STORY EXCERPT

Keys in hand, I headed outside to my car. The thing looked decent from a distance, which was deeply misleading. Up close, there were scratches on one side, and a weird vibration had started last week. When I turned the key, the engine answered with a noise that sounded expensive.

I froze with both hands on the wheel.

Then it did it again. A rough, ugly rattle from somewhere under the hood.

“No,” I said to the dashboard. “Don’t do this to me. I’m poor.”

The car made a whining sound as if mocking my financial situation.

I grabbed my phone and called my best friend.

Calvin answered on the second ring. “If this is for emotional support, I charge by the hour.”

“My car is being dramatic. It’s making sounds like it’s dying.” Why did it seem like for every step forward, I was knocked back two?  Maybe I was being the dramatic one, but I seriously doubted it. If I didn’t know any better, I would’ve thought my father had cursed me.

He had, only he’d used profanity instead of a hex.

There was a pause, then, “What kind of sound?”

“A bad one.”

“Niles,” Calvin said in exasperation.

“It’s clunky.” I had to think hard about the actual sound the engine had made. “Maybe grindy. A little murdery.”

He laughed softly, and the noise steadied me. Calvin never treated me like a spectacle. He treated me like me. That was rarer than it should’ve been. “Can you drive it?”

“Probably. Briefly. Toward doom.”

“Drive to Deluca’s garage.”

I leaned back against the seat and stared through the windshield. Sun hit the building across from mine and bounced right into my face. “Is that where Riot works?”

“Yes. They’ll look at it.”

“And by they, do we mean people who accept cash, debit, or dramatic sighing?” I had the last one in spades.

“We means mechanics.”

“Cruel.”

He made another quiet laugh. I could picture his face doing that soft little smile he got when I was being difficult on purpose. “Just go. Tell them Calvin sent you.”

“Have I mentioned I love you more than most blood relatives?” That wasn’t hyperbole. Calvin had been the only person in my life who had accepted me unconditionally, even when I dressed like a corrupted fairy. His words, not mine.

“You have,” Calvin replied with fondness in his tone. “Drive safe, my weaponized flamingo.”

After I hung up, I sat there for another few seconds and did the math, which I already knew I hated. My bank account was an insult. My father still paying my rent kept me from total disaster, but pride didn’t buy brake pads or mysterious engine parts. Pride barely bought coffee.

The engine made that sound again when I started the car, and dread crept in hard and fast.

The drive to Deluca’s was a stress event. Every noise felt louder. Every stoplight felt personal. By the time I pulled into the lot, my entire body was clenched.

The shop was busy. Three bay doors stood open. Somewhere inside, metal clanged. An air tool screamed. Cars lined one side of the lot in different stages of distress. Men moved in and out of the garage with purpose, shirts darkened with sweat, hands stained with grease. The place smelled like heat, oil, rubber, and money I didn’t have.

I parked near the front and shut off the engine. Silence settled for all of two seconds before another burst of machinery kicked up from inside.

Maybe if I stayed in the car long enough, the problem would heal itself. That wasn’t a mature thought, but it was comforting for one full moment.

Grabbing my sunglasses, I got out and tried to look like someone who could absolutely afford surprise repairs. The boots helped. So did the glasses. The tiny skirt didn’t exactly whisper “responsible vehicle owner,” but I’d committed to the bit.

A man stepped out from one of the bays, wiping his hands on a rag and I nearly drooled on myself. He was exactly my type. Muscular and employed.

Shoulder-length wavy black hair my fingers could get lost in. Tanned skin. Striking blue eyes. Grease on one forearm I wanted to rub clean with my body. Broad shoulders under a dark work shirt with the sleeves pushed toward his elbows. He glanced up, found me standing by my car in all my bad decisions, and just kept walking over like seeing a guy in a skirt was an everyday thing.

That didn’t help my pulse. His strides were confident, an easy swagger that threatened to tent my skirt. I had to actively stop myself from striking a sensual pose.

You’re here for repairs, not a date. Act like you have two functioning brain cells, dweeb.

“You need something checked out?” he asked.

Me. Take as much time as you need, Mr. Mechanic.

Shoving my lust into the passenger seat, I forced myself to focus, and noticed the easiness of his voice. There wasn’t an edge to it. No condescending smirk or judgmental glance at my outfit.

I pushed my sunglasses up on my head and gave him a smile I hoped passed for relaxed. “Depends. Are you about to say something catastrophic?”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “I usually save that for after I take a look under the hood.”

That smile did something filthy to my insides. If I didn’t keep my libido in check, that tent was a real possibility.

ADULT EXCERPT

I grinned against his neck, stroking my fist faster. “You knew skirts get my dick hard.” I slid my free hand over his ass, my index finger tapping at his hole. “No underwear. So naughty. Were you hoping to get fucked, Niles?” I nipped his throat. “Is that why you wore this skirt?”

