[Siren Classic ManLove: Erotic Alternative Romance, M/M, HEA]
When an ass in coveralls attracts him after a dry spell, Grant Carlton wants to know more about the new mechanic at his friend’s garage. Then he finds there is more going on with the garage, the decline of his old friend’s health, and the gorgeous man in those coveralls working on his favorite car, a ’65 Mustang. Unable to walk away, Grant finds ways to help and be around his new mechanic.
Morric Donahue struggles with being a parolee, not wanting to lose control after stepping outside the prison walls, especially knowing he never committed the crime. Wary of all commitments which don’t include engines, he keeps a close eye on the enticing rich boy who keeps coming around. While he admires the hot muscle car, he wants to know more about the man driving it, even if it means going outside his self-imposed cell.
A Siren Erotic Romance
Morric took another long sip to finish the bottle. He snagged another one, since it was rare for him to even indulge in alcohol, let alone a damn decent Irish brew. He cracked open the top and spun the cap near his plate. He watched Grant place two more mushroom slices on his plate when he finished his first set.
“Thanks,” he said and put the beer down to lift another slice.
“Don’t want you to go overboard on the beer.”
“I can keep my head around alcohol. I don’t let it screw with my mind any longer.”
“Is it part of the reason you were in prison?”
“Back when I got stuck in juvie I was hitting the hard stuff. Got in with the wrong crowd, got busted because we were all drunk and stupid, and stood in front a tough-as-shit judge who didn’t take crap from idiotic teens who thought they knew everything. I ended up doing three years until I was released at eighteen.”
“Rough start to life.”
“All I had where I grew up. You ran with the rough crowd, or if you had the smarts, you stuck with school and used it to get the hell out.”
“Why did you choose the wrong way?”
“I didn’t have many options. I didn’t have the smarts. It took a while to figure out what was wrong with me. An old fella in the jail library helped me realize I was dyslexic, not stupid like my drunken father called me while smacking me around. I had a reason why I kept flipping letters and words around and couldn’t read fast. I needed to take my time. Anyway, I didn’t have the grades, and I wouldn’t get help with college funds. I was tired of getting smacked around, so I started to hang out with the rotten crowd more times than not.”
“Died when I was twelve,” Morric said in a low tone as he lifted the bottle to his lips. Why the hell am I telling rich boy all this shit about my life? Damn, couple of sips of beer and my tongue is loose. “Cancer took her fast since she didn’t go to the doctor on time.”
“Shit, Morric, I’m sorry…”
Morric shrugged a shoulder and interrupted before Grant could finish. “I had a rotten life. I know it, and it’s in the past where things belong. I’m moving forward and trying to make something better.”
“I should hope so after such a horrible start.”
“Look, unlike you, rich boy, there wasn’t much of a choice. I don’t have all the fancy stuff available to me, so I’m making do. Either I can fight to remain free or I can stray back down the same path, keep blaming the bastard who helped put me behind bars, remain pissed at everyone and everything, and end up getting my ass tossed back in the cell. That’s something I damn well don’t want. I was done being locked up.”
“I wouldn’t blame you for not wanting to go back.”
“I came close, though. There were a few rough patches when I first got out. I couldn’t find a job or a place to stay—all the damn requirements to stay on the outside.”
“How did you get here?”
“Six months ago, I stumbled across the garage and saw the Help Wanted sign. I stomped in, pointed to the sign, and said I was his man.”
“Did he hire you at that?”
“No, hell no. He wasn’t stupid. Things started when Marty took one look at me, told me to straighten the hell up and drop the rock from my shoulder since it was no damn chip, and stay on the right path. He gave me a test on one of the cars, which I passed and told him something else I saw wrong. It impressed the shit out of him. Told me the job would give me access to all the cars I wanted to fix and a place to live. If I didn’t keep up with his rules—he saw the tattoos and knew I did time and I had to give him my parole officer’s info to get the job—I would be out on my ass. I tucked in my tail and pride and followed his orders.”
“You haven’t regretted your choices since.”
“Not until the slimy bastard decided to steal from Marty and I didn’t catch it sooner.”
“He obviously had been doing it awhile and knew how to keep his actions hidden from the inventory and other paperwork.”
“Only because he was in charge of the garage area, while Marty stuck to the office. Once I came in, he hated me from the start. If he could have gotten off blaming me, he knew my ass would be back in prison before anyone blinked.”
“You never told me what…”
“Don’t go there, rich boy. Not tonight,” Morric warned, interrupting the question he knew Grant wanted to ask since he learned he went to prison.
Grant tilted his head. “Why do you call me that?”
