I look down at her soft eyes filled with longing, her mouth slightly parted and my cock unfurls in my pants. For all the world, I want nothing more than to pick her up and set her down on the edge of my tool bench. Then push those bare legs open like I’ve been fantasizing about non-stop since I met her and move between them.

Those shorts are so small there’s barely an inch of fabric covering her sweet mound. I wouldn’t even need to take them off, not at first. It would be easy to push my fingers under the denim and into her slick pinkness.

Is she wet for me right now?

I’d guess she is, judging by the way she’s looking at me, the way her pink tongue travels involuntarily over her lower lip. It would be no effort to slide one thick finger inside her hole and feel it clamp around me. Possessing me. The thought that I could be inside her tight pussy in moments and she wants that too has my dick fully erect and thumping to be free.

But I don’t want to be a dirty bastard here. I could claim Caila right now in my garage, but then what? I need her to know I want more than a hard fast fuck here. Much as I’m dying to claim her as all mine, to mark her with the stamp of me so that no asshat ever disrespects her again, I also don’t want this to be over.

I want to know more of Caila than her delectable inner curves. I want to know who she is, what she wants, what I can give her that will make her life perfect. Because whatever it is, I’d do it in a flash without even asking why. I would kill for her.

I would give this girl anything if it would make her happy. It’s a feeling that surges up through my chest and overwhelms the longing to be buried deep inside her tight pussy. This is an unusual sensation I’ve never known before and it knocks me half for six. Not that I can’t stand up to being knocked around, physically or emotionally. I’ve learned to be an inscrutable force thanks to circumstances.

I doubt Caila’s aware of how I’m being mown over just with her standing bedside me. So close there’s barely a hair’s breadth between us. Her shoulder grazing against my hard bicep as she daintily trails her little fingers over the dirty tools.

It’s on the extreme point of my tongue to tell Caila how I feel.

Maybe she’d accept me. Maybe she wouldn’t squeal that I’m a dirty beast and far too old for her as well. I may be rough but I’m not ignorant. I had a good education before I went up to the house. Right – even if she did accept me, if she ever finds out about that, she’d be gone.

A bolt of electricity fires up my arm, pulling me out of my reverie. Caila’s tiny fingers have danced their way over the tools lining my bench and are whisper-trailing along the edge of my pinkie. They outline a dirty black mark on my fingertip as sensually as if it were the vein on my cock.

“Caila,” I rasp out.

Her touch, the tiniest touch is sending me half deranged with lust. Those thoughts of shoving her up on my bench, or spinning her around to bend over it, dominate my brain until I’m going half insane.

“Yes,” she whispers. Both a question and an answer.

She knows exactly what she’s doing to me.

She’s gone from shaking and being unsure, to being completely in charge. Letting me know what she wants. My intention was to be a gentleman, ask her out on a proper date and not slam her into the tool bench and ravish her. What is it they say about best intentions? I have no clue, but mine have upended and turned completely filthy.

I have to have her right now.

I need to own her and make her mine.

Right now.

Her eyes slowly move away from being engrossed in our connected fingers to tip up and meet mine. Another jolt of electricity fires through my core, setting me ablaze. A pair of eyes and some tiny fingertips can bring a grown man, a hard man, to his knees.

Her eyes.

Her fingertips.

Only hers.

She lifts them now. Holding my gaze, the sparks between us filling the stifling air in the garage so that it really ought to combust. She lifts her hand to my mouth. Not quite reaching it, she drags the soft pads over my rough chin, wiping away some real or imaginary filthy grease spot. When it’s done, she leaves her fingers there, searing through my skin like she can’t bear to release me. Her hand lifts an inch and she touches my mouth like it belongs to an alien.

Like she’s never seen a man’s mouth before.

She’s never seen one like mine. That wants to possess every curve and corner of her body. That wants to lick and suck, kiss and bite every ounce of her flesh until it belongs to me. And no one else.

