Page 3 of Wicked Sinner

I see the look on her face. I can imagine what the offer of ten grand means to her.

The shop is clean enough and in good shape, but one look at it and the house attached to it tells me that this woman isn’t rolling in cash.

She needs the money. The fact that she’s still on the verge of turning me down astonishes me—and surprisingly, makes me like her more.

She’s not afraid of me. Not even impressed by me, which is something that doesn’t happen often.

It makes me want to impress her. And I can think of at least ten different ways off the top of my head that I could do that.

The woman lets out a sigh. “Fine,” she agrees. “Pull into the bay. I’ll take a look at it.”

I nod, going around and starting up the car before pulling into the garage. She walks over as I step out again, waiting for me to pop the hood as she stands in front of the new Ferrari.

“I don’t really get cars like this in here.” Her gaze sweeps over it as if it’s something she’s never seen up close before. Maybe she hasn’t.

“Can you handle it?” I can’t resist needling her a little, and she shoots me a glare.

“I can handle anything.”

My cock twitches again. Fuck, seeing her standing in front of my car like this, it’s all too easy to imagine slamming the hood shut and bending her over it.

“Is it just a computer error?” I try to push all the filthy images in my head out.

I’m not here for that—although the thought of a quick fling with this woman, something fast and dirty that I can look back on later and enjoy the memory of, holds a strong appeal.

“I’m not sure.” She leans in, looking over the interior of the car.

She’s all business, her lips pressed together and her eyes scanning for something with a practiced quickness, and I feel another frisson of desire down my spine.

I don’t know what it is about this woman, but she’s pushing all of my buttons in all of the right ways, and I’m having a harder and harder time imagining driving away from here without finding out what it’d feel like to be inside of her.

A moment later, she clicks her tongue. “Just what I thought. A blown fuse. It’ll take me two minutes to fix.” She pulls back, pivoting on her heel and heading to the back of the garage, and I feel a swift dip of disappointment in my stomach. Two minutes feels like not enough time.

“What’s your name?” I call out, leaning against the side of the car as I watch her. “I told you mine. Only seems fair.”

She glances over her shoulder, eyes narrowing briefly, and I wonder if she’s going to tell me to fuck off. The idea turns me on more than it should. “Bridget,” she says finally.

“Bridget.” I roll the name over on my tongue, and as I say it, I see a sudden tension in her shoulders, a quick pause in her movement. “That’s a pretty name.”

“Thanks.” She comes back over to the car, bending over to work on the fuse, and my jaw tightens as I let my gaze sweep over her. Fuck, I want her.

I rarely don’t get what I want. And I don’t intend for tonight to be one of those nights.

It takes two minutes to replace the part, just as she’d said. She gives the car another once-over, puts down the hood, and looks at me. “All good. Although I’d still call the dealership—this is too expensive a car to have problems like that so soon.”

“Maybe I will.” I see the expectant look in her face and nod. “Yes. Of course.” I pull out my billfold, counting out the five grand to her, and I see her eyes widen. “I can write you a check, or swipe my card for the rest.”

She blinks at me, as if the idea of swiping a card for five grand is completely foreign to her.

“I—yes. We’re not that behind the times.

” She holds out her hand, and I hand over my card, a heavy black piece of metal that I see her stare at for a second before she digs keys out of her pocket, retreating to the office.

A couple of minutes later, she returns with the card and a receipt. Ten grand for what I’m sure was a cheap, quick job—but I can’t bring myself to regret the offer. What I do regret, in this moment, is that I don’t have a reason to stay here longer, besides the fact that I want her.

She’s still standing in front of me, a hand’s length away. I could reach out and touch her. If I do, she’ll either slap me or kiss me, and suddenly I want to find out, despite the risk.

There’s a piece of honey-blonde hair in her face, fallen loose from the messy braid. I reach up to push it behind her ear, a gesture too gentle for everything I want to do to her. My fingers graze her cheekbone, and she sucks in a breath.

She doesn’t slap me. She doesn’t pull back. She stands there frozen, and I realize her eyes are hazel, bits of gold glinting in the brown as she looks up at me.

I decide to take a risk.

“If I stay a little longer,” I murmur, “I promise I’ll take longer than two minutes.”

Her eyes go wide. She doesn’t move. And I drop my hand, cupping my palm around the back of her head as I pull her to me for a kiss.

The moment that my mouth crushes against hers, I feel a surge of arousal like nothing I’ve felt in recent memory.

When people talk about sparks, about chemistry, I realize, they mean this.

Her mouth is soft and full against mine, parting on a gasp as I kiss her, and I slide my tongue into her mouth without pausing, claiming it for my own.

Desire burns through me, hot as a wildfire, and my cock is rock-hard in an instant, straining painfully against the fly of my jeans as I devour her mouth like a starving man.

Her hands fly up to my chest, and I think for a minute she’s going to push me away, but she only grabs the front of my shirt and pulls me closer.

Fuck, this is really happening. Somehow, this is a thousand times hotter than if I’d picked up a woman from a bar or club, some dolled-up girl out in a short, skimpy dress looking to get fucked.

Bridget wasn’t looking for that tonight, but she’s pressed up against me anyway, back arched as I sweep my tongue through her mouth and slide my hand down to wrap her braid around my fist.

I’m seized with the desire to see how far I can push her. How much she’ll do before she stops or slaps me. I tug downward, my other hand going to her shoulder as I urge her down to her knees, and she resists for a moment, her eyes flying open as she breaks the kiss.

“I—”

“Come on, bellissima,” I purr, her hair still wrapped around my fist. “Get on your knees for me so I can fuck that pretty mouth. I promise you’ll like what I have for you to play with.”

Her eyes widen, and I’d bet all ten grand I paid her for the work on the car that no man has ever spoken to her like that.

I feel a moment’s more hesitation in her, as if she’s struggling over something within herself—and then, to my surprise, she sinks down in front of me, her hands going to the button of my jeans as she drops to her knees on the concrete floor.

I let out a hiss of pleasure between my teeth as she runs her palm over the thick ridge of my straining cock, her brows drawing together in a brief moment of confusion as she feels me. I grin down at her, tugging lightly at her braid.

“Take my cock out, bellissima. You’ll like it, I promise.”

Her eyes are narrowed, but I can see a glint of curiosity there.

She reaches up, dragging down my zipper, her long fingers slipping into the opening of my jeans to slide my cock free.

The moment her fingers close around me to draw me out, I see her eyebrows shoot up, her eyes going wider than I’ve seen them before as I slide free and she sees my thick length for the first time.

All nine inches of it—and the row of bright metal piercings running down the shaft, all six of them. A reckless decision made on a bender when I was nineteen, and one I’ve never regretted, purely for the look on every woman’s face the first time they see my cock.

Hers is astonished. As if she’s not only never seen something like this before, but never imagined it, either.

“Go ahead, bellissima,” I purr, sliding my fingers down to tug the tie free from her braid so I can loosen her hair. “Play all you like. I promise, it doesn’t bite.”