Page 21 of Grease & Grips
He slaps it against my chest as he glances around the shop, eyes scanning like he’s casing the place. “Come on, all this equipment and grease and god-knows-what... there’s gotta be something we can use.”
There’s a little bounce in his step as he moves through the room, cock swinging with each stride, that perfect ass giving the softest jiggle as he weaves between the equipment like he owns the damn place. I watch him move as I slide the condom down over my cock.
There’s nothing uncertain in the way he walks. Every motion is sure, deliberate, made to hold my attention. Every muscle in his back shifts as he scans the shelves, broad shoulders tapering to that perfect waist. His legs are strong and lean.
He turns, triumph in his grin, and holds up a bottle.
“Motor oil,” he says, shaking it once. “You ever use it for this?”
I blink. “You can’t be serious.”
He shrugs, smug as hell. “Why not? It’s oil. Lube’s just oil in a cuter bottle.”
“Do you wanna die? Because this is how you die.”
“Do you actually know I’ll die?”
“I’m not about to slather your insides with something I put in an engine.”
“Sounds like a you problem.”
My eyes narrow. “Lube doesn’t kill you when you swallow it.”
“Depends which part of me is swallowing.”
He wiggles the bottle at me, wide grin and bouncing eyebrows. “Desperate times, Mack.”
“You’re gonna explain to a doctor that you used motor oil as lube?”
“If it’s you doing the lubing, totally worth it.”
I groan, but my dick twitches. Stupid, traitorous thing.
“I told you I was calling the shots tonight.”
I’m frozen as he lowers himself onto the cold concrete like it’s the goddamn throne room of a palace and he’s the crown jewel. With arms folded beneath him, he leans forward till his chest rests against his forearms, ass high in the air like an offering.
Or a threat.
Maybe both.
He shifts his knees apart and rocks his hips. It’s a lazy, taunting roll. He tosses me a glance over his shoulders, eyes brimming with desire, daring me to come stake my claim.
“You seriously gonna tell me you don’t want to fuck me, Mack?” It comes out soft but charged, a spark behind every syllable.
My mouth’s gone dry, but my brain’s gone drier. All that’s left is the pounding pulse in my cock and the very real threat that I might come from nothing but the sight of him.
The floor’s cold as hell when I fall to my knees behind him, but I don’t care. Could be fire under my skin and I still wouldn’t move.
The bottle comes back toward me without a word. He hums, gives his ass a little shake, and I don’t even think before I rear back and smack it. The sound cracks through the shop. He groans, pushes back, and suddenly my cock’s snug against his hole. I hiss at the contact.
My hands shake a little as I take the bottle of motor oil from him. The rough texture bites at my finger tips and I swallow hard as I twist the cap off.
"Good boy," he says so damn pretty stretched out in front of me. "Now lube me up.”
Tipping the bottle I watch as the amber liquid spills slow from the lip. It lands right at the top of his ass, pools in the dimples above his hips, then trails lower slipping between his cheeks, slicking the curve of him, settling where I’m meant to touch.
A gasp escapes me before I can stop myself.