Her eyes say now.

My brain and my wood are in full agreement. I need her in my arms, naked, panting for me until she screams my name. I need her now and I can’t wait, screw my best intentions.

“Caila.”

In unison we leap apart like the electricity between us suddenly gave off a shock. As one our eyes bat toward the voice and I’m more shocked to see – what did she say the idiot’s name was? - Boone is standing there looking every inch the aggrieved boyfriend.

“What the fuck is going on here?” the kid snarls. His tone indicates complete rights and entitlement to Caila. “What are you doing here? With him?”

He may think he has possession of her but he’s got another thought coming. After coming that close and feeling what Caila wants pummeling loudly through every pore, I’m not relinquishing her. Not to this douchebag. Not to anyone. Boone the Brat’s eyes are slitted at me like he knows what I want. And he’s gonna stop me. Let him try – I’ll flatten him.

“What are you doing here, Boone?” Caila snaps, disgust seeping into her beautiful soft mouth I was two seconds away from owning.

“Is this what you left me for?” he yells at her. “So you could get slutty with some fucking greaseball?”

“Watch it,” I growl.

My fists are balling tight and I have to concentrate on relaxing them, not sending this brat to the tarmac where he belongs. That wouldn’t help my case to present to Caila, as a man who can be her equal. His eyes are throwing me that burn I’ve seen before under very different circumstances. Then it wasn’t over a woman – it was over everything.

This ass is saying ‘She’s mine’. This is my territory.

Fuck that.

Unless Caila tells me straight out that she wants Boone, which I know in my gut she won’t do, then the woman is mine!

He comes strolling toward me and the hackles go up all down my back. He’s got altercation written all over him – I saw that on a daily basis in the joint as well. Over anything.

“You watch it,” he snipes at me, but his enraged stare never leaves Caila. “I’m speaking to my woman here. This doesn’t concern you.”

His woman?

My fists clench tight and stay that way. She said she wasn’t Boone’s and I believed her. Either way he isn’t getting her without a fight. She deserves way better than this arrogant abusive ass.

“What are you doing here?’ he demands. “Answer me.”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you,” Caila rages right back at him. A real little fighter. “We aren’t together and you’re hardly in any position to act all hurt. Talk about projection.”

“I told you I was drunk,” he shouts. “You don’t listen. You never listen. You just think what you want instead of what I tell you.”

“I think what I want, not what you tell me.”

Caila’s mad, I can tell. She also leans just slightly into the hard side of me as though trusting me to take care of her should this nutjob turn nasty. I’m loving how she wants me to protect her. I want that from her always. It’s just one of the things I want to give her.

“I’m a person not your property,” she adds, shouting down whatever the douche bag's response was.

“You’re not a person,” he screeches, his voice rising into the higher octave. “You’re just a slutty little ho.”

I’m across the garage in barely two strides. My fist connects with Boone’s jaw with a resounding crack and he crumples like a used wrapper.

He looks up at me in shock, and a little terror that pleases me. I won’t have to damage him further and hopefully that’ll be a lesson not to slander any woman. His hand comes up to his chin and he starts squalling; “You broke my jaw. You broke my fucking jaw,” as he scrambles away, backing up out of the garage.

“Oh god,” Caila murmurs.

“Just you wait,” he hurls back at us, once he feels safely out of my range. “I’m going to tell my father.”

“Oh boo,” Caila shouts, coming up behind me again, her small hands on my delts calming me and firing up something wild at the same time.

“And yours,” Boone screams at her. “Wait ‘til I tell your old man you’re hanging out with grease monkeys and criminals.”

My hands clench hard and I make a move forward. Caila’s fingers claw at my tee, holding me back.

“Leave it,” she says. “Let him go. I don’t care what he does now.”

“But what about your father?” I husk, worried for her home life.

“Like I said, I don’t care now.”

I never heard sweeter words before those.