His Uncle's Obsession: After I Seduced Him novel · Chapter 7 of 32

Chapter 7: Night Shift

"You can't break my rule," I said through the gap. "It's my rule."

"Then you break it. I'll watch."

"Have you been drinking?"

"Not a drop. The old men have been drinking for both of us." He put one hand on the door frame. "Have you?"

"Cold coffee out of a machine."

"Then we're both sober, and we're both standing here at one in the morning." He tipped his head. "Your move, crew chief."

I shut the door.

I took the chain off.

I opened it again.

He didn't come in.

He waited on the walkway until I stepped back and said, "Get in here before the whole motel sees you."

He came in and shut the door behind him and leaned on it.

The room was so small he made it look like a closet.

"Okay," I said. "Rules."

"I was hoping you'd say that."

"Rule one was one night."

"Rule one was a good rule," he said. "I liked rule one. I just think it was written by a woman who'd been fired an hour before and needed a rule."

"That's not fair."

"No. It's true, though."

I crossed my arms.

"Rule two was nobody owns anybody."

"Keep that one."

"Rule three was nobody hears about it from me."

"Keep that one too. Nobody will hear a thing from me. I'm famous for not talking."

I laughed.

I didn't want to.

He watched me laugh.

"Here's the thing," I said. "You're my driver. If this goes wrong, I lose the only car in America that'll have me."

"If this goes wrong, I'll still drive your car," he said. "You've got my word. You can fire me from the bed and keep me on the pit box."

"That's not how anybody does it."

"I'm nine years out of practice. I don't know how anybody does it."

I looked at him.

Sand on his shoes.

Sweat dried white at the collar of his undershirt.

Two miles in the dark on the night of his first Cup race in nine years, and he hadn't come to celebrate.

He'd come to ask.

"Rule four," I said. "I'm in charge."

His eyes went dark.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Take your shoes off. You're getting sand on the Ritz."

He bent and untied them without taking his eyes off me.

"Stay there," I said.

He stayed.

I walked a slow circle around him on the motel carpet.

My bare feet were quiet and his breathing wasn't.

"You walked two miles in that firesuit."

"Felt like twenty."

"Good."

I stopped in front of him.

He watched my hands.

I untied the arms of the firesuit from his waist and let the whole thing drop to the floor behind him.

He didn't move.

"Arms up," I said.

He lifted them.

I pulled the gray undershirt over his head.

His chest was damp and the hair on it was dark, and I let my knuckles touch him exactly once on the way down.

He made a sound like a man biting the inside of his own mouth.

"Now the rest," I said.

When he was down to his boxer briefs I put one finger in the waistband and stopped.

"The great Sutton Tillery," I said. "Standing in a pink motel room at one in the morning."

"The Ritz," he said. "You said so yourself."

"I said that because the ice machine is broken and I'm sleeping on seashells."

"I like the seashells. They're modest."

I laughed, and the laugh broke my rhythm, and he heard it.

I pushed him back two steps to the edge of the bed.

He sat.

I stayed standing between his knees.

"Here's what's going to happen," I said. "You're going to lie back on that bedspread and you're not going to touch me until I say you can."

"Yes, ma'am."

"And when I say you can, you're going to do exactly what I tell you."

"Yes, ma'am."

"And when I tell you to stop, you're going to stop, because I want to see what it does to you."

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