Page 31 of Tempted By the Single Dad Mechanic
"Give me just a second," he says, already moving toward the door. "Let me make sure everything's locked up. That no one will interrupt us."
He disappears, and I hear the front door locking, the click of the deadbolt.
My heart is racing. This is really happening. I'm really doing this.
The string of my panties is rubbing against my clit with every breath, every tiny movement, and I'm so wet I'm worried I might have soaked through my jeans.
If I were alone right now, I'd have my hand down my pants. I'd be touching myself, getting myself off, anything to relieve this pressure. But I'm not alone. And in a minute, Casey's going to come back, and then—
"We've got the whole place to ourselves," Casey says, appearing in the doorway.
He looks at me for a moment, and I see the same lust reflected in his eyes.
"Follow me," he says.
I do, my legs shaky, every step making my panties rub against me in a way that's both torture and not nearly enough. He leads me through the garage, past the cars and tools and equipment, to a small room in the very back that I didn't even know was there.
It's cleaner than the rest of the shop—white walls, a desk in the corner, some shelves with what looks like art supplies.
"I set this up for Riley," Casey explains, closing the door behind us. "Thought she might want a place to paint or draw while she's here. But she prefers being out front, talking to everyone who comes in."
"It's nice," I say, but I'm barely paying attention to the room.
I'm paying attention to the way Casey's looking at me. Like he's about to eat me alive. He moves so fast I barely have time to register it. One second, he's by the door, the next he's scooping me up like I weigh nothing and carrying me to the desk.
He sets me down on the edge of it, and then his hand is on the side of my neck, tilting my head back as he kisses my throat.
Slowly. Passionately. Like he has all the time in the world.
"Fuck," I breathe, my hands clutching at his shoulders.
This is torture. Beautiful, perfect torture. I've never been this wet in my entire life. Never wanted someone to fuck me this badly.
His hands move to the hem of my shirt, and he pauses, looking at me for permission. I nod, and he pulls it over my head, tossing it aside.
My breasts are spilling out of my bra. It's not the sexiest one I own, just a plain one, but Casey's looking at me like I'm wearing the prettiest lingerie.
"You're beautiful," he says, his voice rough.
Then his hands are on my breasts, cupping them through the fabric, and I moan. He takes my hands and places them over his, encouraging me to touch myself with him.
"You like that?" he asks, his thumbs brushing over my nipples.
I nod, not trusting my voice. If I open my mouth, I'm afraid I'll say something ridiculous. Something that will break this spell and make him stop.
But I need to tell him. I need to be honest.
I put a hand on his shoulder, and he immediately stills.
"I need to tell you something," I say.
He steps back slightly, concern flickering across his face. "Are you uncomfortable? We can stop—"
"No," I interrupt. "It's the opposite. I want this so fucking much, Casey. But I need to be honest with you."
He waits, patient, and I take a deep breath.
"I'm a virgin."
