Title: “Off Limits”

She wasn’t supposed to be there.

He made that clear the second she stepped into his garage.

“Your dad said you were still in school,” he muttered, wiping grease off his fingers, tattoos crawling down his thick forearms like sin made flesh. “Didn’t realize that meant college. Or that you’d grow up like this.”

“Disappointed?” she smirked, hopping onto the workbench, legs swinging.

His eyes dropped. Slowly. Deliberately. “No. Just wondering what the hell you think you’re doing here.”

“I wanted to see your bike,” she said, coy, dragging her finger across the dusty metal. “And maybe… the man who used to babysit me.”

He chuckled. Deep, dark, rough. “Sweetheart, I’ve got tattoos older than you.”

“And yet I still make you nervous.”

His jaw twitched.

She knew what she was doing. The shorts were a little too short. The lip gloss a little too shiny. She watched his eyes trail over her legs, his hands flexing at his sides like he was holding himself back with everything he had.

“I’m not a little girl anymore,” she whispered.

“No, you’re not,” he said, voice like gravel. “And that’s the damn problem.”

She hopped off the bench, walking slow, like a hunt.

“Say it,” she breathed, standing inches away. “Say you’ve thought about it.”

“I’ve thought about how your dad would kill me,” he rasped, backing into the wall.

She smiled, wicked and sweet all at once. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

He grabbed her waist before he could stop himself, backing her into the wall instead, eyes blazing. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“Then show me.”

The kiss hit like lightning. His hands were rough, big, possessive—grabbing her like he was mad at himself for wanting her this bad. She tugged at his shirt, nails scratching skin that told stories older than her existence, moaning when his mouth dragged to her throat.

“You’re trouble,” he growled against her skin.

“And you’re addicted.”

He didn’t deny it.

Because some lines? Were made to be crossed.