A/N: No, it's not the next chapter of "Beautiful." But my beta, LibbyLou862, said that after I finished chapter 4 of that story, that I could write up this one-shot as a reward, which I've wanted to write for awhile. So I did. Now, I'll be able to get chapter 5 done with a clear conscience. :)

This is my long-standing dirty mechanic fantasy, come to life with a man who is near and dear to all of our hearts.

Disclaimer: All things "Twilight" belong to Stephanie Meyer. The remainder of the perversion is all mine. :)

THE MECHANIC

I couldn't believe this was happening to me again.

I was on my way home from work, from the small bookstore that I managed, when my truck started to sputter and lurch. I immediately got that sick, panicky feeling in the pit of my stomach, petrified of being stranded on the side of the road, completely helpless. I had just gotten my truck out of the shop only two weeks earlier, for the same exact problem, and the guy who had worked on it had sworn to me that it was fixed this time. He was so confident. I knew nothing about engines, and I really knew no one in the city. I had no choice but to trust him. And it had cost me the last of my savings account, a gamble which I had apparently lost.

I wanted to be so independent when I moved away from home, not to need anyone. I wanted to prove to my dad that I could make it in the city without him. He warned that a small town girl like me could never survive in the big city, and that I would be sorry, that I would come crawling back to him.

And now, I would have to call him, admitting that he was right, grovelling for money.

It just made me sick.

I pulled off to the side of the road and turned on my hazard lights. It was almost six o'clock and already dark out. The weather was terrible - it was pouring down raining... thick, solid sheets of rain, where I couldn't see two feet in front of my face. I was only half-way home, and not in the safest part of town. There were rows and rows of abandoned buildings, the windows boarded up, and nothing on my side of the street except miles of overgrown fields.

I pulled out my cell phone, trying to organize my thoughts, to decide who to call since I didn't actually know anyone, when I saw the last bar on my phone battery disappear right before my eyes. Shit. I had forgotten to charge it last night. I was now completely and utterly screwed, and not in that good way that I seemed to be missing lately. I didn't have a lot of relationship experience, and the little that I did have was not good, part of the reason that I moved away from my hometown, a fresh start.

I laid my forehead against the cold steering wheel and let out a long, shaky breath. I was trying desperately not to cry, not to give in to my fears and frustrations and insecurities.

I'm not sure how long I sat like that, on the brink of tears, the cab of my truck steaming up with the engine off. The reoccurring problem with my truck, along with my current precarious state, seemed to be a metaphor for all the problems in my life, and if I couldn't figure my way out of a basic mechanical problem, there seemed to be no hope for the rest of me.

Just then, the rain let up a bit, just for a few seconds, but it was long enough for me to notice that there was a light on across the street. With the blinding rain, I couldn't read the sign, but I was hoping that lights meant people, and people meant a phone.

I had nothing left to lose.

I opened the door and ran as quickly as I could across the empty street, getting instantly soaked to the skin, and it was only when I was almost at the door that I noticed the sign for "Sam's Garage." My truck had crapped out directly in front of a garage. I had to smile. Maybe something was finally going to go my way.

I pushed on the door, but it was locked. I peered in through the glass, and although the lights were still on, I couldn't see anyone. I knocked.

I waited for what felt like an appropriate amount of time for the situation, but I was soaking wet and freezing cold, and more than a little scared. So, hearing nothing, I knocked again. Harder this time.

"We're closed!" I heard someone yell angrily from the back of the building. Not a friendly sounding voice, but it was all I had.

So I kept knocking. I figured, eventually, he would have to come to the door, even if it was to tell me to go away, but I wanted him to tell me to my face. I was a helpless woman, wet and cold. He would have to be a cold-hearted man not to let me in, at least to use the phone.

Finally, I heard the lock on the door turn, and it suddenly opened with a rush of warm, dry air and curse-filled insults, all directed at me.

"I said we're fucking closed," the man growled. "Are you fucking deaf or something?"

I opened my mouth to answer him, but, although I most assuredly wasn't deaf, I seemed to have suddenly lost the ability to speak. The guy, the one who answered the door, was the single most beautiful, most dangerous looking man I had ever seen, and I had an immediate and visceral reaction to him. My heart started to pound, and I felt like I couldn't breathe.

He was tall and lithe and muscular, but in a lean sort of way, not bulky. His eyes were a bright, clear green with long, dark lashes, and his jaw was strong and covered with a day's growth of beard. He had a messy head of hair, a strange reddish brown color that I had never seen before, but it was stunning on him. He was wearing faded blue coveralls, but they were unzipped to the waist, hanging down at his sides. His upper body was covered in only a dirty, sweaty undershirt, displaying the multitude of tattoos decorating his arms and chest.

And his hands. Oh, God, his hands. They were dirty. Really, really dirty. They looked rough, like they would feel like sandpaper if he touched me.

