Knocked up by the Mechanic by Crawford Mila

Author:Crawford, Mila
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-06-03T16:00:00+00:00

The drive back to her gated East Point neighborhood went easily enough. I held her arm around me with one hand because I think she was passed out drunk. When we got to the house, I lifted the helmet off her head and she slumped at the neck. After hoisting her to my shoulder again, I walked up the path to the front door and quickly disabled the alarm. I didn’t know if Harley knew I had the passcode, but it was the serial number to her dad’s favorite bike—the Easy Rider Panhead. The same fucking bike Harley was named after.

The door disengaged and I stepped carefully so as not to bang her head on the frame. The lights came on automatically and I looked around wondering where to put her.

“To bed, princess? Or you want to wake up and drink some coffee?”

Why did rich people need so many living rooms? The den, the formal parlor. I had one fucking couch with a television in front of it—and didn’t see a need for anything more.

“That way,” Harley motioned down the hall. We stepped into the biggest living space and the lights went on low automatically. I plopped down on the couch and grabbed her arms to extricate her from mine. She shook her head and wrapped them tighter around my neck and nuzzled her face into my bicep.

“Harley, come on. You want me to make you some coffee?”

“In the morning!” she said and yawned. She stuck one leg behind my back and the other across my lap and squeezed me tightly.

“Harley!” I said. I put my hand on her shoulder and shook her gently. “Harley, it’s Wyatt, the mechanic. I’m not your dad, I’m not Stefano,” I told her.

“I know,” she said without opening her eyes. “You smell like the garage and they smell like Aqua di Parma.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“I like your scent better,” she said. She inhaled deeply with her face in my armpit. Her bare leg across my lap was making my dick hard. Harley was built like a dancer, pure long and lean muscle. Beautiful bronzed skin and a dusting of freckles. She smelled good too, like sweet and fresh all at once. I wanted to taste her. Eat her up. Steal her funny little heart.

“Get off, I gotta go. I’ll set the alarm on the way out.” I slapped her thigh and she responded by squeezing her inner thighs more tightly around my waist.

Jesus fucking Christ.

“I’m lonely, Wyatt. And I get scared all alone,” she said in a small voice.

“Nope. Sorry. Not going there. I’ll be over tomorrow to supervise the pickup for transport to the show. I need my beauty sleep, too, princess.”

“Can I come to your house?”

I laughed at that suggestion. Bring Harley, on my bike, to fucking South Banks. For-fucking-get-it.

“’Fraid not, little thing. I can take you up to bed and tuck you in,” I offered. It was my best offer, even that I was scared of doing.

Harley sat up and slipped one thigh over my lap until she was straddling me, her lazy drunk arms still draped around my neck.

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