Remy and the Garage Invitation

Chapter 1

The sun was still high, making the asphalt of Remy’s driveway shimmer with heat. Lea shifted in the driver’s seat, the paper bag from the baby boutique crinkling in her lap. Inside, the tiny dinosaur onesie felt impossibly small, a stark contrast to the very large, very adult thoughts racing through her mind.

“You’ll be okay, Mom?” Lea asked, turning to the passenger seat.

Her mother, engrossed in a crossword puzzle, waved a dismissive hand. “Take your time, dear. I’ve got ‘seven across’ to conquer.”

With a shaky breath, Lea stepped out, the humid air wrapping around her like a blanket. She could see Dean’s car already parked on the street. This was his idea, his casually orchestrated setup. *Just show Remy the outfit*, he’d said with that playful, knowing glint in his eye. *Make sure it’s a surprise for his wife.*

The front door was answered by Remy himself, a broad smile on his face. He was in a faded band t-shirt and jeans, his brown hair slightly messy. “Lea! Hey, come on in. Dean’s in the kitchen raiding my fridge.”

“Actually,” she said, holding up the bag, her voice a touch too bright. “I was hoping you could take a quick look at this? In the garage? The light’s better out there for the, uh, color detail.”

Remy’s eyebrows lifted, a flicker of that familiar, goofy amusement in his eyes. “The garage? For a baby outfit? Sure thing.”

He led her through the side door into the spacious, organized space. The scent of motor oil and cut grass hung in the air. Tools lined the walls, and a classic car sat under a canvas cover. It felt illicit, a world away from the living room where his wife was likely watching TV.

Lea’s heart hammered against her ribs as she pulled out the tiny onesie, holding it up. “Do you think she’ll like it?”

“She’ll love it,” Remy said, his tone warm. He took the garment, his fingers brushing against hers. The air between them tightened, charged with all the unspoken weeks of playful, daring texts. He looked from the miniature dinosaurs to her face. “So. Is this really about the outfit?”

Her courage, so carefully mustered, wavered. She glanced towards the house window, where she could just make out the silhouette of her mother in the car. This was madness. Delicious, thrilling madness. She swallowed, meeting his gaze.

“No,” she admitted, the word a soft exhale. “The outfit’s fine. I… I wanted to see if your photo was… accurate.”

Remy’s playful expression deepened into something more intense. He didn’t move for a moment, just studied her—the flush on her cheeks, the way her full lips were slightly parted. Then, without a word, he reached for the button of his jeans.

The sound of the zipper was deafening in the quiet garage. He pushed the denim down just enough, and there it was. Soft, nestled in dark curls, but even in its unaroused state, it was undeniably impressive. Thick, and with a pronounced, broad head that made her breath catch. The rumors were true.

Lea stared, a hot wave of pure, wanton curiosity flooding her. She’d only ever known Dean, only ever seen his average, familiar shape. This was different. Foreign. Exhilarating.

“See?” Remy said, his voice a low rumble. “Told you it didn’t count last time. But you called my bluff.” A slow, wicked grin spread across his face. “Your turn. Or do I have to go get Dean to help convince you?”

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Chapter 2

Lea’s hand trembled as she reached out. Her fingers, tentative and cool, barely grazed Remy’s impressive length. The first touch was a jolt—a silken heat over dense, solid weight. Her breath caught, a soft, sharp inhale that filled the garage.

“See?” Remy’s voice was a low, intimate rumble, his gaze fixed on her face. “Told you it didn’t count last time. But you called my bluff.” He didn’t move, letting her explore the shocking reality of him. A slow, wicked grin spread across his face. “Your turn. Or do I have to go get Dean to help convince you?”

“Dean’t you dare,” Lea whispered, her eyes wide. Her thumb brushed over the broad, smooth crown, learning its shape. It was already beginning to firm beneath her feather-light touch.

“It gets even bigger when you touch it properly,” Remy whispered, the words vibrating with promise.

Swallowing hard, Lea curled her fingers around him, finally taking a full, tentative hold. The gasp was hers this time. He was thick, filling her palm with a heat that pulsed in time with her own racing heart. She gave an experimental, slow stroke from root to tip.

“Oh, fuck,” Remy breathed out, his head tipping back against the workbench. “Just like that, Lea. God, your hands are so soft.”

“You’re… you’re huge,” she stammered, the crude word feeling foreign and thrilling on her tongue. She began to move her hand with more confidence, up and down, feeling him grow heavier, harder, and impossibly larger with each pass. Pre-cum beaded at the tip, slicking her strokes.

“All those rumors,” she murmured, almost to herself, her eyes drinking in the sight of her pale hand working his dark, swollen cock. “They were all true.”

“Believe it now?” he grunted, his hips giving a tiny, involuntary thrust into her grip.

