Home > The Hookup (Moonlight and Motor Oil #1)(4)

The Hookup (Moonlight and Motor Oil #1)(4)
Author: Kristen Ashley

This amused command jolted me out of my apprehension and I slowly moved on my bare feet through the cool early summer Sunday morning toward Johnny Gamble.

He hadn’t taken his hand from the railing but he did put his coffee cup to it so he could have a free hand to curve around my waist.

This he did, pulling me up tight to his side and dipping his chin into his neck to look down at me.

I liked that. Being tall, I didn’t get that often, a man looking down at me, having to go to such lengths to do it as to shift his chin into his neck.

This had to put Johnny at six-two, maybe even six-three.

Yes, I liked that a lot.

I also liked the warmth of his body. I’d noticed just how warm it was in bed last night and it helped things (that his talents really didn’t need help with, but still), and it helped them in nice ways.

And last, I liked the solidness of him and this didn’t come just from him being built. It came from him looking right into my eyes, taking hold of me right away, making me feel welcome there, like he was glad I used his toothpaste, his mouthwash (even though he didn’t know that . . . yet), helped myself to a cup of coffee, woke up naked in his bed.

He wasn’t going to load me up in his truck and take me back to my car in town and be done with me, not looking back.

This was something else.

This was . . .

It was the beginning of something.

I relaxed in his hold.

“Hey,” I whispered.

His mouth hitched.

“Hey.” He slid his hand down my side to my hip as he asked, “Sleep good?”

I nodded because I had but also because the movement of his hand had so much of my attention I couldn’t speak.

It got more attention when his fingers met the hem of his shirt I was wearing and pulled it up.

Therefore, it came out kind of squeaky when I asked, “Did you? Sleep good, I mean.”

I also felt my cheeks getting warm and Johnny didn’t miss it. I knew this as his black eyes started twinkling even as the tips of his fingers found the waistband of my panties.

“I slept great,” he murmured, and then didn’t hesitate to go on, “Panties?”

“Sorry?” I asked, confused at his question perhaps because his fingers were trailing along the waistband of the item of clothing we were oddly discussing and it felt nice.

“Panties,” he repeated, not in a question this time.

“Yes, those are, uh . . . my panties,” I confirmed.

This got me the bright, white, beautiful smile. “Babe, why’d you put on your panties?”

I blinked up at him.

His fingers slid inside the waistband to lightly cup one cheek of my behind.

My lips parted.

“Sweet, shy Eliza,” he muttered like he was referencing me to someone else even if he was gazing right into my eyes. “Gonna have to break you of that.”


Oh God, please let it be yes.

This was the beginning of something.

“You hungry?” he asked conversationally.

I nodded, not really knowing if I was or I wasn’t. Mostly knowing I liked the warmth and possessiveness of his hand down my pants.

“Wanna fuck before or after I feed you?” he inquired.

My legs wobbled.

He felt it, I knew because that got me another smile, this one less sweet and oh-so-much-more sexy.

“Both,” he whispered, his head coming toward mine. “Starting with before.”

“Johnny,” I whispered back, but I did it with my lips moving against his.

His eyes were open, they were close, because I’ll note again, his lips were against mine, when he answered, “Yeah?”

“My coffee,” I noted idiotically.

Sadly, his lips went away.

Then my coffee went away and was set on the railing by his.

Then his lips were back.

“I haven’t even taken a sip,” I announced, again looking in his eyes so close, I could count the (abundant) eyelashes.

“Make you three pots after I make you come,” he mumbled then moved infinitesimally closer.

“Johnny,” I said urgently, again waylaying the kiss for no reason at all.

He was a good kisser. The best. The best I’d ever had.

By far.

Still, I was me.

So I was nervous.

“Izzy,” he replied.

“Yes?” I asked.

“Shut up.”

I shut up.

And then, finally, he kissed me.



The Code to His Phone


IT WAS ME that switched it up.

It was me who made him let me take over.

I didn’t know why I did it. I didn’t know that I had it in me to do it. I didn’t even think about any of this stuff.

I just did it.

The night before, Johnny had dragged, pulled, shifted, hauled and anything else he wanted to do to get me where he wanted me to be. On my back. On my knees. On his face.

That morning, it started out the same way. It started out like it had continued after the first time the night before.

The first time being fast and hungry and urgent and spectacular.

The rest of it was slow and hot and unhurried and spectacular.

That morning, it was the second kind.

Until I switched it up.

Until I took over.

It was when I was naked and he was naked.

It was when I was sopping wet and he was rock hard.

It was when every inch of me buzzed, and that buzz shimmered deeper from anything he did—a touch, a kiss, a lick, a nip—but also just looking at him, the harshness of sex set in his face, the dilation of his black eyes taking them from bright to blazing.

It was then I pushed him to his back, and at first he allowed it since I could tell he wanted it, because he was willing, for that moment, to go with my flow in order to move me into his new flow.

But when I held his shoulders down, straddled him, feeling his hard cock graze the damp curls between my legs, and I looked into his face, he stilled.

I did not.

I bent to him, sweeping my lips from his neck down to his collarbone up to his shoulder, thrilling in the warm silken skin over hard muscle my lips encountered.

I found his hand, laced my fingers in his and pulled it away from his body. After that, I trailed my lips down his arm, stopping to kiss the bulge of his biceps, moving on to lightly nip the skin at the inside juncture of his elbow.

Then I sat up abruptly, taking his hand with me.

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