Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 27188 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27188 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 136(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
I narrow my eyes, refusing to let him see how much his scrutiny affects me. “And what’s your hobby? Being grumpy?”
He steps closer, the air between us growing thick. “Maybe.”
“Figures.”
The corner of his mouth twitches, and for a moment, I think he’s going to laugh. Instead, he leans against the truck.
“Why are you really here, Amelia?” he asks, his tone softer now, almost curious.
I hesitate, his question catching me off guard. “What do you mean?”
“You said you’re here for your blog, but I don’t buy it.” His eyes narrow, searching mine. “You’ve got a history with this place. Don’t you?”
My breath catches, and I force a casual shrug. “Maybe. Why do you care?”
He studies me for a moment, his gaze intense. “Because you don’t look like someone who’s just passing through.”
I open my mouth to respond, but the words stick in my throat. He’s too close, too sharp, and I feel like he’s peeling back layers I’m not ready to reveal.
“Goodnight, Fox,” I say finally, turning back toward the loft.
His voice stops me before I reach the doorway. “Amelia.”
I glance over my shoulder, my heart pounding.
“Don’t mess with my tools again…unless you’re looking for trouble,” he says, a devilish smirk playing on his lips.
The tension breaks, and I can’t help but laugh, shaking my head as I retreat to the loft. Fox Miller might be the most infuriating man I’ve ever met, but damn if he isn’t also the most intriguing.
Chapter Eight
Fox
My cock throbs as the door to the loft clicks closed softly, signaling her departure. Pain bites behind the zipper and forces me to loosen the button and drop the metal teeth, freeing my raging problem and causing a sigh of relief to wash through me. The garage smells like grease and gasoline, familiar and comforting. It’s where everything makes sense—parts fit together, problems have solutions, and silence is a welcome companion.
And then I think of Amelia’s lips on mine, and I’m done.
I cup my balls in one hand, sliding my palm up the shaft of my throbbing dick and fist tightly. I imagine what I’d do to her if she was with me, pushing her fleshly ass cheeks apart and licking her sweet little cunt clean. I’ve been dreaming of making this girl mine since she walked into my garage, and every passing moment the threads of control threaten to snap a little more.
I jerk my cock harder, the need to relieve the pressure causing me to boil over. I steady my hand on the stone wall, imagining bracing her with my hips and fucking her hard and deep until she is exhausted and weak around my cock, my seed and only mine coating her completely.
I’m a man possessed with wild and forbidden thoughts of her, my sexy, sassy little roommate from hell.
Just the thought of spanking the sass out of her and then dragging my tongue along her succulent skin has me creaming, jets of semen covering my palm and soaking the front of my dark denim jeans. The cage of my chest rattles, all the muscles in my body tense as I come down from the best fucking orgasm of my life, all because I’ve finally allowed myself to have these thoughts of her.
“Hey–can you grab the throw blanket from the dryer when you come to bed–” The door crashes open, a voice singsongs from the top of the stairs. “Oh–”
My back tenses, cum still leaking through the crack of my fingers.
I gulp, adjusting my still twitching cock back into my jeans and trying to quick-button them.
“Amelia,” I turn, fake smile covering the embarrassment that the woman of the hour has just caught me jerking off to...her. “So much for giving a guy a head's up.”
Her gaze drops, “It looks like I just stumbled upon something a lot more interesting than I anticipated.”
I grunt, closing my zipper and returning to the truck. “Just changing the oil on this old thing–taking a little longer than I thought.”
“Oh, okay.” I hear her pad down the stairs. My system tenses, awareness of her growing with every step. “Do you want any help?”
“From you, Princess? No–I’m fine,” I grunt.
When she reaches me she leans over my shoulder, the scent of the flowery shampoo she uses in her hair fills my nostrils and causes a spring to coil tightly in my stomach. My girl always smells good, good enough to eat and I can’t help wondering if her sweet pussy tastes as good as she smells.
“I’ve always wanted to learn to change my own oil.”
“You? Really?” I turn, catching her gaze.
“Yeah–that’s a practical thing a girl should learn, right?”
“Sure–if you think so. I gotta tell ya, I’m the kind of guy that will change your oil anytime, City Girl.” I send her a sideways smirk, knowing she’ll pick up on my innuendo.