Dirty Deeds (Mechanics of Love #3)(4)

And move he did. His head descended and their foreheads bumped, his hair tickling her skin. And then she couldn’t feel anything, really, but both of his hands on her hips, his fingers digging into her skin and then his lips on hers. Those full lips that curled around his English words and called her “Sprite.”

The man could kiss. His mouth opened on hers and his tongue was inside her, tasting her. He made a soft groaning sound in his throat and then he was pressing against her harder, the thick bulge in his pants rubbing along her belly, their height differences making this standing make-out session difficult. But Alex didn’t care, not when he was devouring her, not when she had the freedom to focus on the pleasure without the relationship—a relationship where she constantly wondered what would come next, what words he would use to hurt her, make her feel less than.

With Spencer, this was all there was, and it was better than it’d ever been as she ran her hands up through that thick hair, threading her fingers in it, and angling her face so she could kiss him more, deeper, just more.

She didn’t want to be standing anymore. She wanted to be somewhere she could spread her legs and welcome him between them. Where she could grind herself into that erection that was growing steadily, pressed up against her stomach.

Damn this public parking lot.

She pulled away, breathing hard, staring into his blue eyes. His lips were wet, glistening in the light of the moon. A fall breeze blew over her heated skin and she shivered.

He raised his hands and ran them over the goose bumps on her arms, as if he wanted to warm her up. His eyes didn’t leave hers. “Who are you, little Alex the mechanic?”

He drew out the a in mechanic, making it a long vowel instead of a short one. She wanted to say that she wasn’t sure who she was anymore, that she was still learning who she was now since leaving the old Alex behind. All she did was shake her head and press her hands to the cool metal of the truck behind her.

“It’s your move now,” he said.

She licked her lips. “I’ve been meaning to see what the hotel rooms are like at the Tory Inn.”

He smiled, and she thought they’d both played pretty strategically.

ALEX LET HIM off at the lobby of the hotel and went to park her truck, so that by the time she was striding through the front doors, he had a key in hand and had already pressed the button to take them up the lift to the fifth floor.

And by the time they reached his door, he was uncomfortably hard and all too aware of Alex at his back, the heat of her skin, the sound of her breath.

The way those blue eyes never strayed from him.

He dropped his bags beside the closet and turned around to face Alex as the door clicked shut behind her.

She’d let down her hair, so now it fell around her shoulders in a mass of dark brown waves. A few strands caught in her eyelashes and she blinked them away. She stood the exact same way she had outside the garage—feet braced apart, hands loose at her sides. Her eyes were a challenge, not demure. She wasn’t playing coy or pretending to be an ingénue.

No, they both knew if she was in his hotel room right now, she wasn’t that. Instead of seductive, her posture was powerful, confident, and fuck if that didn’t turn him on more than anything he’d ever seen.

She licked her lips, the crimson stain still in place. “Whose move is it now?” she whispered.

“Game’s over,” he said, drawing out the o on purpose.

Alex smirked, then they each took a step forward and met in a crash of limbs and skin and clothes that needed to go right the fuck now.

The taste of her was even better than it had been against her truck, because he didn’t have to hold back now. He gripped her head and tilted it back with his thumbs along her jaw. She let him as she dug her fingernails in the skin of his wrists, like, you may be in charge now, but that could change.

She was tiny against his body, yet warm and coiled tight, like a spring.

He coasted his hands down her arms and then rucked up her shirt beneath her breasts so he could get at the soft skin of her stomach. She sucked in a breath as his fingers skimmed along her ribs, across her belly, and around her navel.

Her hands were on him too, working deftly at the buttons on his shirt. She made a frustrated sound in her throat then stepped back, whipping off her shirt to reveal a red lace bra. Her breasts were heaving, spilling over the cups, and then she was back against him, tugging his shirt over his shoulders and down his arms.

In the next minute they were on the bed, him on top shirtless, her writhing below him, thrusting her hips into his. Her boots were off, somehow, and he toed his shoes off quickly as her fingers began to fiddle with his belt.

