Is it turning me on?
You’re an idiot. A babbling, worthless, grease-monkey idiot.
True, but I keep going. “Did you know that when you weld two dissimilar metals together, you have to be careful about coefficient thermal expansion at the joint of the two?”
I’m reciting from memory from the first welding guidebook I ever got my hands on. I was twelve, and someone had left it behind in a junk car at my dad’s scrapyard. For years I thumbed those rust-spotted pages with a flashlight under the covers, badgering my old man to explain the jargon until I’d committed passages to memory and no longer needed to crack that duct-taped spine to remember the precise steps for welding nickel-based alloys to steel.
In a way, it’s how I got where I am today.
I swallow hard and focus on Lisa. Her face is flushed, and she looks like she just bit into a juicy, ripe strawberry. Those green eyes flash with heat, and she lifts her fingers and touches the pearl necklace at her throat.
“Wow,” she murmurs. “That does sound very hot.”
I swear to God I didn’t set out to turn her on with this. I was just trying to make her laugh, maybe build up her confidence a bit by telling her how hot she is.
I don’t know if it’s the multi-syllable words or the grease monkey thing that’s getting to her. Does it matter?
Her bare knee rests on my leg, and I swear her skirt has hitched another three inches up that glorious, creamy thigh.
I ache to touch it. It’s like she reads my thoughts, shifting so her leg brushes the tips of my fingers.
I hesitate, then lift my hand. Her knee fits perfectly in my cupped palm, and I hold my breath, waiting for a reaction.
“More,” Lisa whispers.
“More what?” I’m honestly not sure.
She licks her lips and darts a glance at my hand. When her eyes lift to mine again, I feel my cock throb.
“Tell me more about what’s hot,” she says. “The welding, I mean.”
Good God, I can’t believe my luck. Of all the dumbass lines I’ve used to seduce women, welding terminology never made the list. My heart hammers like a goddamn piston, and I scroll through my brain for more lingo. I lean closer, almost close enough to brush my lips against her ear.
“You want to hear about stick-shielded metal arc welding?” I murmur. “That’s when you touch the electrode tip to the workpiece, then withdraw it really, really slowly.”
“Oh,” she murmurs, not quite a gasp and not quite a groan. “That sounds really hot.”
“It is,” I tell her. “Usually about sixty-five-hundred degrees Fahrenheit.”
Jesus. I’ve been welding my whole adult life, and I never knew it could sound sexy. Lisa shifts again, and I don’t know how it happens. One second she’s squirming beside me, and the next second she’s on my lap, lips parted, legs parted, her whole body pressed against mine.
Did I do that, or did she?
We’re face-to-face now with Lisa on my lap, and she peers at me with uncertainty in her expression.
“Hello,” I murmur.
It’s a dumb thing to say with her lips scant inches from mine, begging to be kissed, but she smiles anyway. “Hello.”
Her brow furrows with self-consciousness, but I don’t give her time to go there. I close the distance between us, brushing my lips to hers as I slide my hands to her hips.
Then I’m kissing her hard and deep, groaning as she moves against me. Her body is like a coiled wire, tense with energy. I skim my hands up her sides, brushing the edges of her breasts to hear her whimper, then back down, curving over her hips and around. I clutch her ass and give a gentle squeeze.
“God, Dax.” She breaks the kiss to groan, then arches against me. The movement hitches her skirt up around her hips, and I can feel the heat at her core pressing against the fly of my jeans.
“That’s it,” I whisper, conscious of the way she’s grinding against me. I haven’t been dry-humped since I was sixteen, and I can’t believe how fucking good this feels. I wonder if I should slow things down, maybe be more tender with her. This can’t be what she’s used to.
But her words echo in my head.
