, the stranger’s face pale and hard in my rear view mirror, painted red by my taillights.

  ***

  Leo

  I glare at the clock beside my bed. I swear the damn thing’s laughing at me. 06:17am. It’s not even that early, by my standards, but man, I haven’t slept a wink. Been looking at those numbers every fifteen minutes for the last three hours. Even if my rock hard dick hadn’t kept me awake, memories of last night’s smoking hot encounter would have.

  The scent of her. Those sexy little cries tumbling from her perfect lips. And her flavor, somewhere between honey and wine and a perfect summer’s day, and when did I turn into a guy who waxes poetic about a girl’s pussy?

  Around three o’clock this morning, I guess.

  I look at the clock again. 06:21am.

  Might as well get up. The shop doesn’t open until seven thirty but I should get there early. Show Frank I mean business.

  The thought of Frank sours my mood, which wasn’t that great to start with, thanks to being awake nearly twenty four hours straight and a raging case of blue balls. The shop’s manager was one of my dad’s first hires, when he first started this company forty-five years ago. Frank was just a kid then, ‘a loud-mouthed punk’, as Dad used to put it, but he worked his way up to managing the place. I never liked the guy much, but he’s got history with the company, and I always figured, if he could do the job, there wasn’t any point in letting my feelings get in the way.

  The last few years, though, numbers have been dropping off. Fewer clients, less positive feedback, and more employee turnover. After the last quarterly figures came in, I knew I needed to find out what the hell was going on. I’ve spoken to Frank a couple times over the phone about it and gotten nowhere. It’s a slow time of year, clients moved away, there’s this competitor or that competitor opening up in the area…

  My dad built his one auto shop into a national chain of more than a hundred and eighty shops. And in the five years since I took over the reins, we’ve expanded to over three hundred. I didn’t get where I am today, I didn’t get this company where it is today, by accepting bullshit excuses. I don’t know who the hell Frank thinks he’s talking to, but it’s time for him to get a reality check. And I intend to deliver it personally.

  Not that that’s the only reason I’m making this trip. There are some shops in the chain that I haven’t visited since they opened, and that’s not how my dad did business either. This business is as much about the people as it is about the cars. If my employees don’t think I care about their work, how can I expect them to care? So this is Day One of an epic road trip, taking in all three hundred and eight Brent Classics Auto Shops.

  And it is not off to a good start.

  I get to the shop just before seven. At seven ten I’m still waiting outside. Frank’s supposed to arrive at seven to open up, so everyone can start on the dot of seven thirty, including any clients who need to drop off a vehicle before work. I have keys, of course. I’ve got keys to every location. Thing is, I don’t want to step on any toes. It’s not my job to open up, and I like to see how my managers are running the place. That’s the whole point of this trip. But even I have my limits.

  By seven twenty, I’ve given up waiting. The place is open, and I’m sitting in Frank’s chair, behind his desk, waiting for the son of a bitch to show up. Then a string of curse words in Spanish has me jackknifing out of the ratty chair to investigate. If some asshole is about to try and jack my dad’s shop, he’s about to severely regret his life choices.

  I grab a tire iron as I run into the shop, pausing to take in the skinny, bedraggled figure I see standing there. He’s staring around, like he’s never seen the place before. I step forward, raising the tire iron threateningly, then freeze as I hear him mutter under his breath.

  “Señor Frank is gonna be so pissed.”

  “How do you know Frank?”

  The kid, because he can’t be more than about seventeen, jumps about three feet and spins around. He’s clearly strung out on something, white as a sheet and sweating, and his eyes flick from me to the tire iron, his hands shooting into the air.

  “C’mon man, don’t rob the place. This the only job I got, man.”

  I frown and lower the tire iron a little. “You work here?” Frank’s hiring practices have gotten obscenely lax if he’s actually employed this drugged up kid.

  The kid in question relaxes, just a little. “Yeah, man, about six months now. Señor Frank, he, uh, well, he gave me a shot. It’s only probationary but, it’s a job, right? And I can’t let you take anything. I need this job. Señor Frank will blame me for sure if he finds out.”

  That doesn’t make any sense but I’m too underslept to think it through right now. I re-focus on him. “I’m not robbing the shop. I own it. I’m Leo Brent.”

  I hand him my business card out of habit, then wonder if he can actually read. He scans it, then looks up at me.

  “CEO?”

  “Yeah, that means-”

  “I know what it means, man. I’ve got an accent, not a brain haemorrhage. I mean, uh…” His eyes widen, suddenly realizing who he’s talking to. “You’re the big boss, huh?”

  I nod.

  He shakes his head. “I’m sorry, man. I’m a little tired. Sometimes my mouth gets ahead of me.”

  A hot memory from last night sizzles across the inside of my mind and I smile ruefully. “Happens to the best of us, kid.”

  “Julio. Julio Ramirez. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He holds out a hand to shake and I’m pleasantly surprised to find it clean, if a little damp.

  We shake and I look around, then back at him. “Out of interest, why did you think I was robbing the place?”

  He gives me an incredulous look. “Cos it’s twenty past seven and all the doors are open?”

  “And that’s not usually the case?”

  He snorts and shakes his head. “Say, you want coffee? I know where the boss, er, I mean Frank, keeps the good stuff.”

  “Julio,” I say, fervently. “If you can produce a cup of the good stuff, I’ll double your day’s wages.”

  His eyes bug out of his head, and then he turns and vanishes into Frank’s office. I watch him go, calling myself all kinds of an idiot for not looking around more when I first got here. I could have been mainlining caffeine twenty minutes ago.

  And where the hell is Frank?

  ***

  Charlie

  I stride into the main office on the dot of nine thirty, exactly on time. I’m not about to give this guy any reason to not take me on. I’m a damn good mechanic, even if I could wish for a little more sleep last night.

  I push all thoughts of what was probably just a really vivid dream out of my head. The temptation to lift the hood on my car this morning and check the V-belt was strong but I managed to resist. Maybe I was just kidding myself, but the car ran, so I didn’t need to check
, and if I didn’t check, I could tell myself the old belt was still under there, doing its job. Not exploding on a dark road in the middle of the night and dropping me right in the path of a very skilled and sexy stranger.

  My cheeks burn with the memory of those skills and I fan myself briefly, grateful the receptionist still hasn’t looked up from her phone. But five minutes later I’ve calmed down, and I’m still standing there and I’m damned if she’s going to make the manager think I was late on my first day.

  “Excuse me?” I say.

  “Yeah, what?”

  “My name’s Charlie Steele. I start work here today.”

  Her head snaps up and she narrows her eyes at me, looking me up and down like I’m a clothes rack at a thrift store. In all fairness, the similarity is definitely there, but I’m not in the mood.

  “I’m supposed to meet with Frank Resnick at nine thirty.”