Best Erotic Romance 2014 (6 page)

She shivered when he pulled her jeans down past her hips, baring her panties. She could barely remember the last time she'd had her pussy licked, and now Randal's breath heated her through her underwear.

He pressed another kiss to her clit through cotton she'd already soaked with her arousal. Then he pulled back with a slight frown.

“What's the matter?”

Mischief danced in Randal's eyes. “Well, I think you warned me that fluid could degrade the belt. I'm no expert, but I think I found a leak.” His finger toyed with the elastic edges of her panties.

Tamara relaxed and grinned. She bit her lip to keep from laughing. “I don't think that part can be replaced. You'll have to plug it and see if that helps.”

Randal wasted no time slipping off her underwear and sliding a finger into her wet pussy. Tamara's cunt gripped at him, pleased but unsatisfied. “That leak is bigger than that,” she told him.

He took the hint and filled her with two fingers, then three. Tamara groaned and rocked against his hand. It felt good to be touched, to feel the light kisses he feathered over her inner thighs, but she wanted more. Then she remembered the timing belt still in her hand and wound it gently around the back of his head.

“We should see if these parts have been adjusted to work together correctly,” she said, using the belt to guide his mouth back to her clit. Randal chuckled, but obliged, giving her a long, slow upward stroke with the flat of his tongue.

“That is perfect,” Tamara moaned. “We just need to run the test long enough to…” She trailed off, unable to keep up the metaphor while he licked her and fucked her with his fingers. Her hands fisted around the rubber belt. Her oncoming orgasm made it hard for her to keep her feet.

Randal nipped her clit gently and electricity shot through Tamara's body, destroying her dexterity entirely. Her cunt pulsed. She'd never come standing up before, but she did now, so disoriented by the waves of pleasure coursing through her that she barely knew which way was up. Shaking with orgasm, she released the timing belt, not wanting to hurt him if she stumbled.

Randal caught her around the middle and held her, still stroking her. “I should have been paying more attention,” he murmured against her stomach. “You did warn me that if the belt got too saturated, it could slip.”

“Mmm,” Tamara responded, foggy with pleasure. She was far from finished with him, though. “It's still leaking,” she told him, gesturing toward her pussy.

“You're the professional,” Randal said, “but I do have a special tool I could try. I don't think my fingers were big enough.”

Tamara could not help giggling at the silliness of their game. “Yes, you'd better try your ‘special tool.'”

Randal removed his suit jacket and spread it on the floor. Even woozy with orgasm, she reached out to stop him. “You don't have to—”

“Nonsense.” He guided her onto it, then took off his shirt and folded it into a pillow for her. Tamara gazed up at him, not sure if she was more impressed by his romantic gesture or by the definition of his abs. He smiled down at her. “Now,” Randal said, “I do that frantic search for the condom guys keep in their wallets just in case.”

Tamara grinned. “Or we can grab my pants and check the one in my wallet. If it's not expired, that is.”

Randal returned her smile and tossed her the pants. “Glad it's not just me.”

Tamara produced the condom while Randal stripped to bare skin. She buried her nose against his cock, breathing in his sharp male musk, then rolled the condom over his erection. She thought of a few more funny comments about leaks and oil, but right then she wanted him too much to bother with that anymore. She lay back, spread her legs and invited him in.

Randal rested his palms on either side of Tamara's head and slid his cock into her. She rolled her hips up to welcome it, and soon discovered their timing was perfect. He advanced when she needed him deeper, then withdrew and rocked just within her entrance right at the moment she wanted to feel him there instead.

Tamara leaned up to kiss him, gripping his ass tightly and pulling him into her. She couldn't believe how smoothly he moved within her, or how perfectly he fit. Her second orgasm came to her easily, pleasure gliding through her from head to foot as she buried her face in the side of Randal's neck.

His orgasm followed a moment later. Not the noisy type, he placed his mouth against Tamara's ear to let her hear the tiny hitch his throat gave when he came. He eased his weight onto her. “You are the best mechanic,” Randal whispered. “Patient, professional, knowledgeable…and very thorough.”

She held him against her for a moment, savoring the experience and wondering what she ought to do next. Then she released him so he could take care of the condom. She watched his back as he walked toward the sink. Tamara decided that when he returned, she could ask him to dinner.

“Hey,” Randal said lightly as he turned on the water. “You never showed me the valve cover gasket. Did that turn out to be in good shape after all?”

“It certainly wasn't dried out like the cam seals,” Tamara answered, then trailed off, lifting herself onto one elbow. The
facility with which he'd referred to cars as they made love took on a different cast in her mind. “Most people who can't tell a timing belt from a steering wheel wouldn't know a valve cover gasket if it put a gun to their heads.” Adrenaline poured through her body, erasing the relaxation her orgasms had brought. “Who are you?”

The easy smile he'd been wearing fell off his face. He turned toward her and held up his hands. Now, his gym-sculpted body seemed to mock her.

Tamara pressed her attack. “Are you checking out the competition or something?”

“This isn't what you think,” Randal said.

“I just had sex with a man who's in my place of business under false pretenses,” Tamara shot back. “I'm pretty sure it's what I think.” She felt too naked, too vulnerable and too embarrassed. She gathered her clothes as quickly as she could.

“Look, I'm a reporter. I'm checking out how different shops treat their customers.”

She sent him a glare cold enough to freeze water. “Do I get special mention for fucking a customer?”

“Look, I know it wasn't the best thing for me to do. I tried to tell you, but… In the end, I just didn't want to stop what was happening between us. I'm sorry.”

