Page 3 of Possessive Mechanic
Just like being attracted to him. Which I’m not. I’m not. Damnit! Why am I so into this man no matter how hard I try and tell myself I’m not?
He leans in, flattening a palm on either side of my head, his face inches from mine as he looks down at me, his head cocked, always maintaining that dominant position.
“You going to answer me or am I going to have to shake it out of you?” he questions, and I know the latter isn’t a threat. It’s a promise.
My stomach does a backflip but my nipples turn into two hard pebbles as my panties moisten even more. I reach for the bottom of my skirt, trying to find anything that can serve as a lifeline as I tug at it like a safety blanket, not realizing by doing so I’m exposing more skin to this man who looks like he could eat me raw.
“I swear. I don’t know anything about what you and my dad might have going on. I was just on the highway on my way to a meeting when my car gave out. I managed to make it to the offramp and then guide my Lambo down here. This area clearly isn’t the best one for a girl like me, dressed in what I’m dressed in no less, so I started walking and your business was the first one I came upon. No lie. I swear.”
“Little eighteen-year-old girl whipping around in a Lambo. What the fuck has this world come to?” He just shakes his head. “That’s your story?” he asks. “I catch you in a lie, a spanking is only going to be the beginning of your punishment.”
“It’s the truth. I swear.” I feel my entire body shaking as my mouth goes completely dry. If he asks me another accusatory type of question I might not even be able to answer it.
His eyes narrow in on my lips and he rolls his, letting his lower lip protrude at the end before he licks his lips. “You know what else is the damn truth?”
“What?” I manage to say barely above a whisper as I flatten my hands against the door, wishing I could dissolve into it.
“I ain’t never seen a girl as pretty as you. Never. And we get all kinds of high-end pussy coming up in here. Women who get flown out to Dubai to party on yachts with Sheiks. Instagram models with millions of followers. None of them ever interest me. Too processed. Too boring. But you. You and your innocence all wrapped up in a shiny bow that I can see right through. Your high society bull shit that you despise, knowing what you want is a real man, one that can make you do a backflip in bed as you climax on his tongue. One that’s not afraid to pull your hair back and show you he’s the one in charge, not you. And don’t even try to tell me I’m wrong, because everything about you,” he continues, his eyes raking down my body, my nipples completely protruding through my bra and blouse, my pussy drenched even though he can’t see it right now, is all the confirmation he needs. “Everything about you,” he repeats, “is telling me I’m as spot on as the red stain you’d leave on the floor of my garage if I bent you over and took you right fucking now, the first time in your life. I know it is so don’t try and tell me it’s not.”
This guy is absolutely crazy. Nuts. But a crazy genius too…that’s what he is. He’s reading me like an open book, showing me a kind of man I’d never meet through social connections, and daring me to try and tell myself I’m not absolutely enthralled by everything that’s happening, how this is progressing at lightning speed.
“Way I see it, you've got two options now.” He looks back over his shoulder and then looks back over at me with a smirk, telling me he’s about to put me in between a rock and a hard place. And when my eyes drift down I see exactly how hard he’s thinking.
His Dickies look like he’s got a freakin’ pipe wrench in his pocket…horizontally…and it’s about to snap his zipper.
“Up here,” he says, placing the tip of his index finger on my chin and lifting it until I capitulate and look at him. “That’s what’s behind garage door number two. You have to hear what’s behind door number one first.”
How old is this guy, throwing out Monty Hall references? I only know about Let’s Make a Deal because my dad loves the show, and has all the seasons on his computer.
“Your first option…and you’re gonna love this, is to tell me to fuck off, and I will. Won’t be easy and I can’t guarantee I won’t track you down, stalk you, and do whatever I have to do to get in front of you again. You choose that option you’re on your own. Wouldn’t recommend it,” he says, looking back over his shoulder a second time, leaning so I can see the savage looking street guys ready to pounce if I decide to go this route. “But it’s your choice. I am a gentleman after all.”
“Clearly,” I reply, rolling my eyes.
“Or…option number two.”
“Which is?” I shift my weight to one foot, cross my arms over my chest, and this time I knit my brows at him, daring him to say what he’s going to say, trying to call his bluff to see if this man he’s shown himself to be is really who he is.
“I get you inside, then get your car in here too. Shut the garage up and then you decide you want to call someone to come get you before or after.”
“Before or after you get my car?”
Slowly he shakes his head. “Before or after I go crazy and show you what it’s like to be taken by a real man.”