Page 8 of Grease & Grips (Friction Fiction #2)

So I give it. My ring finger joins the party. He whimpers and I’d be happy to die right now from how perfect he sounds when he’s needy for me like this.

“Does it hurt?” I ask, still nervous about the fact that I’m literally coating his insides with motor oil.

He shakes his head, calm as ever. “It’s smooth. A little thicker than lube, but it feels fine.”

I start to speak again. “If it hurts at any point, you?—”

He cuts me off. “I’m in charge, remember?”

Then he glances back at me with a wicked smile pulling at his lips.

“Now stop talking and fuck me.”

Most folks think motor oil smells harsh.

Like gasoline or asphalt, something sharp that sticks in your nose.

Sure, burnt oil’s got that stink, but fresh oil’s almost sweet.

Kinda odorless at first, but if you breathe real deep you catch it.

Something warm and clean, almost like honey left out in the sun.

It’s heavy as the oil meets my palm. I rub my hands together, feel it slick and smooth between my fingers, and it feels good.

Better than it oughta. I stroke it over myself slow, watching it glide across the condom, turning the flushed pink of my tip darker under that amber sheen.

The glossy contrast is obscene, and I’m already shaking from how bad I want this.

I recap the bottle and set it aside, my hands still slippery as I grip myself, steadying for what’s next. My palm finds his hip smearing a dark, oil coated handprint over him, as I line up to his entrance.

Using the head of my cock I brush it against him him slow enough to feel that heat and tension. He shudders beneath me and pushes back the tiniest bit to let me know he’s ready.

“Give me your cock, Mack,” he says in the kinda tone that doesn’t leave room for doubt.

I brace myself, take a breath, and ease forward. A little at first. The oil does its job, but it’s still tight. Tight in a way that makes me want to throw my head back and forget who I am.

He sucks in a breath, and I slow down, taking my time to memorize this feeling one inch at a time.

Bit by bit, I ease in, but I don’t get the chance to finish. Andrés pushes back hard, forcing me the rest of the way inside with a rough grind of his hips that causes every muscle in my body to tense at once.

He glances over his shoulder, eyes dark and wild. “You don’t have to be gentle with me.”

Buried to the hilt I’m barely holding on, trying not to blow right then and there.

I’m giving him a second to adjust to my size and I’m giving myself a second to adjust to the heat and tightness of him, but Andrés can’t wait.

He moves under me grinding for more. Every push a wordless plea I feel in my gut.

“Don’t make me wait,” he growls. “You’ve got me. Now use me.”

Whatever tether had been keeping me grounded snaps and with it goes any last trace of restraint. I pull out only to slam back in hard enough to make him beg for more.

He nods into the floor, a wrecked sound breaking from his throat. “Do that again.”

So I do. Over and over. Each thrust is sharper, deeper, a punishment and a reward all at once.

My fingertips dig deep into the muscle at his hips. When he starts to slide forward from the force, I twist pressing the sole of my foot against the back of his head to shove him down, angling him up so I can hit deeper.

I brace my feet, squat lower, and slam into him like I’m trying to make a home for myself inside him. His moans echo off the shop walls and I can’t tell whose body is trembling more.

The honey-sweet scent of oil mixed with the sharp, earthy musk of sweat and skin grounds me.

I savor every inhale as the smell clings to the air, heavy and thick.

Beads of sweat collect on my brow and Andrés’ back gleams in front of me.

Droplets of moisture run down his sides in slow, deliberate paths I want to trace with my tongue.

He shifts, pulling forward and flipping onto his back with a groan, grabbing at me and dragging me down until our mouths crash together.

His kiss is messy and urgent, lips moving fast like he’s afraid I’ll vanish.

He tugs my bottom lip between his teeth before his leg hooks around my back locking me in place.

I reach between us, grip myself tight, and guide my cock back inside him desperate to pickup where I left off. The moment I push in, he gasps against my mouth, and I know I can’t hold back anymore.

The rhythm I set is fast and deep and relentless. I break the kiss and bury my face in the crook of his neck, every thrust punctuated by the sound of our bodies and the soft, shattered noises he makes beneath me.

There’s no thinking now. Only the dizzying, terrifying truth of how much I want to stay here buried inside him. How much I want to keep being wanted. How good it feels to be pulled in instead of pushed away.

“I’m not gonna last,” he breathes, voice ragged as I piston into him, our rhythm turning even more frantic. “I need you to cum.”

It won’t take much. I’m already teetering close to the edge.

Our mouths crash together and I swallow the moan that breaks free from his throat.

The pressure coils tight at the base of my spine, heat racing through me like I touched an open flame.

My whole body locks up as my balls draw in tight.

I cry out into the kiss as I spill into the condom buried deep inside him.

His whimpers go sharp and guttural, breaking into something coarse as he cums between us. Sticky warmth spreads across our stomachs. Sweat and cum mingle, making every movement unsteady as our hips stutter still riding the last of our orgasms clinging to each other in the aftershock.

Chest heaving, I slump on top of him and he pants beneath me.

“That really revved my engine,” he says through a laugh.

A groan escapes as I lift my head enough to squint at him. “Car puns? Really?”

His brow furrows as he nods. “Motor oil is currently running down my ass. Feels appropriate.”

“Are you hurt?”

“No, actually.” One hand pats at my shoulder. “Kind of feel good as new. Ask me again in 10,000 miles when I come back for a check-up.”

Another groan. Louder this time.

“What,” he asks, all faux innocence. “Triple A would’ve never given me that kind of service.”

I roll my eyes. “God, you’re lucky you’re hot.”

“If that was the tune-up,” he murmurs, “can’t wait for the full overhaul.”

“You’re not allowed to talk for at least an hour.”

He leans in an whispers against my lips. “Round two’s got warranty coverage.”

God help me… I’m gonna die happy and sore.