Dagenham Delight
"Mechanic Simone runs the only female-owned garage in Dagenham. When Jaylen's car breaks down outside her shop, she offers to check under his hood—and hers."
Steam was pouring from under Jaylen's hood when he coasted into the garage forecourt. Perfect timing—the sign said "Simone's Motors" and the lights were still on.
The woman who emerged from the workshop made him forget all about his car.
She was wearing oil-stained overalls, but nothing could hide that body. Thick in all the right places, with muscular arms from years of wrenching and curves that the overalls couldn't contain. Her skin was deep brown, her natural hair tied back, and her expression was pure confidence.
"Radiator?" she asked, barely glancing at the steam.
"Probably. Can you fix it?"
"Baby, I can fix anything." She popped his hood with practiced ease. "Pull it into the bay. Let's see what you've got."
The diagnosis was quick—blown head gasket, not just the radiator. Bad news for his wallet, but Simone had him laughing within minutes, her Barbadian-British accent warm and teasing.
"How long will it take?"
"Few days. Got parts to order." She wiped her hands on a rag. "Unless you want to help. Makes things go faster."
"I don't know anything about cars."
"Then I'll teach you." Her eyes swept over him. "Always happy to educate a man who's willing to learn."
The next three evenings, Jaylen found himself in Simone's garage after her regular hours, learning the difference between carburetors and alternators while trying not to stare at her arse when she bent over the engine.
She caught him every time. Never said anything. Just smiled that knowing smile.
On the third night, she straightened up and turned to face him, oil smudge on her cheek, eyes blazing.
"You know, I've been watching you watch me. Man spends more time looking at my batty than the engine."
"Can you blame me?"
"No." She stepped closer. "But talk is cheap. What you gonna do about it?"
He kissed her, tasting coffee and something sweet. She kissed back hard, her strong hands pulling at his shirt, backing him up against the workbench.
"Three days," she growled. "Three days of you looking at me like that. Know how wet that makes a woman?"
She unzipped her overalls and let them fall. She wore a sports bra and boy shorts underneath, both straining to contain her curves. She guided his hand between her thick thighs.
"Feel that? That's what you do to me."
She was soaked. Jaylen groaned.
She bent over the hood of his own broken car, looking back at him over her shoulder.
"Come on then. Show me what you're working with."
He took her right there, hands gripping her wide hips, driving into her from behind. The car rocked on its jack stands as she cried out.
"Yes! Fuck yes! Harder!"
The garage echoed with their sounds—her moans, his grunts, skin slapping against skin. She reached back to grab his arm, pulling him deeper, demanding more.
"Don't stop! I'm gonna—I'm gonna—"
She came with a shout that rattled the tools on the wall, her body shaking, her knees nearly buckling.
But she wasn't finished.
She spun around, dropped to her knees on the workshop mat, and took him in her mouth. Her technique was as skilled as her mechanical work—thorough, enthusiastic, devastating.
"Come for me," she said between strokes. "Wanna taste you."
He didn't last long. Couldn't. She swallowed everything with a satisfied hum, then stood and kissed him, letting him taste himself on her lips.
"Now that," she said, "is full service."
A week later, his car was fixed—running better than ever. But Jaylen kept coming back to the garage, finding excuses for maintenance.
"You don't need another oil change," Simone laughed.
"Maybe I just like watching you work."
"Maybe you like what comes after I work." She pulled him toward the back office. "Got a break between appointments. Twenty minutes."
"That's not very long."
"Then you better make it count."
His Dagenham delight had standards. And Jaylen was determined to meet every single one.