Play With Me - Brittany Cournoyer Page 0,18
as we talked, I was still so drawn to him. And even as the rational part of my brain was holding up red flags and screaming at me to stay the hell away from him, I couldn’t find it within myself to listen. I wanted to know more.
Maybe if I spent more time with him, I could get a better understanding of what was going on with me. At least, that’s what I kept telling myself so I could feel better about my reaction to him. But as I drew nearer to the shop, the sweatier I became, and it had nothing to do with the afternoon sun glaring down on me and everything to do with the man waiting inside. I just hoped I didn’t make an ass out of myself while I retrieved my vehicle.
I had to take a few seconds to compose myself and wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans before I pulled open the door and stepped inside. The first thing I was greeted with was a blast of cold air and the second was the heavy scent of grease that hung in it. But I barely paid attention to any of that since all my focus was on the man behind the counter in the grease-stained shirt with his hair pulled back in his signature bun. If I thought he looked attractive playing the saxophone, nothing could have prepared me for the lust that shot through my body at seeing him like this—just pure, unadulterated man.
“Perfect timing. I just returned from lunch,” he announced when I approached the counter.
“Oh, great. I’m just here to pick up my car,” I explained stupidly, because why else would I be there? “And, uh, to give you these.”
I pulled the sunglasses from my pocket and slid them across the counter toward Stellan. His hand reached out to retrieve them, and the tips of his tattooed fingers brushed against mine. Rather than react the way I should—jerk my hand away and tuck them deep in my pockets—I allowed it to stay where it was. His didn’t move either, lingering as he slowly wrapped his fingers around the sunglasses while they continued to rub against mine.
“Thank you,” he said gruffly as he finally pulled them from my grasp and slipped them on, covering his hazel eyes.
The moment was gone, and only then did I jerk my hand off the counter and shove it into my pocket. My fingers still tingled where he’d touched them with his own callused ones, and I found myself wondering if his palms felt the same way or if they’d be smooth. How would they feel rubbing against all of me, over my most sensitive and tender areas? Would he discover my sweet spots that even Jennifer didn’t know about? The idea had my body trembling in response, and I knew I needed to get my car and get the hell out of there.
“Y-your welcome. My car?” I asked, in a hurry to leave.
I still had a few hours before work and a bottle of lube in my bedroom. Taking care of business beforehand would hopefully help me get through the evening. Having him there, seductively playing the saxophone, had me thinking about things I had no business doing. But watching him move with the music, his eyes closed, with his mouth wrapped around the instrument as he blew, I couldn’t help it. I wondered if he moved that way while doing other things—with a lot less clothing. And what his lips would feel like wrapped around me, or at least, a certain part of me.
And I still had no idea why. Of course I’d seen men in the past and was comfortable enough in my sexuality to admit they were attractive. But this man, I didn’t just find attractive. I found him sexy, and I wanted sex—with him.
Dammit, maybe I should take a girl home and pound her into the mattress to fuck my illicit and confusing thoughts away. Would that even help? Because jacking off was the equivalent of a Band-Aid on a bone fracture.
“Yup. She’s all ready to go. I just need you to sign this paperwork and make your first payment, and then you can be on your way.”
“She?” I asked.
Stellan shrugged as he grabbed a piece of paper from the stack on the counter. “I thought she looked like an Ellen.”
“You named my car?”
“She told me her name when I formally introduced myself. I figured since I’d be under her hood