The Hookup (Moonlight and Motor Oil #1)(29)

Johnny texted directions.

Then he texted, Be there whenever you get there. I’ll make something that works with that.

I have to stop and let out the dogs and deal with the horses.

Leave a key under your mat tomorrow and I’ll go do that after I’m done at the garage. His thumbs arrested, then they moved on without his permission, And I’ll get Swirl and Dempsey and bring them to the mill.

Jesus.

What was he doing?

Fabulous. I’ll be with you around 6 or 6:30, she returned.

Bring a toothbrush.

Jesus.

What the fuck was he doing?

Roger that, Ghostrider.

The smile that got didn’t seem corrupt.

It was still wrong.

Smartass, he replied.

She shot him a toothy-grinned emoji and I’ll bring wine.

I’ll get wine just bring you.

I’m kind of picky about wine.

I’ll get a lot of it so you’ll have your pick.

I can just bring what I like, Johnny.

Baby, so we’re not texting up until the time you’re gonna show at my house tomorrow night, just . . . bring . . . you. I’ll get the fucking wine.

Okeydokey.

Go back to work.

YOU go back to work.

I’m spanking you tomorrow night.

No text came in for long moments, and he knew she slid right into the shy she could forget when she was with him and they were both fully-clothed and sex wasn’t imminent or after he got his hands on her, before he got, This is my technologically clad vow to be good from this point forward.

The woman couldn’t be bad with a gun stuck to her head.

Unless she was naked.

Then she was anything he wanted her to be.

Jesus.

See you tomorrow, Iz.

You betcha, Johnny.

He shoved his phone in the back pocket of his coveralls and leaned over the car.

He did not see the engine.

He saw Izzy at her sink wearing a light-purple top that clung to her tits, purple, green and pink striped pajama bottoms, the most ridiculous boots he’d ever seen on her feet, her huge mass of tawny hair piled up in a mess at the top of her head, an orange bird on her shoulder.

He then saw her in those black pants that clung to her ass with that sharp shirt that made her look badass, wearing those pumps he wanted to fuck her in, ruining all that with her huge mass of tawny hair tumbling over her shoulders making her not look like a professional businesswoman but instead a sex kitten stripper in her fake professional businesswoman’s outfit before she tore it off.

Then he saw her on his deck in his tee, holding a coffee mug looking uncertain and shy, and sleepy and gratifyingly thoroughly fucked, and so cute he still wondered how he managed not to tackle her to the wood and bury his cock up to her throat.

That vision turned into her last night, holding on to the top curve of her iron headboard, her neck twisted, those clear blue eyes directed at him hazy with sex and turned on as fuck, her lips swollen from his mouth and moist from her tongue running along them as she took his cock from behind and begged him to give it to her harder.

His final vision was altogether different.

Years before, Shandra sitting at his father’s table, her beautiful face filled with laughter, the sound of it mixed with his dad’s, ringing in his old man’s dining room.

He’d wanted to hate her.

He’d never managed that.

He’d wanted to put her behind him.

He’d never managed that either.

He needed to exit Izzy’s life.

She knew about Shandra and he’d tell Izzy she was coming back to town.

And he’d make her dinner tomorrow night and take her camping on the weekend and share how it was.

She seemed to understand a lot of shit. She even seemed to understand about Shandra.

Maybe he wouldn’t lose her.

Maybe they could be friends.

Maybe she’d have him over when she had her other friends over, he could eat her guacamole and get her cute and shy and smartass and know he was taking it in a way that was healthy for her, which was something that would cut. But it was something he could live with better than what he could do to her if he didn’t exit being in her life that way or not having her at all.

And maybe he was a selfish dumbfuck.

But whatever way it went, he’d explain things while they were camping.

After that, it was her choice and that was the best he could do.

It always had been.





Tight

Izzy

“PULL ME OUT.”

I heard Johnny’s growl but chose to ignore it.

And I chose to ignore it because he had his back to the pillows shoved up against his headboard, his knees cocked, feet in the bed, thighs spread wide, both his hands in my hair, and his cock was in my mouth.

He looked amazing like that, spread out for me, offered up to me: his broad shoulders, cut collarbone, wide chest with its sprinkling of black hair across his pecs, large nipples, the boxes of his abs standing out like he was doing crunches instead of getting a blowjob, the dark hair on his forearms, dense on his thick thighs.

He felt amazing in my mouth, silk over steel.

He tasted awesome, like musk and man.

And I loved who I was right then, kneeling between his legs, sucking him off, feeling what I was giving to him as his hips jerked uncontrollably, the noises that rolled up his chest and out of his mouth abrasively, his strong fingers clenching in my hair restlessly.