He pulled down the cup of her bra to expose her breasts. She was well-endowed, more than a handful, and his mouth watered at the sight of her peaked nipple. He didn’t know what to do first. This was a buffet, and he was starving and everything looked so damn good that he was frozen in place. “Tell me what you like,” he whispered, sucking on the skin of her neck as he thumbed her nipple.

She gasped. “I like men.”

He huffed a laugh as his lips skimmed her shoulder. “I sure hope so.”

She didn’t say anything else as she managed to unhook his belt.

“Come on,” he prodded. “Tell me what you like.”

She stopped moving for a minute and stared at him. Her dark hair was spread out on the white comforter, her lipstick smeared, her cheeks flushed. She blinked for a minute, then seemed to gather her strength. “I like . . . ” She bit her lip and spit out one word. “Hands.”

Spencer rested his hand on her breast. “Okay.”

“I like to watch a man . . . touch me.” She seemed to be gaining courage now.

He wondered if a man ever asked her what she wanted. A surge of anger washed over him at the thought no one had. And then Spencer focused back on her. He lifted a hand to her face and ran the pad of his middle finger over her lips. “How do you want me to touch you?”

“Why are you asking me this?” she demanded.

“So I can do what you want,” he shot back.

She stared, as if caught off guard. Then she swallowed. When her voice came, it held a bit of a challenge. “I want you to lay on your back in this bed. I want to take off your pants. I want to suck your cock until you’re . . . begging. And then I want to climb on top and ride you. That’s exactly what I want.”

That’s what he wanted to, everything that she said, every word that spilled from those kiss-swollen lips.

So he rolled off her onto his back on the bed and bent his elbows, lacing his hands behind his head. “Then you have at it, and get the rubber from my kit while you’re at it.”

ALEX PAWED THROUGH Spencer’s things, finally finding the condom even though she could barely see through the haze of . . . what were these? Tears?

Why was she crying? There was no crying during one-night stands.

So she blinked them away, not wanting to dwell on how much it had affected her that he’d asked what she wanted. Because she hadn’t known how much it meant to hear that question. She was used to taking what she wanted. But she’d never been asked. She’d never been forced to vocalize it for the pure reason that a man wanted to make her feel good. That he wanted to do what she liked.

It made her a little angry too, that this stranger was the first one to do it. What was wrong with her that men she’d loved and thought loved her back hadn’t ever done that?

When she turned back to the bed, Spencer hadn’t moved. He was still there, lying on his back, arms behind his head, blue eyes watching her every move. He had a tattoo on his left pectoral, something large and furry.

Flipping open the fly of her jeans, she unzipped them and let them drop to the floor. She stood before him then, in her red bra and matching panties. That was her indulgence, her big fuck-you to everyone who treated her like dirt because of what she did for a living. Knowing she wore sexy underwear made her feel empowered. She’d never worn them for him. It had always been for her.

But now, with Spencer’s gaze raking over her body, she was glad she had these. That she had something to give this man.

She stepped toward him, pulled his socks off, then his pants. He wore a pair of plaid boxer briefs, and she smiled at the thick ridge showing beneath the cotton.

He didn’t move as she lowered the waistband to reveal his cock. She was startled at first because he wasn’t cut. She’d never seen an uncut cock in person. He reached down and gave himself a couple of strokes, so the head of his cock peeked through the foreskin.

She loved giving blow jobs. Really, really loved it. Or at least, she used to. He’d made it about power after a while, refusing to do anything but stand while she kneeled at his feet. She’d hated that, his hand on her head, gripping her hair. Well, she’d pretended he did it out of love, but she knew now it hadn’t had anything to do with love.

With Spencer on his back, she didn’t feel like something lesser. She felt like she had the power, and so she bent down and took his big, thick cock in her mouth to the root and then pulled off.

Spencer hissed out a sound between his teeth. His hips jerked but he didn’t fuck her mouth or press a hand to the back of her head. His hands were fisting the sheets, the blue of his eyes visible only through thin slits as he stared down at her with his mouth open.