Chapter 12: Under the Hood
The city lights bled into streaks of neon as Jay’s truck growled through the near-empty streets. Every pothole, every seam in the asphalt, sent a jolt through the chassis and straight into Evie’s body. The plug, still buried deep in her ass, shifted with each impact, a relentless, intimate reminder of what she was carrying. A tiny gasp escaped her lips as they hit a particularly sharp bump, the sensation flowering from her core out to her trembling thighs.
Jay glanced over, his profile sharp in the dashboard glow. A slow, knowing smirk touched his mouth. “Feel that, sweetheart?”
“Yes, Sir,” she breathed, her fingers clenching in the fabric of her skirt.
He reached across, his large, calloused hand settling on her bare knee, his thumb stroking the soft skin there. The simple touch, possessive and comforting, sent another kind of thrill through her. She was naked beneath her clothes, marked and filled, riding through the night with a man who owned her in ways she’d only dreamed of. The absurdity of it—the normalcy of the passing traffic against the secret reality of her body—made her head spin.
The garage was in an industrial district, a warehouse unit with a rolling steel door. Jay punched a code into a keypad, and the door clattered upward, revealing a cavernous space. It was empty, silent except for the hum of fluorescents flickering to life overhead. And there, centered under the lights, sat the car.
It wasn’t just a car. It was a weapon. A low-slung, aggressively angled rally car, its white body scuffed with dust and old decals, its fenders flared wide over massive, knobby tires. It sat like a crouching animal, even at rest.
“Jesus,” Evie whispered, stepping out of the truck. The plug moved again as she walked, a slippery, full presence with every step. She followed Jay inside, the air thick with the smells of petrol, rubber, and cold metal.
“Liam’s late,” Jay said, his voice echoing slightly. He shrugged out of his heavy, worn leather jacket. “C’mere.”
She walked to him. He turned her gently and draped the jacket over her shoulders. It swallowed her, the weight and smell of him—engine oil, leather, his cologne—enveloping her completely. He flipped the collar up, concealing the black band around her neck from casual view. “Just in case,” he murmured, his lips brushing her temple.
He led her to the car, his passion igniting. “This is the Lancer Evo. She’s a bitch and a half to handle.” His hand swept over the roof. “Custom cage, seam-welded chassis. Engine’s built to scream.” He popped the hood, showing her a complex nest of pipes, wires, and a gleaming intercooler. He talked turbo spool, differential locking, weight distribution. It was a foreign, aggressive poetry. Evie listened, mesmerized less by the technicalities and more by the fire in his eyes, the reverence in his touch on the machine.
That touch grew restless. As he explained the sequential gearbox, his hand left the car and found the small of her back under the heavy jacket. Then it slid lower, cupping the curve of her ass over her skirt. His words faltered.
He turned her away from the car, backing her against a solid workbench cluttered with socket sets. The metal was cold through her thin shirt. He pinned her there with his body, his mouth crashing down on hers. The kiss was all hunger and spark, a reclaiming. His tongue plunged past her lips, and she met it eagerly, her hands fisting in the front of his shirt. One of his hands tangled in her hair, tilting her head back. The other shoved her skirt up, rucking it around her waist, his palm coming to rest possessively on the bare globe of her ass. He kneaded the flesh, still tender from the belt, and she moaned into his mouth.
“Fuck the tour,” he growled against her lips. His fingers traced the edge of the plug’s base, where it met her body. “This is what I want to see.”
He spun her around, bending her forward over the bench. Tools clattered. He pushed the jacket off her shoulders, letting it pool on the floor. His hand smoothed over her back, then down the cleft of her ass. He found the jewelled base.
“You’ve been clenching around this all night, haven’t you? My good little slut, keeping herself ready.”
“Yes, Sir,” she panted, her cheek pressed to the cold bench.
With a firm, steady pull, he drew the plug out. The sensation was a long, slow, obscene release of pressure, ending in a wet, soft pop. She felt overwhelmingly empty, exposed. The cold air of the garage kissed the slick, stretched ring of muscle.