“What? Rich boy?”
“Yes, it’s kind of… derogatory.”
“In what way?”
Morric lifted an eyebrow and snorted. He lifted the bottle to his lips. “Don’t even try to act stupid, rich boy. It won’t pass with me. Thanks for the pizza and brew. You better get out of here and let me return to your car.”
“I wasn’t born with money. I earned everything I have the hard way.” Grant pointed a finger at him. Then he sat back, seemed to think about something, and lifted the bottle to take a careful sip. “Okay, I admit I got lucky a few times with some business deals, but I worked my ass off to get where I am.”
“Did I ask?”
“You presume, which is the same. I want to set the facts straight.”
“You’re still not getting in my bed.”
“How about the hood of the nearest car?”
“Turn over. Yank your pants down. You want fast and dirty, you’ll get it,” Morric ordered as he removed his hand from Grant. He tugged open his coveralls, reached in to undo his shorts, and pulled his granite-hard cock out. He gave himself a few pumps and squeezes to show Grant how he wanted him.
“Do it or you’ll get nothing.”
Grant made a little moue of disappointment.
“This isn’t loving. This is fucking. I don’t get messed up with emotions and shit. This is what you can get from me right here, right now, rich boy. You chose a grease monkey criminal, not some cute twink who gives you playboy eyes.”
“You think talking like this to me will make me run.”
“I would have run long ago if I were in your designer pants, rich boy.”
“Do you think so little of yourself?”
“Are we going to fuck or talk?” Morric stepped back and moved to shove his cock back in his ripped jean shorts.
“Fine. Do it your way,” Grant said as he ruthlessly shrugged the pristine jeans over his slim hips and down his lean thighs.
Morric saw a damn fine pair of glutes. He figured the man would work out only in a high-end gym. Grant would go for nothing less than the best to get sweaty.
His fluid grace hampered by the jeans around his knees, Grant leaned over the hood of the car. He rested on his elbows and forearms, pushed his ass out, and opened his legs as wide as the jeans let him.
“Such a sweet, tight ass,” Morric said as he squeezed and played with Grant’s backside. He shoved the shirt higher to reveal the lower spine to trail his fingers down, sensitizing the nerves and stroking the upper flanks. He moved his fingers between the taut cheeks and found the hidden hole between them. He rubbed a fingertip around the taut skin and heard the groan from Grant.
Not wanting to be easy with the man, he snagged the bottle of lube, opened it, and squeezed some on his fingers. He sank two inside Grant, stretching him hard and quick as he opened and closed his fingers.
Grant hissed and flinched.
“Are you okay? Does it hurt or feel good?”
“Both. Holy hell…”
“You’re nice and tight… Been long?” Morric shoved another finger inside Grant to continue the fast stretch and pull. He moved and curled his fingers until he hit the ultrasensitive gland, which made Grant call out with his need. “Want more…?”
“Hell, yes…” Grant said as he dropped lower on his arms, pushing his ass back toward Morric.
Morric pulled out his fingers, snatched a foil packet, ripped it open, and rolled the latex over his eager cock. He slathered more lube on him. Though he wanted to give it to Grant rough and hard, he wasn’t about to hurt the man.
He placed one hand on Grant’s back, pressed him down to the cold steel, and guided his cock to the stretched, waiting hole with his other hand. One shove of his hips and he breached the opening with the head and sank deep inside him. He pushed until his thighs pressed against Grant’s ass. He tilted his hips forward to give him another short, hard shove, knowing the movement would stimulate the gland.
“Oh, hell… So full…” Grant groaned as he held himself still under Morric’s torment.
Grabbing hold of Grant’s slender hips, Morric started a hard, relentless rhythm. He changed from short and fast before he sank in long and deep to nudge against the prostate. He rode Grant’s ass as he hadn’t ridden a man in years. He groaned at how tight, snug, and warm Grant was around his cock.
Sweat gathered over his chest and along Grant’s spine as heat built between them. He didn’t let his rhythm slow, but deepened and hardened his pace until skin slapped against skin. He moved one hand from Grant’s hips and took hold of the man’s cock. Using the leftover lube, he stroked and pumped with every deep thrust.
“Oh, fuck… Harder. Yeah, there… Hit me there…” Grant urged him on, pushed his hips back against Morric for deeper penetration. “Oh… Hell… So damn good…”
“Like it rough and hard, huh? Enjoy having a grease monkey fuck you?” Morric said as he slammed harder into Grant.
“You, just you, Irish boy… Nothing else…” Grant straightened, pushed up from the hood to give them a different angle, and nearly screamed when Morric hit his prostate.