Page 58 of Grease Monkey
Not tonight, sweetheart.
She pulls her ring from where she’d tucked it in her bra just before she had dropped to her knees and took me in her mouth. Slipping the gold wedding band back on her ring finger, she sucks her bottom lip between her teeth, and her eyes light up with a fire I can feel from across the room.
“I can’t tonight, Sophia,” I say, shaking my head as she pouts.
“That’s not fair, Theo,” she says, and my teeth grate at her little nickname. My fucking name isn’t even Theodore. “I never thought you’d be a selfish lover.”
Getting to her feet, she sways over to stand in front of me, dragging her nails down my bare chest, brushing that line of hair trailing from my belly button and disappearing into the overalls. I wrap my hand around her wrist, halting her movements.
“I didn’t ask you to come and suck my cock,” I say, cold and distant as I look into her eyes. “You did that all on your own. So don’t pretend this is some tit-for-tat. You don’t like that you came here and gave me what you thought I wanted. You didn’t get to come? That’s not my problem.”
I drop her arm and walk toward my office door, unlocking it and holding it open. Sophia huffs and storms back over to the chair, grabbing her purse from where it landed when she first arrived.
“You’re a jerk, Theo,” she scoffs, narrowing her eyes as she tries to pass me. I reach out, grabbing the door frame and blocking her exit.
“And yet you’ll be here next Thursday, on your knees, like always. Won’t you?” I slip two fingers under her chin and tilt her head up, using my free hand to ghost my thumb over her lips. She sucks her lower one between her teeth, trying and failing to look annoyed. We both know the truth. I use her just as much as she uses me.
I purposely drop my eyes to her mouth, holding my gaze for a beat, then lean in, aiming for her red lips, but veering off last second, catching her cheek. She sighs, the sound a breathy moan full of desperation and aching for me as she’s denied again for another thing she always wants and will never get. I can’t stand to taste myself on her lips—any woman’s lips—after I’ve been sucked off, or in general, really.
Not anymore.
“I don’t know why I put up with you,” she tries to joke, looking to the floor. I grip her chin, squeezing a little, and her eyes dart to mine, big and round and still blown with arousal. She’ll need to take care of that herself.
“You do it because while your husband is off fucking the secretary he doesn’t think you know about, you get your revenge by sucking the dick of someonemuchyounger andmuchmore attractive than him.”
She chuckles, her hand landing on my chest as her eyes bounce between mine and my mouth, and I bet if I shoved her to her knees again, she’d happily swallow me whole. Instead, I release her face and place my hand on her shoulder to usher her out. She’s overstayed her welcome, and her desperation is unattractive.
Slapping her on her surprisingly pert ass for a forty-eight-year-old, she gasps with a giggle and stumbles forward, looking over her shoulder as she walks through my auto shop.
“See you next week,” she purrs, checking me out. I flex my stomach—an apology for sending her away unsatisfied—as we both know she goes wild for my chest, the needy slut. Approaching the side door, she does a small finger wave and slips out into the night.
I stare at the closed door, my jaw clenching under the strain of my grinding teeth.
“Fuck,” I growl, turning away and slamming my office door behind me. The metal blinds bang against the dirt-stricken window in the middle of the door, and I drop into my chair, closing my eyes. Monotonous is not a word I would usually associate with sex. But every Thursday, like clockwork, Sophia Phillips and her mediocre mouth turn up, eager and willing to help me find release, and it’s losing its appeal. She is just another woman whose husband didn’t love her enough to stay faithful but is too dependent on his gold card to have any self-respect to leave.
Not that I particularly care. To each their own. I get to come, and she leaves with a smile and a full belly.
I’m a pig—I know I am. A self-loathing, self-sabotaging pig, and I can honestly say I do not concern myself with a consenting woman’s marital status. Single, engaged, married, or divorced, I never discriminate. It doesn’t matter if they want to keep their two-carat diamond rings on their fingers when they wrap their hand around my cock.
My hollowed black heart doesn’t care.
It’s all the same: No strings attached sex and a sated dick.
Some might drive Bentleys, while others drive Jeeps, but at least the women here aren’t more stuck up than those back in Connecticut, and they understand theno-strings-attachedpart of the arrangement to the T.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. When did it get so bad? I never used to be this way. Even as a teenager, I was never this much of a dickhead with a fuck-ton of cynicism about the opposite sex and relationships, to boot.
Oh, right. Her.
“Please tell me that wasn’t Mrs. Phillips I saw sashaying out of here?”
The office door bangs open with a crash, and Ozzy barrels inside like an excited puppy. I crack one eye open, watching my best friend pick up my discarded t-shirt, toss it, and it lands, covering my face. “You lucky bastard. What I wouldn’t give to be on the receiving end of that, Teddy Bear.”
“Fuck off,” I snarl at his nickname, immediately reminded of a time I wish I could permanently forget. Two people to give me that stupid nickname. The same two people more similar than I would have ever thought, and I wish now I never made that connection. Fucking Connecticut.
Yanking my shirt from my face, I sit up to pull it over my head. “She’s all yours, man.”
Flopping into the chair next to me, Ozzy reaches forward and opens the mini-fridge door built into a coffee table made from an old engine. I’m a total mechanics cliché. Anything car related, it’s mine.
