Since the break-in, Trent's been at the shop even longer hours than normal. Although he hasn't said much to me, I've overheard conversations with security companies about cameras and sensors, and I can almost sense a thread of worry sewing itself underneath Trent's tough exterior. I've always said he's the softest tough guy I've ever met, but he's been doing an impeccable job of putting up an impenetrable mental and emotional barrier between us the last couple of days.

Any other week, it might not bother me that he's pulling back, distancing himself a little. In some ways, it's a relief because we were becoming so close, and a tiny sign at the back of my brain has been flashing a bright yellow caution regarding my emotional attachment to him.

But the calendar doesn't lie, and with the way Trent's been behaving, I think there is a real chance today will go unnoticed.

So, when I drop Amir off at jiujitsu, I decide to pay Trent a visit at the shop. The front door is fixed, and when I open it, a doorbell goes off throughout the shop. That's new.

"Hello?" Trent calls from the garage area.

"It's just me," I say.

He comes out of the shop, cleaning his hands, and my heart kicks at his rugged, disheveled beauty. Every time he fixes something at the house—big or small—it's like my libido gets switched on. Change a lightbulb. Damp panties. Stop a toilet from running constantly. Clenched thighs. Fix Amir's favorite toy so it works like new again. One grazed fingertip short of an orgasm.

Seeing him come out of the shop, noticing the way his gaze drags along my body, as though the sight of me does the same thing to him, gives me a boost of confidence. The distance that he's stuck between us made me wonder whether I'd have the conviction to do what needs to be done.

"Everything okay?" he asks. "Amir at jujitsu?"

"He is," I say. "Can I talk to you in your office for a minute?"

Trent throws the cloth he was using toward a wash bin and leads the way to the back. Once we're in the office, I close the door, and I push in the lock.

He sits in his chair, rocking back and watching me.

On the wall is a bank of screens, and each camera seems to be pointed at a different part of the shop—the bays, the front desk, the parking lot. There's even one that seems to be recording in here, and I glance behind me to see one perched high in the corner.

"Isn't that overkill?" I ask.

"Whoever broke in tried to get into my laptop," he says. "Until the police know who did it, I've got eyes everywhere."

"How long does it keep the recording?"

"Each recording is saved for a month."

"Can anyone else see the footage?" I ask, a hint of nerves hitting me. What I had planned didn't account for this.

"Just me. Why?"

"Have you looked at the calendar lately?" I ask.

"I have," he says, steepling his fingers. He shifts in his chair, and I'm not sure I like the way his posture changes. "Listen, Em, after what happened here, I'm not sure we should be doing this."

"What do you mean?" I ask, my stomach dropping into my toes.

He rises from his chair to lean against the wall, and he crosses his arms, as though protecting himself. "I'm not having any part of my past touch you."

If he knew that it already had, he'd break this off for sure. Lorna and Robert haven't been the only clients to express some discomfort with my relationship—whatever they perceive it to be—with Trent.

"So, you know that the person who broke in here was Dan?" I ask, heart pounding.

"No," he admits. "But it's the logical conclusion."

I cross the room and sit on the edge of his desk, and his eyes track the shift in my skirt, how it draws up my legs. He's not immune, which makes me feel a little better about how dirty I'm about to play.

"But you don't know that for sure," I say, and I wiggle, my skirt creeping up more.

"No," he admits, his voice rough.

"There could be any number of explanations," I say. "Right?" I let my knees fall apart, and I lean back on the desk, my hair cascading behind me.

"Today's the day before, isn't it?" He's holding still, but the air around us is crackling with tension.

"It is," I say. And it's obvious how much my antics are working. "But I wouldn't want to pressure you into doing something you didn't want to do. If you think that a chance Dan was involved is enough to make you want to put a stop to this..."

"I don't want you dragged down," he says, his voice husky.

"No one is dragging me anywhere, Trent. My eyes are wide open." I increase the distance between my knees because my eyes aren't the only thing that's open.

"Fuck," Trent says, closing his eyes briefly before he eats up the distance between us. His lips are on mine, and he hauls me to my feet, hands in my hair. "How much I want you is so fucking irresponsible."

"Just the way you like it," I murmur, and he chuckles against my neck.

"This'll be recorded." His hands snake under my dress and up my thighs.

He's kneading the skin, his palms rough, and I long for him to inch his fingers higher, palm my most sensitive area. It's only been a month, but each day feels like one too many when he's this close. The dark, rich vanilla scent of his cologne is mixed with motor oil. Every inch of my skin is desperate for his touch, hyperaware of the journey his calloused hands are taking.

"But I promise I'm the only one who sees it," he says against my neck. "I can't promise I won't watch it again."

"I trust you," I say as I tug at his belt buckle. "I know you'd never hurt me."

