Dirty Deeds (Mechanics of Love #3)(13)

Spencer stepped out of the car, mirrored sunglasses hiding his eyes, a green tie flapping in the breeze. He wore a fancy suit again, expensive watch peeking out from beneath the white cuffs of his shirt.

He didn’t seem surprised when he spotted her this time, and walked toward her, stopping when he was about five feet away.

She spoke first. “You case the place until you could get me alone?”

His glasses hid his eyes and his voice was even when he spoke. “What if I told you I did?”

She shrugged, but inside her stomach rolled. “I’d say that’s kind of pathetic.”

He smiled then, all teeth. “Maybe.”

“What do you want?”

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“What about?”

He took off his glasses and tucked them in his shirt. “I felt there were some things that needed explaining.”

Her lip curled. “There’s nothing that needs explaining.” That was exactly the last thing she wanted to hear from him. Because just by standing in front of her, he was making what she hoped to stay in the past surge to the present.

A muscle in his jaw jumped. “Well, humor my British side that hates conflict, okay?”

“So I have to endure this conversation just so you can ease your conscience over spending one night slumming it with some girl from a small town? No thanks.” Why was her voice so bitter? Because no matter how surrounded she was by family and friends, Robby’s voice would never leave her.

Spencer looked confused, and then his expression shifted to exasperation and then to anger. “You know, this tough-girl act is a little outdated.”

“Well, you liked it for one night!” Her voice was rising. Was she yelling? She needed to control herself. It was a small town, but they could manage to avoid each other for however long he was in town. She turned away and began walking toward the office door. “Look, why don’t you just leave, so we can both get out of each other’s presence like we originally agreed on and—”

Hands grabbed her wrists from behind and she froze.

Shut down.

She’d learned not to struggle. Although Robby never struck her, he used his weight to overpower her all the time and struggling only got her tangled further in his net of control.

So she didn’t move, and she closed her eyes as a warm body plastered itself against her back. “Sprite,” he said in that deep, accented voice.

“What?” she whispered.

He didn’t say anything for a minute, and his hands on her wrists loosened, but he didn’t let go. “Why are you so angry?”

Oh, she couldn’t even count all the ways. “For starters. You’re here. When I never thought you would be again.”

Another long pause. “Is that what this is about? You’re mad I came back? And that you thought I’d . . . what? Be embarrassed by you?” Alex swallowed and stared at the wall in front of her. Spencer kept talking. “Don’t assume you know everything about me. I certainly wasn’t slumming it when we spent the evening together.”

His thumbs moved in a circular pattern on the inside of her wrists and she stifled a groan.

He must have heard it, because he pressed in closer, and now his lips were at her ear, his voice low. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about that night. You above me, your hair and those lips and that body . . . ” His voice trailed off.

She couldn’t stop herself from asking, “My lips?”

He let go of a wrist and brought his hand up to her face, tilting it to the side. Then he brushed a thumb over her mouth. “These red lips. With your hair and your eyes. Fucking gorgeous.”

Robby had hated her makeup. Called her a whore.

Why couldn’t she forget about him? Especially now, with Spencer’s body against hers, his hand cupping her jaw.

She turned around slowly, letting him keep control of her wrist. She looked up into his eyes, his stubbled jaw. She licked her lips.

One minute, she was in the middle of the garage, the next she was against the wall, her legs around Spencer’s waist, his hands cupping her ass as he devoured her mouth.

She ground into him, unable to help herself, not caring if it was slutty because Spencer liked her like this. He liked that she sought her own pleasure, so she moaned into his mouth and gripped his face, her fingers spearing into that gorgeous silver-streaked hair at his temples.

She hadn’t dry humped since high school but her body was so lit up, she thought she might be able to come just from grinding herself against Spencer.

He pulled down the front of her tank top along with the cup of her bra, lifted a breast, and stuck the tip into his mouth. He sucked hard, using tongue and teeth, and she cried out, clenching her thighs tighter, gripping his hair so hard, she worried she caused pain.