His leg slid up, pressed against my hip, opening himself to me. “I want to taste you,” he whispered.

Motherfuck. I straightened his skirt then grabbed his hand, leading him inside through the side entrance. No one was in the hallway. My room was the first door on the right. As soon as we cleared the threshold, Niles reached for the zipper on the side of his skirt.

“Don’t.” I rested my hand over his. “Leave it on.”

“Kinky.” Niles grinned.

“Damn right.” I watched as he pulled off the shorts, then dropped to his knees, unsnapped my jeans, and lowered the zipper.

My cock sprang free, hard and heavy, and Niles didn’t waste a second. His hand wrapped around the base, and he looked up at me with those green eyes like he’d been waiting for this all night.

Then his mouth closed over the head.

The heat of him hit me like a wall. My hand found the back of his head, fingers threading into his brown hair, and I held on. Not pushing. Just holding. His tongue swept across the underside, and my knees nearly buckled.

“Fuck,” I breathed.

He hummed around me, the vibration traveling straight through my cock and into my gut. His hand worked what his mouth couldn’t reach, stroking in a rhythm that matched his bobbing head. Saliva made everything slick, and the sound of it—wet, obscene, quiet in my bedroom—filled the space between us.

My grip tightened in his hair, an anchor while the world tilted sideways.

Niles took my dick deeper. His throat relaxed around the head, and the pressure of it made my vision blur at the edges. His free hand found my hip, fingers digging into the muscle, holding me steady while he worked.

“Look at me,” I managed.

His eyes opened. Those green irises, dark with want, locked onto mine while his mouth stayed full of my cock. The sight alone nearly finished me.

His hand twisted at the base. His tongue pressed flat against the underside. The combination sent electricity racing up my back and pooling low in my stomach, where it coiled tighter and tighter.

“Just like that.” The words came out strangled. “Those lips were made for sucking dick, sparkles.”

He moaned around my cock, and the vibration wrecked me. He picked up the pace, bobbing faster, his hand working in tandem. Pre-cum leaked onto his tongue, and I watched him swallow it down like he wanted more.

My hips rolled forward on instinct. He took it, throat opening, and the stretch of him around me was almost too much.

“Niles.” His name punched out of me. “Close.”

He pulled off with a wet sound that echoed in the quiet room. His lips were red, swollen, a string of saliva connecting them to my cock for one obscene second before it broke.

“Not yet,” he said, his voice just as wrecked. “Want you inside me when you come.”

The male didn’t have to ask twice.

I pulled him up by the hand. His mouth found mine, tasting of salt and heat, and I kissed him deep while backing him toward the bed. His skirt rode up as he sat on the edge, exposing his thighs, his cock straining.

“Need lube,” I said.

“Get it.” His hands went to my shirt, pulling it over my head.

Grabbing the bottle from the nightstand, I set it on the mattress beside him. My boots hit the floor next, followed by my jeans. Standing between his legs, I looked down at him—that black skirt pushed up around his waist, his cock hard against his stomach, his eyes dark and wanting.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” I said.

“Stop talking and get on the bed.”

I laughed and climbed on. Sitting back against the headboard, I pulled him into my lap. His weight settled against me, his ass pressing against my cock. The friction made us both hiss.

“Like this?” he asked.

“Exactly like this.”

He reached for the lube, uncapping it with fingers that shook slightly. He poured it into his palm, then reached between us. His hand found my cock first, slicking me from base to tip with slow strokes that made my jaw clench.

Then he turned around, getting to his hands and knees, ass facing me. His fingers were at his own entrance, circling the rim before pressing inside. I watched as he worked himself open, the sound of his pleasure filling the room.

“One more,” I said, watching him push a second finger in. “Take your time.”

“I’m trying to be efficient.”

“You’re being perfect.” My hands slid over the soft mounds.

His head dropped, his breath coming faster. His fingers scissored, stretching, and the sight of him preparing himself for me while wearing nothing but that skirt was going to haunt me for the rest of my life.

When he pulled his fingers free, he climbed back onto my lap, then positioned the head of my dick at his entrance. The pressure was fucking amazing, and I held his hips steady while he lowered himself.

The first inch was tight, so tight my hands trembled on his waist. He breathed through it, forehead pressed to mine, and kept going down until he was fully seated, my cock buried inside his ass, and we were both breathing hard.

“You feel incredible,” I murmured.

His nails bit into my shoulders. “Same. Just…give me a second.”

“No rushing this.”

He adjusted, rolling his hips experimentally. The movement dragged my cock against his walls, and a sound escaped him that was half-gasp, half-moan. His eyes opened, finding mine.