The Machinist

The heat wasn't letting up.

98 degrees F (37 degrees C) at whatever-the-hell-o'clock in the morning, and your body had long since stopped pretending it was going to cooperate. Three cold showers. Three attempts at sleep. Each time you'd lie down, stare at the ceiling, feel the sheets go warm underneath you, and give up. In between, you'd gone back to the Skyline — 1990 R32, sitting in your garage, almost complete — because at least the work could try and fatigue.

You were on attempt four. Covers kicked to the side. Window fan oscillating. Eyes almost closed.

Then the doorbell rang.

You lay there for a second, like maybe it would take the hint. It didn't.

You padded to the front door, not bothering to think about who it might be. It was 2 AM. It could be anyone. You were too tired to speculate.

You opened the door and found Arin.

She looked up at you with that small, careful smile — the one she used when she knew she was in the wrong and was hoping charm would do some of the heavy lifting.

"Absolutely fucking not," you said, and closed the door.

A beat of silence. Then, muffled through the wood:

"Okay. I deserve that."

You stood there for a moment. Rubbed your face. Opened the door again.

"What are you doing here, ye?"

It wasn't really a question. The flatness in your voice said that much.

She held up four twenties like an offering. "I need you to change my oil. I brought everything — your brand, your filter, all of it." She nodded toward the Kia parked at the curb, a plastic bag sitting on the hood.

You stared at her.

"There are places for that."

"I know." Her expression shifted — something behind her eyes was going quieter. "I tried a few. They never get the idle right after. You always do."

You held her gaze for a second longer than you needed to. Then you stepped aside and gestured toward the garage.

"Pull in."

She noticed the Skyline the moment she walked through the side door. You watched her stop mid-step.

The R32 sat under the work light in that deep ocean blue you'd spent three weekends getting exactly right — not too dark, not too bright, the kind of color that looks different depending on how the light hits it. She moved toward it slowly, the way people do when they don't want to spook something.

Her hand hovered, then rested lightly on the quarter panel. She traced the edge of one of the racing stripes — you'd laid those down about eight weeks ago, masked the whole thing off yourself.

"Client or yours?"

"Mine."

She nodded, still looking at the car. You slid under her Kia and got to work.

A long moment passed before she spoke again.

"How have you been?"

"Good." You cracked the drain plug and listened to the oil start to fall. "Did a Ferrari restore a few months back for a streamer — Ezio, I think. Then an American guy brought me a Datsun 280Z, wanted a full modernization. Test driving that one is what made me pull the trigger on this."

You didn't look at her, but you could feel her attention move back to the Skyline.

"What about you?"

You already knew. But the question felt like the right shape to offer.

"I finally left Oh My Girl and am going Solo," she said.

"I saw." You let the oil drain and kept your eyes on the job. "You looked tough. Like you found where you belong."

"Thanks." A pause. "Both are kind of... settling down now. I was thinking..."

"Yeah." You slid the drain pan further under. "That happens."

She exhaled — not quite a sigh, something shorter — and after a moment, you heard the click of your Skyline's door handle.

You didn't say anything. She'd already made it to the interior before you glanced over.

Even from under the Kia, you could see her reaction: the way she went still, taking in the contrast of it. Outside, the car was restoration — factory lines, period-correct trim, nothing out of place. Inside was something else entirely. Supple leather in a dark cognac. A mounted infotainment screen. Focal speakers set into custom door panels. Climate control, wireless charging, and ambient lighting along the footwells. Everything the car never had, done in a way that made it look like maybe it had always been there.

Arin ran her fingers along the stitching on the steering wheel.

"You've come a long way," she said. "From the underground circuit days."

"Different work."

"Better work." She wasn't needling you. She sounded like she meant it.

"You always knew what you were doing, but this —"

"Arin."

She stopped.

"You ghosted me for six and a half weeks." You were still under her car, voice even, watching the last of the old oil run dark into the pan. "Then you show up at my door at two in the morning with eighty dollars and an oil filter. Like it's nothing."

Silence.

"I have things to say about that."

You heard the car door shift. When you rolled out from under the Kia, she was closer than you expected — standing just at the edge of the light, looking at you with something that wasn't quite an apology and wasn't quite an excuse.

Then: "I'm sorry I ghosted you."

"I know," you said. "That's not the same as it being fine."

She stepped forward. You started to say something else — you had more, there was more — and then she closed the distance between you and kissed you before any of it could land.

You stood there and let the anger be the first thing you felt.

Because that was honest. Because she'd left you on read for six weeks and change and had now walked back in like time was a formality, and you weren't going to pretend that hadn't cost you something.

But then the anger ran into everything underneath it — the empty side of the couch, the way you'd checked your phone more than you'd admit, the particular silence of a place that used to have someone in it — and the two things hit each other somewhere in the middle of your chest, and you didn't pull away.

You look into her eyes and say, "Bedroom now." Arin smiles, then follows your instructions

Arin drags you inside your small home. As the two of you get deeper into a piece of clothing off here and there.

By the time the two of you reach the bedroom, you are both fully bare.

Arin smiles and says “Did you miss me?” Before pushing you onto the bed. Her body is just as beautiful as you remember.

Small perky tits, round perk ass with toned thighs.

“Yes, Ye. God yes!!” You respond.

Arin kisses you again as she strokes you. Her movement is slow and languid the goal is to get you hard not off. She smiles watching you squirm for a bit.

You caress her face as he lines her up with you. She sinks down taking you to the hilt in one go

The two of you stare longingly as your sexes meet. Arin smiles at you while you watch her ride you. Her pussy is slowly constricting around your snake ironically. Her body waves and rolls with undulations almost designed specifically to wreck you.

Arin watches you fall apart under her she smiles and whispers in your ear, “cum for me. Cum for this pussy you can’t forget,”

Spurred on by her words you buck your hips into her desperation clinging inside you to keep her with you forever.

“Fuck Ye,” you say as you grab her waist. You plunge into her as your seed fills her womb. Arin moans as her climax follows.

By the time the heavy breathing stops and the tide of pressure lowers the two of you look at each other and you say to her, “I’m not letting go this time,

Arin smiles and says, “Neither am I”