But Spencer didn’t appear to mind. He lapped at her breast like a starving man before pulling down the other side and leaning back slightly to stare at her.

She wondered what she looked like, smashed up against the wall of the garage, her breasts hanging out, her lipstick smeared all over her mouth.

Spencer’s eyes were wild as he took her in. “I’m the luckiest man in the world to be here right now.”

Her heart ached, because they would be only this, a screw in a bed, a fuck against a wall. Quick, dirty deeds that would never have a future. Oh well, she’d make the most of it.

She didn’t want to face him again, not when they did this, so she pushed him away and he helped her drop her legs to the floor. She smacked the button to shut the garage door, then sauntered over to his Mercedes, taking her top and bra off along the way, leaving them on the floor of the garage in her wake. She toed off her boots and socks as Spencer stared after her, his hair rumpled, his mouth wet, the bulge in his pants obvious.

When she reached his car, she was naked, completely naked. Then she leaned over the trunk of the car, ass out, and looked at Spencer. “I always wanted to get fucked on a Mercedes.”

THIS WAS A little unreal, and Spencer wasn’t sure he wasn’t dreaming. Because right now, his debauched sprite was leaning over the boot of his car, completely naked, asking him to . . . shag her. On his car.

He wanted to high-five his sixteen-year-old self, who had this exact fantasy.

When he began to walk in her direction, he tried to appear confident, like he meant to be here, like he deserved this. In reality, he wasn’t sure he deserved this woman who was right now providing him wank fodder for the next ten years.

He stopped behind her, so the front of his pants brushed the perfect curve of her arse. He raised a hand and ran tentative fingers down the knobs of her spine, the dip of her lower back, and then over one round hip. She was curvy, with a large arse and thick thighs. Everything about how she looked and acted was his dream come true.

She watched him from over her shoulder, blue eyes full of heat.

“I wish I could describe how perfect you look right now,” he said softly.

“You can show me by fucking me.” She waggled her arse, so the hard ridge in his pants ran the length of her crease. He groaned as he unzipped his pants, pulled his cock out, and gave it a couple of strokes.

He reached down and cupped her, sliding a middle finger into her wetness.

“Fuck, this really turns you on, doesn’t it?” He tapped her clit.

She jerked and threw her head back. “Obviously.”

He fisted his cock again and was about to ram home when he remembered something important. Vitally important. “Uh, I have no rubber.”

Alex’s hips were moving, grinding onto his hand. “So?”

“What do you mean, so—?”

“I’m on the pill, Posh. Are you safe?”

“Yes, always—”

“So, just fuck me already.”

He gripped her hip tighter. The last time he’d shagged without protection was . . . ten years ago, with his uni girlfriend.

But Alex was here, in front of him, bent over his car. So he trusted her and slid into her in one motion.

The feeling was . . . everything. All encompassing. All consuming. He was inside Alex and it was just them, nothing stopping them each from experiencing their union   to its fullest.

Alex’s head was tilted to the side, so he saw her eyes closed, red lips parted. He gripped her hip and began to thrust slowly, but Alex wasn’t having that. Not his sprite. Her lips curled and her eyes opened to gaze at him halfway, and then she began to move.

Bracing her arms on his car, she rocked into him, controlling the speed and tempo and depth, and all he did was hold on, hold on tight as she rode him hard. He’d never been with a woman like this, the sexual aggressor, and he thought now he’d been missing out, because this was the biggest turn-on of his life.

With every slam of her arse against him, she grunted, the sounds turning high as she seemed to reach for her orgasm while his barreled down on him without conscious thought.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered. “Can’t hold on much longer, Alex.” She was too hot, too tight, too everything for him to hold back while his body was screaming at him to finish.

“It’s okay, I’m coming,” she said breathlessly, and thank God because he was undone now, releasing into her body, unable to stop himself from holding her against him, shoving her fully onto the car and covering her body with his as they both came.

When they both lay limply on the car, he registered that her body shook below his. He tried to coordinate his limbs to get off her, for fear he hurt her, when he realized she was laughing.