He stills my hand for a minute and stops his assault on my senses to make eye contact. "I'll always protect you from anyone and anything, Em. I'd do anything to keep you safe. Anything to make you happy."

"That's really sweet, Trent," I say. "Now shut up and fuck me."

"Yes, m'am," he says with a laugh. "By the time we're done with each other, you will be asking me to fuck you on the kitchen table. I guarantee it."

"Yeah, but if you're going to talk so much while you do it, I might change my mind." I push down his jeans and they pool at his ankles.

"You only like it when I talk dirty, huh?"

"You got anything I haven't already heard?" I ease my hand under the band of his boxer-briefs to grip his length, and Trent lets out a hiss.

"I could talk about fucking you for days," he says tugging my dress over my head.

"I have to be back in thirty minutes. Less is more today."

He flips me around, and I plant my hands on the desk. He runs the flat of his hand along my spine, and I shiver in anticipation.

"You're so beautiful. Look at you," he says, pointing to the screen on the wall. "I want you to watch while I take you, watch how I can make you come apart."

I barely recognize myself in the video. My hair is already wild, and I look almost drunk. Anticipation has eaten away my sanity.

He moves my panties to the side and slides his finger along my wetness, circling my clit. "I love how wet you get for me, how much you want me. Some days, this is all I can think about. Sliding into your wet heat."

Then he pushes in, and I moan at how full he makes me feel, how turned on I am with so little effort.

"You like that?" he asks in my ear. Then he pulls out and eases in again, slow and deliberate. "I love seeing myself enter you, knowing I'm the one who gets to do this."

One of his hands stays on my hip while his other comes around, playing a steady rhythm on my bundle of nerves, making it impossible for me to focus on anything but how it feels to be with him, to hear his ragged breathing in my ear, the consistent thrust of his hips.

"Look at yourself," he says, "look at how well you're taking me, how much you love it."

And I see it, how dazed I look, as though I can't get enough, can't believe he's making me feel so amazing. No one has ever had me like this—so bold and uninhibited.

The doorbell sounds, and I throw wide eyes over my shoulder at Trent.

"Did you lock the door?" Trent asks, his pace even and unhurried.

"Yes," I whisper. "We should stop."

"We're not stopping. You come, and then I come." He kisses my shoulder. "If you want a baby, you'd better get your head back in the game."

I close my eyes to block out the person at the front desk, whoever it is.

"Trent!" Grady calls out in the shop.

When I tense, Trent thrusts harder. "Concentrate, Em."

"I don't think I can," I say.

"You can." He applies a little more pressure, enters me with a bit more force.

"Oh, god," I mutter, my hands turning white on the desk. "Trent," I plead.

"Come for me, Em. I want to feel you milking every last drop out of me, taking it all for yourself."

Then he changes his angle slightly, and I see spots as I fall apart, shaking with the force of my orgasm, practically collapsing across the desk as he races toward his own finish, spilling himself inside me.

"Holy fuck," he whispers in my ear. "I would say that was worth the wait, but I actually hate the wait. If I could, I'd be doing this all the time."

I don't say anything, but I know what he means. The intensity between us is all consuming. I can't believe I just had an orgasm while Grady stood in the reception area.

"Grady," I mumble.

Trent slides out, slotting my panties back into place and adjusting himself. He kisses my shoulder and sets my dress beside me on the desk.

I watch him open his office door and slip out, still so completely spent, I can barely move.

Even as all of my parts start to reassemble, I remember that Amir is going to my mom's tomorrow, that we'll be locked together like this over and over, and I'm surprised to find myself getting turned on again, that even that time period feels too far away.

I glance at my watch and realize that if I don't get moving I'll be late to pick up Amir. When I put on my dress, my thighs are sticky, and I'm keenly aware of why as I adjust my hair, check my makeup in my phone camera.

In the reception area, Grady has just left, his back retreating toward his truck in the evening light.

"Did Grady hear us?" I ask, feeling self-conscious.

"No," Trent says. "When he asked what you were doing here, it wasn't a smart-ass question."

"Is everything okay?" I ask.

"Yeah, he just wanted to talk about what we were getting mom for her birthday, and I never responded to his texts." He shrugs. "Things have been a bit hectic."

"Yeah," I agree. "I guess they have."

His gaze trails over me, and he shakes his head. "Honestly, never in my life did I think I'd have a pregnancy kink, but I can't stop thinking about how I've filled you up, and how I really wish you didn't have to pick up Amir so I could do it again."

"Tomorrow," I say, my pulse thrumming at his words.

"Can't come soon enough," Trent calls after me as I open the door to go get Amir.

Pretty risky behavior for mild-mannered Emily. ;) 

Go back to AM posting or keep with the PM posting? Does anyone have a preference?

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