Page 19 of Grease Monkey
I pull her tighter, her back and ass moving off the counter and closing any gap between us. She grips my shoulders as I move the hand on her hip to slide easily into the waistband of the sweats. When she shifts onto her tiptoes, I palm one of her ass cheeks, the skin just as soft as the rest of her, and groan into her mouth. I kiss along her jaw to her ear and down her throat, sucking lightly but with enough pressure that she will wear my faint mark. Her hold on my shoulders tightens as my fingers knead the muscles in her ass, teasing the crease and following the line down and under, so close to where I really want to touch, and without any underwear preventing access, nothing is stopping me.
“Oh God.” Ana’s whispered moan is like a drug, and I want more.
“I know,” I murmur against her skin, my lips never leaving the velvet of her flesh.
She groans, the sound different from before—unsure, hesitant—making me freeze.
“Teddy, I’ve never…” She tenses in my arms, and although not spoken, her admission is like a kick to my ridiculously blue balls. I can’t do this. It isn’t right. Ana doesn’t deserve a quick finger-fuck in my kitchen. She’s never done this before, and I’d go as far as to say she’s barely even been kissed. She deserves care and somewhere comfortable to be worshipped.
My hands slide out from beneath her clothing, and I force a step back. Her eyes widen, bouncing back and forth between mine in horror and confusion.
“Did I do something wrong?” Her voice is meek, and I’m shocked at how much regret flows into my chest. It’s present and aching as I stare at her swollen lips.
I trace them with my finger and shake my head. “No, Ana. You are perfect. And that’s why I can’t do this.”
Her face falls, and she drops her chin to her chest. “Oh.”
I tuck my fingers under it, forcing her head up until she’s looking into my eyes. “I want to, Ana, so fucking much. But not like this.” I kiss her forehead, her temple, the side of her nose and finish on her lips.
A clearing throat makes her jump, and she pushes me away, turning her back and burying her bright red face in her hands. Dad stands in the doorway with a shit-eating grin plastered on his oil-stained face, wiping his hands on a dirty old rag.
“Morgana, what a surprise,” he sing-songs like a jackass, dropping the cloth into his open workbag on the floor by his feet. I shoot him a look as I wipe the corner of my mouth with my thumb.
“I thought you were working late today?” I question through gritted teeth.
“Nah, the part didn’t fit, so I needed to order a new one.” He looks between Ana and me, still fucking smiling. “Your mom’s home now, Morgana sweetheart, in case you didn’t already know.”
Ana tugs at her shirt and quickly skirts around me toward the hall. Her head is still down as I quickly follow her as she scurries to the front door, and I race ahead to grab the bag and jacket she’d left when she first came inside.
Holding out the strap, I say, “Sorry about him.”
I thought it would have been impossible, but her face darkens even more as she glances back at him, leaning against the doorjamb, eating an apple as he happily watches us. Her hand darts out, going for the doorknob, when I spread mine wide on the paneling before she can pull it open, boxing her against it and hiding her from view. I cup her face and place a gentle kiss on her lips.
“Go out with me, Ana,” I murmur against her lips. Everything I’d been telling myself over the last few weeks, now long gone after that kiss. She tilts her head to the side, her hand pushing against my chest.
“Please don’t start that again,” she whispers, her eyes downcast after looking so alight before. “Don’t play games after kissing me like that.”
I frown. “I’m not. There are so many reasons why I should leave you alone. I’m leaving in a few months. You’re going to college soon. You can do so much better than me, but I can’t stop thinking about you.” Her eyes widen, scanning my face for a hint of a lie as she listens. “I’m being serious, Ana. Go out with me.”
I brush a chunk of her unruly curls behind her ear. The girl’s hair is wild when it dries naturally. She blinks, no doubt dissecting my question while trying to glance over my shoulder toward our audience. Finally, her smile may be small, but she nods. “Okay.”
I hold out my hand. “Give me your cell. I know you’ve got my Instagram account, but I want your number. If that’s okay?”
She fumbles in her bag and pulls out her phone, keys in the passcode, and holds it out. I type in my number and clickCall. My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I end it, leaving her number as a missed call.
“Bye, Morgana,” Dad manages to call out through a mouthful of fruit, and pushes away from the door, retreating into the kitchen. Ana has the door open before I even get a chance to fully step away from her, taking off down the porch steps, across the grass, and up to her house. I wait as she reaches her door to see if she will look back. It’s tiny, barely even a glance over her shoulder, but she did.
I fight my grin as I kick the door closed and then round on the man who thinks he’s a goddamn comedian. Dad’s eyes gleam as he watches me storm into the kitchen, leaning on the counter in the exact spot Ana and I were making out moments ago. He quirks an eyebrow and smirks as I glare at him, dragging a hand down my face.
“Not one word,” I say, jabbing my finger in the air.
He shakes his head and pretends to look confused.
“Wasn’t going to say a word, Son,” he says, but the mirth behind his steely eyes speaks a thousand. “I was only going to ask if you wanted to work on your car now that I’m home, or if you needed a cold shower first.”
Chapter Eight
Morgana