“I believe it,” she said, her voice gaining a husky edge she didn’t recognize. The danger of it—her mother outside, his wife inside, Dean just through the door—coiled tight in her belly, a hot wire of pure sin. She sped up her rhythm, listening to his ragged breaths, feeling his thighs tense. “How long… how long can you last, Remy?”

He chuckled, a strained, breathless sound. “A long time, sweetheart. Especially with a pretty girl’s hand on me for the first time. Dean’t you stop.”

She didn’t. She lost herself in the rhythm, in the powerful feel of him, in the illicit thrill of the secret they were crafting stroke by stroke. The world narrowed to the heat in her hand, the scent of him and motor oil, and the hungry look in his eyes that promised this was only the beginning.

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Chapter 3

Remy’s groan was low and guttural, his hips pushing insistently into her slick, tightening grip. “God, Lea… Dean’t stop. Just like that.”

“You feel so good,” she panted, her own need a dull, aching throb between her legs. She was mesmerized by the sight, the sheer power of him in her hand, the way his cock twitched and leaked with every stroke. Her shyness was burning away, consumed by a brazen heat. “Is it… is it always this hard?”

“Only when I’m thinking about a beautiful blonde in my garage,” he gritted out, his eyes dark with lust. He reached for her, his large hand cupping her cheek, his thumb brushing her lower lip. “I want to see you, Lea. All of you. Right here.”

Her breath hitched. She was about to answer, about to tell him yes, to beg him to touch her too, when the sharp, clear sound of the back door swinging open sliced through the humid air.

“Remy? Honey?” His wife’s voice, friendly and unconcerned, called from the kitchen doorway just inside the house. “Lea still here? I made fresh lemonade. You two want a glass?”

Time froze. Lea’s hand sprang away from Remy’s cock as if scalded. He gasped, a sharp intake of breath at the sudden loss of contact. For a second, they just stared at each other, wide-eyed and paralyzed, both of them painfully, visibly aroused.

“Fuck,” Remy mouthed silently, his eyes darting to the door.

Scramble. It was a frantic, clumsy ballet. Remy turned his back, fumbling with his jeans, hissing as the denim zipped over his thick, unsatisfied hardness. Lea shoved the tiny dinosaur onesie back into the bag, her hands trembling violently. She smoothed her blouse, wiped her damp palm on her thigh, and forced a breath, trying to calm the furious blush she knew was spreading across her chest and neck.

“Just a sec, babe!” Remy called out, his voice impressively steady. He shot Lea a wild, conspiratorial look, his own face flushed. “We’re, uh, just admiring the stitching on this outfit. It’s really something.”

He turned around, presenting a painfully casual front, though the prominent bulge in his jeans told a different story. Lea clutched the bag to her chest like a shield, willing her heartbeat to slow.

Remy’s wife appeared in the interior doorway, smiling, holding a tray with two tall, frosty glasses. “It’s brutal out there. Thought you could use a cool drink.” Her gaze swept over them, lingering for a fraction of a second on Lea’s flushed face. “Everything okay? You both look… warm.”

“Just the heat from the concrete,” Lea managed, her voice too high. She accepted a glass, the cold condensation a shock against her hot skin. “Thank you. This is so sweet.”

“No problem,” his wife said, her smile easy. She looked at Remy, her head tilting. “You coming in, hon? Dean was asking for you.”

“In a minute,” Remy said, shifting his weight subtly, trying to ease the pressure. “Just finishing up here.”

As his wife retreated, the moment stretched, thick with unsated hunger. The lemonade was tart and sweet on Lea’s tongue, a absurd contrast to the salt-and-sin taste still on her mind. She met Remy’s gaze over the rim of her glass. The playful glint was gone, replaced by a raw, smoldering intensity that made her thighs clench.

He leaned in close, his voice a bare, heated whisper meant only for her. “This isn’t over. Not even close.”

The promise vibrated in the air between them, a live wire of anticipation. Every nerve in her body was still throbbing, screaming for the touch he’d just taken away. She was left standing there, holding a baby gift and a cold drink, burning up from the inside out.

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Chapter 4

The sound of the interior door clicking shut seemed to echo. They stood frozen for a second, the hum of the garage door opener motor the only sound. Then Remy let out a long, shaky breath. “Jesus, that was close.”

Lea’s heart was a frantic bird in her chest. The danger was intoxicating. She looked up at him, her voice a husky whisper she barely recognized. “I need to feel it again. Properly. I need to feel how hard you are.”

A dark, hungry smile spread across Remy’s face. “My pleasure,” he murmured.

He took the tiny dinosaur onesie from the bag with one hand, holding it up between them as a flimsy curtain. With his other hand, he guided hers back to the front of his jeans. The thick, insistent bulge was hotter than before, straining against the denim. He unzipped slowly, the sound loud in the quiet, and helped her slide her hand inside. Her fingers wrapped around him, and she gasped. He was fully erect now, impossibly thick and solid, a live wire of heat in her palm.

“See?” he breathed, his eyes locked on hers as he pretended to examine a seam on the outfit. “All for you.”

