It was past midnight when she returned.
Same loose tank. No bra. Shorts barely holding onto her hips. No panties again. She knew what he liked.
The garage door was cracked open just enough to let the low glow of the work light spill out onto the pavement. The air still smelled like sin — like oil and sweat and the trace of her own moans that had stained the walls the night before.
But she wasn’t alone.
The girl beside her wore ripped jeans and a crop top, hair tied back like she was ready to run, but eyes wide like she wasn’t sure if she should be here.
“You sure he’s… okay with two?” she asked.
The first girl grinned. “He doesn’t ask questions. He gives orders. You want to know what that’s like?”
Her friend hesitated.
But then the door opened wider — and the mechanic stepped out,
