Summer Job at the Car Wash — Wet & Wild

I was 19, it was July, and I was working the worst summer job in existence — the manual wash bay at Suds & Shine. Bikini top under my work shirt, cutoff shorts, wet sneakers. The pay was garbage, but the tips were decent when you smiled enough.

Then he pulled up. Matte black Jeep Wrangler, top down, and a guy behind the wheel who looked like he'd walked out of a cologne ad. Dark hair, sun-kissed skin, aviators he pushed up as he rolled to a stop. He was maybe 22. I suddenly cared a lot more about my job performance.

"Full wash?" I asked, trying to sound professional.

"Yeah. And whatever the deluxe package is." He grinned. "I'm Jake."

"Kayla." I hooked up the pressure washer. "You'll want the works. Wax, undercarriage, the whole thing."

He laughed. "I trust you."

I was showing off a little — bending more than necessary, letting the water spray mist over my tank top so it clung to my chest. I caught him watching. More than once. The wash bay was semi-private, hidden from the street by tall hedges, and the nearest customer was three bays down.

He got out of the Jeep while I was working on the wheels. Leaned against the hood, arms crossed. "You're really thorough."

"I take my job seriously." I straightened up, wiping my forehead with the back of my hand. Water dripped down my chest. His eyes followed it.

"You know," he said, stepping closer, "I've driven past this place a hundred times and never stopped before."

"What changed?"

He was right in front of me now. Close enough to touch. "Saw you from the road."

My heart hammered. I dropped the hose. Water pooled around our feet. He reached out and brushed a wet strand of hair from my face, and then he was kissing me — hot and urgent, one arm snaking around my waist to pull me against him. I kissed him back, my soapy hands gripping the front of his t-shirt, leaving wet handprints on his chest.

"Anyone going to come back here?" he murmured.

"Not for at least fifteen minutes."

He pulled me behind the Jeep, into the corner of the bay where the shadows were deepest. Dropped to his knees in the wet concrete. His hands pushed my shorts down my thighs, and my bikini bottoms went with them. He looked up at me — water running down the Jeep, steam rising from the warm pavement, the whole world reduced to the two of us.

His mouth found me, and I grabbed the Jeep's side mirror to stay upright. His tongue was confident, knowing. He licked and sucked while his hands gripped my thighs, his stubble scraping my sensitive skin in the best way. I bit my lip until I tasted blood, desperate not to make sound.

"Oh god, Jake—" I came on his tongue, my legs shaking, one hand braced against the wet metal of the Jeep.

He stood up, wiping his mouth, and I dropped to my knees. Fair was fair. I unbuttoned his jeans — they were already soaked anyway — and took out his cock. He was gorgeous. Long, thick, the tip flushed. I wrapped my lips around him and he groaned, his hand tangling in my wet hair.

I sucked him off right there in the wash bay, the pressure washer still spraying forgotten against the far wall. He was close in minutes, his breathing ragged, his hips thrusting shallowly into my mouth.

"Kayla, I'm gonna—"

I pulled back just enough to stroke him through it, and he came across my chest, hot streaks mixing with the soapy water on my tank top.

Afterward, we were both a mess — wet, sticky, grinning like idiots. I finished washing his Jeep while he leaned against the wall and watched me.

"So, deluxe package," I said, ringing him up at the register. "How'd I do?"

He left a fifty-dollar tip.