I ignite as heat runs through my core. His lips meet mine again as he finds his pace, moving in and out with so much pleasure that I want to explode on contact.
With every thrust, he inhales my moans, and with every breath, he brings me closer to the edge.
Gone are the sounds of us trying to be quiet as we both chase the high we’ve missed for so long.
The faster he goes, the harder he pushes, and I just want more. I need more.
I can’t get enough of him, and when he pulls almost all the way out, leaving just the tip before sliding back in, I want to cry from the loss I feel for that quick second. I’ve never wanted to come so bad in my life. It’s there, so close. My body knows what’s happening, but it’s so intense that it can barely handle it.
I can’t breathe; I can’t focus. Nothing else matters but what he’s doing and how amazing it feels.
He slows his pace, and I officially lose my mind. My toes curl, and my hands grip the blanket underneath me as I lie there as still as possible, letting him control my body as his own, bringing me to a release I never thought possible.
One, two, three more pumps, and I explode. I fall back, and my entire body freezes as waves of the most intense orgasm rushes through me. I clinch around his length in pulses that seem stronger than the ocean waves.
He grips my body harder, pumping himself in and out, and in mere seconds, he spills over his own edge, grunting his release into my mouth in a final attempt to silence our tryst.
Once we’re able to catch our breaths, he lifts himself up, kissing me more softly as he slowly moves in and out, not ready to end our moment just yet.
When he pulls out completely, he flips me to the side, wrapping his arms around me and curling up next to me.
My mind is a jumbled mess of post-orgasm fogginess, and I let it take me over.
I know after two more days, my life will go back to the sky, and his will go back to his bar and son. Our past wasn’t the only thing keeping us apart. While we don’t have a future, I try to close my eyes and stay in the present.
Because what the hell happens after this is … up in the air.
10
Jolene
“Are you going to stand there all day, or are you going to help?” Zack asks, tilting his head and daring me to grab a wrench.
I flinch from where I was just staring. Seeing him working in an auto garage on a hot afternoon is beyond sexy. His shirt is fitted against his skin, showing his chest and the scintillating definition of his abs in the most perfect way. His tattoos peek out of the hem of the white tee, looking badass and turning me on.
As much as I’d like him to do dirty things to me, I’m very aware that we’re in his father’s shop with four employees within earshot.
I clear my throat. “You really think I remember how to use this thing?”
He grins, and I swear my core tightens from memories of him making that same face last night after he made me come.
Keeping my gaze, he heads over to the boom box that still sits on top of the counter. He turns it on, and the radio comes to life, blaring a country song I haven’t heard in years.
Zack steps up, singing every word to “Save A Horse (Ride A Cowboy)” by Big & Rich, “I’m a thoroughbred, that’s what she said.”
I push him away, laughing at his antics.
“Dance with me?” He grinds his hips against mine.
I shake my head and cross my arms in protest.
He leans in to whisper, “You’ve already ridden me; the least you can do is dance with me.”
I tilt my head and narrow my eyes at him. “You are not a cowboy or John Wayne,” like the song suggests.
“And you are not like the other girls. Dance, or let me show you how to use this thing.”
He hands me the wrench and I give in, taking it from him.
I point my finger at his face. “No more singing though.”
His teeth skim his lower lip. “Yeah, not going to happen.”
I roll my eyes and then press my palm against his chest. We used to spend a lot of time doing just this. Him working on cars, singing to the radio while I sat and watched.
I lean over the Subaru he’s working on while he shows me how to replace the spark plugs. As I use the ratchet wrench to remove the old spark plug from its position, he puts masking tape on the wires and then slaps my ass.
While he finishes the replacement job and talks to me about tightening things an eighth of a turn past hand-tight, I realize he’s lost me and find I’d much rather ogle at him working than get my hands dirty and possibly mess up someone’s vehicle.
There’s a shiny black car in the bay next to the Subaru. I follow him over to it, watching as he leans over the front end of a gorgeous muscle car.
“Whose is this?” I ask, running my fingers up the smooth paint on the front end. A car like this would stand out like a sore thumb in Dixon. “It’s beautiful.”
“For a girl without a car, you have good taste,” he teases. I playfully slap his arm before he answers the question, “That’s a ’69 Camaro. It belongs to a guy I met in San Francisco. He’s some head honcho at Sexton Media, and he doesn’t want anyone in the city to know it’s his car, so he trusts me and Joey, one of our mechanics, to work on it.”
“Hiding cars for the Sextons? They’re West Coast royalty. That’s like me saying I’m hiding a body for one for the Kennedys.” I slowly shake my head as I take it in. “Sounds dangerous.”
He shrugs. “Depends what the car is being used for.”
I bite my lip in intrigue. “Well, hypothetically, why would someone want to hide a car like this?”
With a lift of his chin, he quirks his mouth. “Hypothetically”—he raises his brows to make sure I know this is a need-to-know kind of conversation—“illegal street racing.”
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t completely intrigued. “Do you race?”
“I have.”
“Really?”
He runs a thumb over his lip as he says, “I did some crazy things, trying to get you out of my head.”
My chest rises as I think of how out of his mind he must have been to jump behind the wheel of a car, racing to the finish.
Zack goes back to the Subaru. His head is deep in the engine as I stand here, biting my thumb. He turns to me, and I raise my eyebrows, so he knows I need more info.
He stands up and wipes his hands on the rag that hangs from his jeans pocket. “I race about twice a year. I wear a helmet, and I’m careful. I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize my life, my son, or my bar.” A grin lights his face, and I narrow my gaze at him, confused. “It’s cute to see you so concerned about me.” He kisses my nose and then gives a wink.
I look to the side and smile to myself. The cocky bastard.
“So, how did you get in with the Sextons?” I ask.
“Austin Sexton comes into The Tap Room when he tries to escape the high life,” he answers from under the hood.
“Seriously?”
He nods. “Yeah. We’ve become pretty good friends. He even got Sexton Media to sponsor Luke’s Little League.”
“So … the businessman has a dangerous side. How does he even get it here without the whole town knowing?”