Tamara stared at him. Her body still ached with the pleasure he'd given her. She still wanted him, and she did remember the moment he'd hesitated. Tamara very nearly stretched out her arms to him, but the humiliation of being deceived burned too strongly in the back of her throat.

She turned her back on him. “You can call me later if you want, once I've had a chance to think about this. Right now, please get out.”

* * *

“Can you believe he was an undercover reporter?” Lucy almost squealed the question, clearly thrilled by the glamour of the word “undercover.” “‘Top marks go to T.O.'s Auto Service Plus in Providence, R.I., the only shop we tried that caught every problem our test vehicle had, fixed them all and didn't charge a penny's worth of unfair parts or labor,'” she read aloud from the magazine open in her hands. She followed Tamara into the garage, ignoring her boss's every effort to retreat. “‘Staff was patient, professional, knowledgeable and very thorough,'” Lucy continued.

Embarrassment flooded Tamara at the familiar phrasing. Her hands worked at her sides. Engines made so much more sense than people. “You should really keep an eye on the floor if you're going to be in here, Lucy,” she said. “Especially in those heels. Why don't you put that magazine away?”

Lucy surprised her by dropping it and placing one fist on each hip instead. “What's the matter with you, Tamara? That is the best write-up we could possibly have hoped for, and in a national magazine! You'd think you would be happy! I'll even forgive Randal Dean for being such a pain in the ass while he was here.”

Tamara swallowed. Lucy was right—she had no reason to be anything but delighted with the profile. She'd earned every nice thing Randal had written about her shop by being good at her job. He hadn't slipped in any patronizing words about her gender—this was definitely the first write-up she'd gotten that didn't include a line about how surprising it was that Tamara could be a competent mechanic and decently pretty woman at the very same time. As far as what had happened between them, she was the one who had sent him away. She was disappointed he hadn't called, but he didn't owe her anything.

Unfortunately, knowing that hadn't helped her get over her evening with Randal. “I just feel like he took us for a bit of a ride,” she admitted to Lucy, ducking her head at her inadvertent car imagery and the memories it summoned.

“He paid us, and he gave us great press,” Lucy returned brightly. “I don't know what else you want from him!” She turned on her heel and returned to the front office, leaving Tamara to stare after her. She knew exactly what else she wanted from Randal Dean, but she also knew she had no chance of getting it.

“Tamara, can you come out to the front?”

Tamara took a deep breath and emerged reluctantly from the engine she'd been working on. “Seriously, Lucy, you are probably better prepared for talking to customers than I am.”

Lucy seemed exceedingly nervous this time, her fingers lacing together and unlacing in front of her body in rapid succession. “Would you please just come?”

Tamara wiped grease from her fingers, wincing a little at the way that always reminded her of Randal now. “I'll be there in a second.” She cast a longing glance over her shoulder at the parts laid in a neat array on a cloth beside the car, then followed her service consultant to the front.

“I need timing belt service,” a familiar voice said. “Something is leaking or something is broken—I'm not sure what it is, but I have to make it right before I suffer catastrophic engine failure.”

Tamara stared. Randal stood in her front room, as sharply dressed as he'd been before, with a dozen roses in his hands. She struggled to find her voice. “Didn't you just have that service recently?”

“I should have asked my mechanic to look at the valve cover
gasket, too. My fault, really. How can she work when she doesn't know the car's whole situation? I'm hoping that sort of problem won't happen anymore once I get a permanent arrangement set up with her.”

Tamara recognized his apology, and his invitation. She stepped forward and took the roses, their hands brushing together as she did. As before, he made her feel beautiful despite—or perhaps because of—all her grease and dirt.

“Can I talk to you outside?” Randal murmured when she came close.

Tamara smiled. She went behind the counter and palmed the keys to the souped-up Civic she drove herself. They would talk, certainly, and sort out anything they needed to. First, she meant to take him for a nice long ride.

RULES

Emerald

“What are you doing?”

Joyce looked up to see Pete in the doorway. “Just going through some pictures,” she said, looking back down at the disorganized box in front of her. “Many of which I had forgotten I had.”

Her husband moved to stand behind where she sat cross-legged on the basement floor. He squinted at the photo in her hand.

“What's that?”

Joyce laughed. “It's when I dyed my hair purple.” She held it up for his better viewing.

“You dyed your hair purple?” Pete took the picture from her.

“Yeah. When I was eighteen. I told you that. Didn't I? My parents had a fit.”

Pete shook his head, his eyes on the photo.

Strictly forbidden to by her parents, she recalled clearly how
she'd grinned the whole time she'd sat in the salon swivel chair the day she turned eighteen, the stylist casually stripping even her light-blonde hair of its natural color—along with its natural health—to create the foundation for the vibrant hue. The picture had been taken there, right after the hairdresser had finished, by her best friend Chloe. Joyce was smiling into the camera, her shoulder-length hair a shining curtain of violet.

“Hot,” Pete said now, handing the picture back to her.

Joyce laughed again. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Pete smiled at her. “I like that hair-dyed-funky-color kind of look. I've always had a bit of a thing for the rebel schoolgirl goth character.” He winked.

“You have?” This was news to her.

He shrugged. “Yeah. Nothing big—just catches my interest a bit. Plus,” he paused, studying the picture over her shoulder again.

“What?”

He shrugged. “Just the attitude. It just looks like dying your hair represented something for you. I like that.”

Joyce stared down at the picture. He was right. It had indeed.

“Yeah,” she said softly. “I liked it too.”

Arriving home from work early on Friday, Joyce carried her small shopping bag into the bedroom and knelt to pull the storage boxes out from under the bed. The one she was looking for was toward the middle, requiring the extraction of the more accessible ones in front to reach it.