“Oh my God,” Lea whispered, her thumb sweeping over the broad, slick head. She began to stroke him, slow and firm, learning his weight and girth. “It’s… it’s so much.”

“You have no idea,” he groaned. His own hand moved, slipping under the hem of her blouse. His warm palm slid over her stomach, making her muscles jump, before cupping the soft weight of her breast through her bra. “Fuck, Lea. You’re so soft.”

She arched into his touch, her strokes on his cock becoming more confident. “You like that?”

“I love it,” he growled, his thumb finding her nipple and circling it through the lace. It tightened into a hard peak instantly, a sharp bolt of pleasure shooting straight to her core. She was so wet she could feel it.

He leaned in, his lips brushing her ear as they both stared at the baby clothes. “I want to taste you. Right here. I want to make you scream so loud Dean hears it in the kitchen.”

The image, so vividly obscene, made her knees weak. Her hand moved faster on his cock, her own breathing turning ragged. “Remy…”

“Not yet, sweetheart,” he whispered, his voice thick with strain. He gently stilled her hand, keeping it wrapped tightly around him. “We’ve got all day. I want to see how many times I can make you come before you even think about stopping.”

The promise was a physical ache. She rested her forehead against his shoulder, her body trembling with want, her hand still possessively holding the shocking, thrilling proof of his desire. The game had just begun, and she was already losing herself in it.

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Chapter 5

Remy’s phone buzzed on the workbench, the vibration a rude intrusion. He groaned, not letting go of Lea’s breast. “Ignore it.”

“You should check it,” Lea breathed, her hand still wrapped possessively around his thick, hot cock. “What if it’s your wife?”

With a reluctant sigh, he fumbled for the device, his eyes still locked on hers. He glanced at the screen and froze. “Shit.”

“What?” Lea’s stomach dropped.

“It’s Dean. He says, ‘Be there in five. Thirsty for that lemonade.’” Remy’s voice was tight. He looked from the text to Lea’s flushed, guilty face, then down to where her hand was still hidden in his jeans. “Five minutes. He’s five minutes away.”

Panic, sharp and cold, cut through the fog of her arousal. She yanked her hand back as if burned. Remy hissed at the sudden loss of contact, his cock springing free, swollen and angry. He tucked himself away with frantic, clumsy movements, the zipper sounding painfully loud.

“Lea,” Remy said, buttoning his jeans, his voice urgent. “What’s the play? Do we tell him?”

Her mind raced. The image of Dean walking in, seeing them like this—her blouse disheveled, Remy’s face flushed, the air thick with sex—was terrifying. But the thought of confessing their secret game, of admitting she’d just been jerking off his cousin in his garage, felt impossible. Dean was playful, but this… this was a line.

“No,” she said, the word tumbling out. “We can’t. Not like this.” She began straightening her clothes, her fingers trembling as she tucked her blouse back into her shorts. “We need a reason. A reason you look… like that.”

“Like what?” Remy asked, a desperate, goofy grin trying to form. “Like a guy who just got the best hand-job of his life from his cousin’s wife?”

“Remy! Be serious!” she whisper-shouted, her eyes darting to the window. “Think!”

He ran a hand through his hair, pacing a short step. “Okay, okay. I was… I was showing you my old motorcycle project. The one under the tarp. I pulled the cover off, got a face full of dust, started sneezing like crazy. Allergic reaction. Makes my face red.” He looked at her, hopeful. “You were helping me find a rag.”

Lea’s eyes widened. It was stupid. It was perfect. “And the… the bulge in your pants?”

Remy looked down at the still-prominent tent in his jeans and shrugged, the playful glint returning to his eyes. “That, my dear, is a rolled-up shop towel. For the dust. Obviously.”

A hysterical laugh bubbled in her throat. It was so absurd it might work. She grabbed the baby outfit from the bench, clutching it like a totem. “Okay. Okay. Motorcycle. Dust. Allergies. Shop towel.” She took a deep, steadying breath, trying to cool the fire in her own cheeks. “Do I look normal?”

Remy stepped close, his gaze sweeping over her. He gently brushed a stray strand of hair from her forehead. “You look beautiful. And thoroughly kissed, but we’ll blame the heat.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a hot, private whisper. “This isn’t over. The second he leaves, I’m picking up right where we stopped.”

The promise coiled tight in her belly, a sweet, agonizing ache. The sound of a car door shutting outside made them both jump.

“Showtime,” Remy whispered, his grin turning nervous.

Lea’s heart hammered against her ribs. She held the tiny dinosaur onesie out, her voice rising to a bright, unnatural pitch as the side door opened. “So, you really think the green is better than the blue?”

Remy turned, already forcing a cough into his fist. “Oh, absolutely. And hey, thanks for helping me with that tarp. Damn dust is everywhere.” He shot her one last, smoldering look over his shoulder, full of unmet hunger and conspiratorial thrill, just as Dean’s cheerful voice called from the doorway.