Mine To Beg For

POV: Odell He was eleven minutes late, which, coming from Caelen, practically counted as an apology. I had the garage door half-down and a Civic on the lift, the oil pan still dripping, when his pickup rolled into the lot and parked diagonally across two spaces. I didn't look up. I let him walk the whole length of the concrete, just so he'd know I'd noticed the time. "You're closed." "I'm closed for customers." I wiped my hands on the rag clipped to my belt before finally giving him the look he'd been angling for since he walked through the door. "You're not a customer." "Then what am I?" "Late." He at least had the decency to drop his head. Caelen had the kind of face that made grown women lose their train of thought at the DMV, and he knew it. And I, on principle, refused to be one of those women he made lose anything. "Family stuff," he said, as if that explained everything. "Great. Tell your family I had a car on the lift for forty minutes waiting on you, because someone couldn't be bothered to text me back." "I was going to." "Sure you were." He walked around the front of the Civic, hands in his pockets, smiling like he thought that still had any power over me. It didn't. Absolutely none. I turned back to the pan, loosened the plug all the way, and let the oil finish draining while he stood there in front of me being tall and annoying. "You're sexy covered in that." "It's motor oil, Caelen." "I said what I said." I snorted, grabbing the catch pan. He got the hint that I wasn't going to let him stand there watching me work and did what he always did when his patience ran out because I was ignoring him: he came up right behind me, close enough that I felt his warmth before he even touched me. His hands settled gently on my hips. "I've got a Civic on the lift," I said. "It's already on the lift." "The customer's picking it up at six." "It's four." I dropped my head back against his shoulder before pulling away from his hands and pointing my rag at him like a weapon. "Office. Not the shop. I have employees here." "They're gone." "They're gone because it's Tuesday, not because you get to do whatever you want here." He smiled like I'd just given him a gift and followed me through the door into the office. He kicked the door shut with his heel. "You could've called before you came," I said, mostly to get the last word. "I don't call ahead. That's not how we work." He was right, and it annoyed me. I'd set those rules the second week, after he tried bringing me flowers like we were courting. I'd told him plainly that I didn't want a boyfriend, I wanted an orgasm and my Tuesdays back, and he'd laughed so hard he'd had to sit down. "You're looking at me." "I'm allowed to look at you." "According to who?" "According to the rules. You never banned looking." "I'm adding it to the rules now." "Too late. It's grandfathered in." I rolled my eyes so hard he burst out laughing before reaching for me again. This time, I let him. Because the truth was, I preferred what came after way more than those eleven minutes of waiting. And he knew it too, the bastard. He'd built a decent chunk of his personality around making me wait just long enough to remind me. He grabbed my waist, his thumbs pressing into the soft flesh just above my hips through my coveralls, and I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from making a sound. I'd unzipped my coveralls halfway to let some air in, and he took that as an invitation. His palms slid underneath, his fingers trailing up my spine. He started by kissing my jaw, then lower, before dropping a kiss into the hollow beneath my ear. I grabbed his t-shirt and pulled him down to my level. He let himself be pulled, laughing against my mouth like he'd just pulled off something particularly clever. "Bossy," he murmured. "You like it." "I never said I didn't." His teeth grazed my lower lip and I felt that all the way in my stomach, a little bite that sent heat pooling lower. This guy knew exactly how to start something without ever looking like he was trying. He walked me backward until I hit the edge of the desk, his hands finding my waist again, and I undid his belt. He was already hard, pressing against the inside of my thigh through his jeans, and I rewarded him for showing up by palming him through the denim, firmly, without rushing. "f**k," he breathed. "So eloquent." "Shut up, Odell." He pushed my coveralls down past my hips and I shrugged out of them without breaking the kiss. My jeans followed, and then his hands were on my bare skin, gripping my ass and lifting me onto the desk. Papers scattered around us. I opened his jeans, pushed them down just far enough, then closed my hand around his c**k, thick and burning, already wet at the tip. He groaned and I swallowed the sound against his mouth. "Lock the door." "It's locked." "Lock it again. I want to hear it." He huffed out a breath before reaching back, not even looking, and sliding the lock back again. His eyes never left mine, and I pulled him back to me. His hands spread my thighs and he stepped between them, his heat radiating against my bare skin. The wood of the desk was cold beneath me, its edge pressing into the backs of my thighs, and I didn't give a damn. I grabbed his ass and guided him to my entrance. I watched his eyes darken when he felt how ready I was. "You're going to break my desk one of these days," I breathed against his mouth. "I'll buy you a new one." "I don't want a new desk. I want this one to survive until the end of the week." "No promises." He pushed into me in one slow, steady thrust, and I felt every inch, that fullness that made me arch my back and dig my nails into his shoulders. He stopped once he was fully inside me, giving me a second to adjust, then dropped his forehead to mine. "God," he murmured. "Move," I ordered him. And he did. Deep, grinding strokes that hit exactly where I needed them, his hips rolling against mine. I wrapped my legs around his waist and pulled him deeper, and he groaned. "Like that?" He already knew the answer. He could feel it in the way my muscles clenched around him. There was nothing embarrassed about this anymore. We'd gotten past that months ago. Three months ago. "Don't let it go to your head." "Too late." He knew my body better than I wanted to admit. He knew which spots made me gasp and which ones made me go quiet. He worked both, alternating the sensations, pushing me higher with every stroke. He drove into me harder, faster, and I met him stroke for stroke, my heels digging into the backs of his thighs. The pressure built in my gut, tightening with every push, and I let myself fall into it. I came with his name caught in my throat, swallowed before I could get it all the way out. He followed a few seconds later, burying his face in my neck as he spilled inside me, his whole body shuddering. For a moment, neither of us moved. His breath burned against my skin, his heart pounded against my chest, and I let myself feel his weight, his solid warmth, and the strange comfort of being held, even if neither of us would ever call it that. Then he pulled back, grabbed his jeans, and was Caelen again: relaxed, arrogant, already teasing me about the state of my desk. "I've got papers stuck to my back," I said, swatting at him as I grabbed my own clothes. "I'll buy you a filing cabinet." "I'll buy you a sense of timing." He laughed, zipped his jeans, and ran a hand through his hair. I was mid-sentence, talking about the car needing to be picked up at six, whether I'd have time to shower before she arrived, when I caught him staring at me. Like he was trying to memorize my face. "What?!" I snapped. "Nothing." He answered almost immediately, then suddenly reached for his t-shirt. Weird, I thought. "Same time next week?" he asked. I snorted, pulling my coveralls back up. "I don't know. You might be late again." "I'm always late." "Then I might be busy." He stepped closer and kissed my forehead. "You're never too busy for me, Odell." "Arrogant." "Observant." He ducked under the garage door and left.