She heard the rasp of his zipper. Then the broad, blunt head of his cock was pressing there, where the plug had been, but thicker, hotter, alive.
“This is what you really need,” he stated, no question in his voice.
He pushed. There was resistance, a burning stretch that made her cry out, a sharp, broken sound that echoed off the metal walls. He didn’t stop. He worked himself into her, an inexorable, devastating invasion, until he was fully sheathed in her ass, his hips flush against her battered thighs.
“Oh God… Sir…” she sobbed, the fullness stealing her breath.
He held there for a moment, letting her adjust, his hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise. Then he pulled back and slammed home.
Evie screamed. It was a raw, unfiltered sound of pain twisting into blinding pleasure. He set a brutal, piston-like rhythm, fucking her ass with deep, grinding strokes. Each thrust rocked her body into the bench, rattling the tools. The metal was cold under her breasts, his body a furnace against her back.
“You take my cock so fucking well,” he grunted, his voice strained with effort. “This tight ass is mine. Say it.”
“It’s yours, Sir! All yours!” she wailed, her knuckles white where she gripped the bench’s edge. “Fuck my ass! Please! Harder!”
He obliged, his pace becoming savage, punishing. The slap of his skin against hers, the wet, filthy sounds of the penetration, filled the garage. She was babbling, a stream of filth and worship, her world narrowed to the searing point where their bodies joined. The orgasm built not as a wave but as a pressure cooker explosion, detonating from her core without warning. She shrieked, her vision whiting out as her body convulsed around the violent intrusion.
Feeling her clamp down on him, Jay lost his rhythm. With a final, gut-deep roar, he buried himself to the hilt and came, pumping his release hot and deep into her ass. She felt every pulse, a claiming far more primal than the plug.
He stayed lodged inside her for long seconds, both of them gulping air. He slowly softened and slipped out. A slow, warm trickle immediately began a path down the inside of her thigh.
He righted her gently. Her legs were jelly. He kissed her, soft now, almost tender, and pulled her skirt down. He picked up his jacket and draped it over her shoulders again, then handed her the discarded plug, slick and gleaming. “Hide that.”
Footsteps sounded on the concrete outside the roll door. A man’s voice called, “Jay? You in here?”
“Back here, Liam!” Jay called back, his voice remarkably even. He quickly guided a wobbling Evie to a faded office chair in a shadowed corner of the garage. She sat, the cool plastic a shock. She discreetly tucked the plug behind her thigh, feeling the tell-tale wetness seep from her. Jay was already grabbing a rag, wiping his hands, his posture switching to professional focus as a burly man in coveralls walked in.
“Sorry I’m late. Traffic was a bastard,” Liam said, his eyes flicking to Evie with polite curiosity.
“No worries. This is Evie. Evie, Liam, my chief mechanic.”
Liam nodded. “Alright. Let’s get this diff sorted.”
For the next half hour, Evie watched from her chair, a spectator in a secret theater. Jay and Liam crawled under the car on low creepers, their voices a technical murmur. Jay was all business, sharp, knowledgeable. Yet every so often, his eyes would find hers in the shadows. A flicker of dark heat would pass between them, a shared, filthy truth. She’d shift slightly, feeling the steady leak of his come tracing a path down her skin, a constant, thrilling humiliation.
Finally, Jay slid out from under the car. “Feels tight. But I want to run it. Stress test the new setup.”
Liam nodded. “Smart. Want me to ride along?”
Jay stood, wiping grease from his hands onto a fresh rag. He looked past Liam, his gaze landing squarely on Evie. A slow, dangerous grin spread across his face, the one that promised speed and sin.
“Nah. I’ve got a co-pilot.”
He walked over to her chair and extended his hand. The fluorescent light gleamed off the ink on his forearm. The garage was silent, waiting.
“Feel like seeing what she can do, sweetheart?”
Evie looked at his hand, then up at his face, at the promise of velocity and his complete control. She placed her hand in his without a moment’s hesitation.