She rested back against me, lifting her head and meeting my eyes. I bent over her and captured her mouth with mine, groaning low when she turned in my arms and returned my kiss with passion. No one paid us any attention in the crowd, everyone enjoying the music, some high from the drugs being passed around, some caught up in the simple pleasure of being outside under the stars and enjoying life.
I lifted her off her feet, my lips telling her silently what my mouth couldn’t yet say. She dragged her mouth over to my ear.
“Ever had hard, fast sex on your bike, Maxx?”
“No,” I growled.
“You want to?”
I didn’t respond. Instead, I flipped her over my shoulder and stalked toward the field where people were parked. My bike was in the far corner, close to the trees, and would now be deep in the shadows. People laughed and cheered as I pushed through them, Red hanging on to my ass for dear life and grumbling in protest. I smacked her rounded ass, grinning as she yelped.
She’d be hanging on harder soon. And yelping in another way entirely.
I’d make sure of that.The next couple of weeks, I found a new rhythm. The garage buzzed every day. We took a day and rearranged the work areas so we each had a bay. Charly kept the schedules for everyone, handling all the paperwork, parts ordering, and behind-the-scenes items like a pro. Every day, she made lunch for all of us, and Stefano occasionally stayed for our nightly meals—usually barbecue and salad. Mary joined us a couple of nights, and I enjoyed the time we spent around the table, talking and laughing. It reminded me of the early days of the garage when my mom cooked and the crew stayed for dinner. There was a shared feeling of camaraderie. I liked it.
Charly didn’t bother to pretend to even use her room. She was in my bed every night, and I had no desire to change that. When we were alone, she was Red. My Red. I tried to call her Charly during business hours, although at times I slipped. Especially when she’d walk in wearing some outfit I deemed inappropriate, which was often. She always found my reactions amusing, and I was certain she based her decisions on how often she could get me to growl and snap at her. It was a game between us. One I usually won since I ended up with my cock buried inside her.
I mentioned to her one night that things had changed and maybe we needed to restructure her job.
“Why?” she asked with a frown. “Am I not doing everything at the shop I should?”
“No, I have no complaints. But you’re working there all day, then making dinner, looking after the house. It wasn’t what we agreed on.”
She shrugged, her eyes not meeting mine. “I don’t count what I do here in the house as part of my job anymore, Maxx. I like looking after you.”
Her words warmed my chest, melting the block around my heart. It was happening more and more. I cared about her more every day, but somehow seemed incapable of telling her. I could praise her work, give her a hard time, make her come harder than a freight train, but I couldn’t tell her what I was feeling. I wasn’t sure I ever could. It bothered me, but I wasn’t certain how to get past it.
We had our first class, all three of us speaking. The women seemed hesitant to talk until Stefano asked one woman a direct question, listening as she hesitantly told him she felt stupid coming into a garage. “My last mechanic informed me I should know the PSI of my tires off the top of my head. I had no idea what that even meant, and when I told him, he rolled his eyes and walked away. I looked it up and tried to use an air machine, and I somehow added too much, and almost blew it out,” she confessed.
Stefano shook his head. “Would never happen here. There are no stupid questions. It means you want to learn. And we’ll listen.”
That opened the floodgates. The hour turned into two, and when they left, all clutching the free oil change coupon Charly gave them, I sat down, shaking my head.
“That was something.”
“I hope it worked,” Brett muttered, sitting beside me. “It was actually fun.”
Stefano chuckled. “It was. I’d be willing to do more. They were all great.”
The next day, every woman called for an appointment. And the waiting list for the next class grew to over fifty.
Brett and Stefano agreed to change the class to twenty people and hold one every two weeks until the waiting list dwindled, then go back to the original idea of once a month. I would spell one of them off, so it was an easy addition to our schedule. Charly cackled over the idea of the waiting list dwindling. “Some of them are coming back every class just to see you three,” she informed us. “Make sure to wear those tight shirts I ordered, with the coveralls loose around your waist.” She popped her head around the door. “Ooh, start off with the coveralls on, then each of you peel them down slowly, nonchalantly, like you’re hot. Not all at once, though. Don’t make it obvious.”