Page 30 of Challenge Me

Ghost began moving them. Slowly at first, the regular wrench pressed deep as the socket wrench worked against that sensitive point he had discovered. The breaker bar stretched and filled, preventing me from escaping any sensation.

Cold metal. Warm grease. Pressure. Friction. Ghost’s hand supporting my stomach. His mouth against my shoulder, small fangs breaking my skin. I could no longer separate one feeling from another.

“Ghost…” I bit down on my lower lip, my knees buckling, but Ghost managed to hold me upright, one strong hand supporting my hip as he slowly pushed the tool deeper.

“Reach into me,” he commanded, his voice full of that authority one expected from a drill sergeant.

“Where?” I whispered.

“My engine. I want you to feel me. I want you to get your hands dirty.”

So this was a punishment after all; good thing I liked being punished. I was going to have my revenge eventually, but right now the brat in me was properly subdued. I studied the formerly perfect manicure on my hand, stark against the black innards of the Challenger.

At that point, fighting chaos was only wasting energy, and you know what? I think the lust was clouding my judgment; I had to admire the curves of the pipes curling around the engine, the sound of its hungry growl, how it vibrated against my chest. I felt the heat of him as I stroked the air filter pan, my fingers tracing lines into soot coating the metal.

“Deeper,” Ghost demanded, pressing against me, his shadow solid and burning hot. His hand gripped all three tools, gently easing them in and out of my trembling body.

I wrapped my fingers around a hot pipe, letting it burn me, but the sting was nothing compared to the pleasure of being simply used. I dizzily wondered what Ghost was getting out of this; the satisfaction of proving me wrong? Reclaiming control? Establishing dominance? Whatever it was, I was going to let him have it. He wanted me humiliated; he wanted to see me get my hands dirty. Fine.

I wanted him.

I twisted in his arms, determined to face the shadow as the setting sun shone right through his shimmering form. He watched me with those cold, possessive eyes as I twisted in his hold, forcing him to turn me enough that I could see him. I lifted my filthy hand, black grease covering my fingers; soot had worked into every line of my skin and had destroyed what remained of my manicure.

Ghost watched as I dragged two fingers down my cheek. The grease left a dark streak over my skin. I traced my lower lip, coating it in soot and oil.

Then I pushed my fingers into my mouth, leaving the smears on my tongue and letting Ghost see it.

My lips didn’t stay parted for long as our mouths crushed together in a savage kiss. There was no elegance left in it, no careful seduction. It was grease and teeth and smoke, his hand closing around my throat to hold me still while I laughed into his mouth like a madman.

Because perhaps I was one.

Perhaps I had always been one, and Ghost had simply found the correct tool to loosen the bolts.

I stroked the metal frame of the engine bay. Ghost’s motor responded with a growl, and my cock jerked helplessly.

I pushed my hand further into the engine, blackening my wrist. Oil coated my skin. Soot streaked my forearm. I could smell nothing but hot metal, gasoline, and my own sweat.

The taste remained in my mouth, bitter oil clinging to my tongue each time I swallowed. Smoke seemed to sit behind my teeth. I had never felt filthier.

I had never been more aroused.

Ghost’s hand increased the rhythm. The tools moved with more confidence now, their handles sliding in and out with slick, mechanical sounds. The pressure against my prostate became relentless. Each stroke tightened something low in my stomach.

I began pushing back to meet him.

Ghost chuckled.

The wrenches struck the perfect place. My head fell forward against his shoulder as Ghost laughed openly, keeping me upright as he slid down to his knees. I closed my eyes, expecting the obvious, his mouth on my throbbing cock, but instead I felt more coldness. More metal.

I looked down; another tool, a handled rubber strap that Ghost flexed in his hands before he closed it around the base of my erection.

The ring tightened, and I gasped, thighs jerking apart. The tight band trapped the blood inside my cock, making it swell harder, the head darkening, wetness gathering at the slit. I stared down at it, breathing hard.

The band tightened one fraction more. A strained sound escaped me.

“Oil-filter wrench,” Ghost explained. “Quite a grip, don’t you agree?”

Ghost’s thumb stroked the underside of my cock, tracing the swollen vein without offering relief.