Zaira tried to convince herself that the only reason she accepted Trent’s offer to come by the shop was that she really needed the maintenance done on her motorcycle. She wasn’t an avid rider like her dad, so keeping up the maintenance schedule was always an after thought. The bike pretty much stayed locked up and covered in her garage most weeks.

She came to a halt near the front of the building, stopping in front of the open garage door of the shop and removed her helmet.

Trent came out from behind a storage shelf to meet her, wiping his hands on a cloth towel. He had on a pair of basketball shorts and nothing else. Of course, he didn’t seem to care about wearing the black grease stains on his skin. She didn’t either. There was a fresh sheen of sweat on his copper-toned skin which seemed to accentuate the muscles strewn across his entire body. Zaira probably would have begun drooling if she hadn’t caught herself staring.

“Hey Beautiful.”

She smiled. “Hi Handsome.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Relaxed, actually. I took another nap after you left this morning,” she said, eyeing his lips.

Trent grinned. “I figured you needed a longer one.”

He grabbed her hips gently, his fingers sliding against her bare belly under her midriff top. She inhaled taking in the smells of fresh soap and cologne mixed with sweat and engine grease. It was an intoxicating combination, activating her desire for him once again. Two rounds of sex for one day should have been enough, but it wasn’t…

Zaira pulled him into her by the forearms and they kissed. He tasted better than last night. His kisses were certainly softer than they were last night, but then again, they had both been out of control. She pressed her breasts to his chest, not giving a damn about getting her clothes messy. She’d known better than to get fancy to come to a repair shop, so she’d settled for a short top and a pair of jeans.

They rolled her motorcycle inside and he closed the garage door.

“We’re closed on Sundays, so we shouldn’t get any regular customers,” Trent said.

“Regular?” She followed him back to the corner of the shop where he’d emerged from earlier.

“The shop is owned by Rugged Riders members. It’s opened for regular operations Monday through Saturday. We have about five employees on the payroll, but I’m sure I’m not the only one that stops by on the regular to maintain my ride.”

“Sounds convenient.” Zaira leaned against a worktable. “Isn’t this where you worked part time when you first moved here?”

“You actually remember all that?” He smiled and came over to the table and shuffled through some tools. “Between my side gig and looking for legitimate work, yes, this is where I spent most of my days and nights.”

“By side gig…do you mean gambling?”

Zaira observed as the Adam’s apple on his throat bobbed. “Yeah. Kind of like what you saw on Friday night. Gambling, sports and race betting…you name it. After my dad got locked up, I practically lived in Las Vegas when I was serious about it.”

“Well I can see that you were and still are successful at it.”

“Making money that way was the only thing I knew,” he said. “Growing up with my dad and no mother, we had to hustle day in and day out for a meal, sometimes two if we were lucky. We lied, we cheated, and stole to stay alive.”

“I can’t really talk for someone else, but when you told me your mom ran out on you and your dad when you were eight, I kept thinking there was some legitimate reason for it.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “My parents divorced when I was young, mutually. It took me a while but I had to understand that they weren’t happy together. In the end, not having to hear them fighting every night over this and that was relieving.”

“Well, that’s pretty typical.” He exhaled. “But if you’re trying to get me believe that my mom being addicted to cocaine and running off with a pothead was a legitimate enough reason to leave me and my dad alone, it’s not going to work.”

That revelation hit Zaira like an arrow to her heart. She’d known his mother had left; he’d told her, but he hadn’t told her why—just that he didn’t really know. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not.” He took a tool, moved over to the motorcycle, and knelt down to work.

“Does she…do you still talk to her?”

“She’s been committed to a board and care facility out west,” Trent said, bluntly. “I check up on her periodically to make sure she has what she needs, but she doesn’t remember me. She seems to think I’m some secret federal agent trying to bust her and her boyfriend for dealing. She’s called me a whole bunch of other names too. She’s schizophrenic. My dad told me once that there were signs of it when they were dating. She told him the drugs helped her cope, hence her addiction.”

“Gosh,” Zaira said.

“And you wonder why I never talk about my past freely. It’s usually too much for anyone to take in.”

Zaira knelt down near him and caught his gaze. “It’s complicated, yes, but you have to give yourself credit. I’ve never met a man as successful and ambitious as you are. I had no idea…”

“Despite what people think of my dad, I give him all the credit because I wouldn’tt be where I am today if he gave up when we didn’t even have a bucket to piss in.”

“Trent, I didn’t know everything.”

“Listen,” he said. They rose together until they were face to face. “I’m not trying to manifest some pity party. That’s not what I want from you. If I open up completely, maybe you will understand me more…and maybe you won’t.”

“I was too quick to judge…”

“No, you were smart like any good woman would be.”

His face was only inches away from hers and she closed the gap to kiss him. They kissed each other with urgency. She just couldn’t get enough of him. He trailed kisses along her face, down her neck and across her shoulders, and pulled her tightly against his rock hard chest.

“I want you,” he rasped against her throat.

“Then take me,” she urged.

Her top and bra came off in a haste and before she knew it, Trent had switched his center of attention to her breasts. He tugged on her sensitive nipples with his lips, kneading both breasts with his palms and licking them. She managed to slide her hands down into his basketball shorts.

She gasped when she found him erect and ready. He moaned as she stroked him from base to tip, luring him out of his shorts.

Trent lifted her onto the metal table and she kicked off her shoes. With one tug, he rid her of her jeans and panties. He extracted a foil package from his wallet before kicking his shorts aside.

He was big and erect, ready to fuck her.

“Oh, God.” She swooned as intense heat rushed down to her sex.

He tore the wrapper open with his teeth and sheathed his straining erection with a condom.

Zaira spread her legs on the table, showing off her pussy. Why pretend that she didn’t want something that brought her so much satisfaction?

Trent hooked his arms under her knees and pulled her closer to the edge of the table. He took her, slowly and deeply. Moving all the way out and then back in again until she was clutching at the table crying out for more.

“I don’t think I could ever stop after this, Zaira,” he declared.

“Keep going. Don’t ever stop,” she replied.

After those words, he became relentless, pushing her limits. As she sat on the table with her legs spread wide, back arched, and breasts to the ceiling, he entered her pussy over and over again.

The little repair shop was filled with nothing but the table hitting the wall behind them, his hoarse declarations, and her cries of pleasure.

She lost herself that day, and for once she didn’t worry about the consequences. Not one bit.