He was watching me as I watched him, gradually seeming more amused than angry. He was leering at me, blatantly running his eyes over my body, the corner of his mouth turning up in a lascivious grin. His eyes were glued to my chest, and I'm sure he could see right through my thin, wet shirt.

"C-can I come in?" I whispered. My teeth were chattering, and I desperately needed something to warm me up.

He leaned against the door frame, blocking my entrance, and folded his arms across his chest.

"I told you," he said softly, his voice somehow smooth and rough at the same time. "We're closed." He didn't move to leave or close the door, obviously teasing me, enjoying my discomfort.

I looked down at my feet, at the rain water starting to pool beneath me as it dripped off my hair and my clothes.

"My truck," I gestured behind me. "It broke down." I started to wring my hands together in desperation. "It's right across the street. I was hoping you could..." He was so intimidating, his gaze so intense... I couldn't finish my sentence.

"Hoping I could what, exactly..."

Oh God. I didn't even know what I was asking anymore. I didn't even know his name, and I was already imagining his dirty hands on me, how they would feel on my skin. I had to look away from him or I would combust, right there, on the spot. I stared at the floor and took a deep breath.

"Please," I whispered, begging him for something, anything. I pulled out the only trick I had, looking up at him through my lashes, hoping that it conveyed the desperation that I felt.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, running his hand through his hair. He pulled the door open, just enough to let me in, which I took as tacit agreement on his part, but just as I stepped across the threshold, he grabbed the door, blocking my way with his arm. I was standing so close to him, I could feel the heat pouring off of his body, and, God help me, I could smell him.

He leaned towards me, slowly, until his lips were at my ear.

"And if I..." he breathed in deeply, his nose buried in my hair, "... fix your truck for you," he chuckled, his hot breath on my neck, "what will you do for me?"

Was he asking what I thought he was asking? Oh my God. What the hell was I going to do? I had just met him, if I could even call it that, not even five minutes ago, and I wanted him. More than I had ever wanted anyone in my entire life. I knew then that I had lost all control, that I would do anything he wanted. This was not me, not at all. I was basically a shy person, not forward at all, and always reluctant to give in to my deepest desires.

I swallowed hard and bit my lip, a nervous habit from my childhood.

"Um," I started, coughing to clear my throat and cover my nerves, "I c-can pay you."

He looked at me for a moment, then slowly smiled, like he had won. Then his expression changed, and he was suddenly all business.

"Will it start?" he asked gruffly, nodding towards my truck across the street. I nodded quickly. "Drive it in the first bay."

"So," I said, making a feeble attempt at small talk. He had been working on my truck for a while in complete silence, and it was making me nervous. "How long have you worked here?"

The hood of my truck was up, and he was leaning over it, his back to me. It was warm inside the garage, much warmer than it was outside, and he was half-undressed. The faded coveralls that he was wearing were pulling tightly across his ass, and his undershirt was dirty and sticky with sweat and grease. As he reached and pulled at the engine of my truck, I was completely mesmerized by the lean, taut muscles of his back. He had another tattoo on the back of his shoulder, hiding under his shirt, and I could just see the edge of it peeking out. Something red and black and angry looking. Just like him.

I squeezed my legs together, trying to alleviate the growing ache.

"Uh," he started to answer, but he was engrossed in what he was doing and not concentrating on conversation. Finally, he leaned up a bit, looked at me over his shoulder, and smirked. "A couple of weeks. Just got here."

Only a couple of weeks, and he was here alone, at night?

"Oh." I know I should have said more, but I realized then that I didn't really want to talk to him. I just wanted to touch him, but I knew that was impossible. "Where were you before that?"

He stopped what he was doing again, but this time, he turned around to face me, leaning against the side of the truck. He grabbed the rag that was tucked into his back pocket and slowly wiped the grease and dirt from his hands. It didn't help much, though - it seemed to be permanently ingrained in his skin. He folded his arms across his chest and looked at me thoughtfully.

"I was at Dixon," he said with a secret smile.

"Dixon?" I asked. I had never heard of that company, and I wondered if it was another garage in town.

"Dixon Correctional. I was a ... guest of the state, so to speak."

Correctional? He was in jail? Holy shit. He really was dangerous. I was in too deep, obviously had no idea who I was dealing with, and I was alone with him. I swallowed hard and tried to act casual, like I was unaffected by this news.

"You were in jail?" I squeaked. I had to cough to clear my throat.

"Mmm hmm," he replied coolly, offering no additional information, just a steady, piercing gaze. He was waiting for me to react.

"W-why?" I sputtered, then quickly recovered, trying desperately to appear nonchalant. "I mean, what did you do?"

"Grand theft auto," he said with a sneer, like he was waiting for me to scream and run from the building, from him. "Thistime."

This time, he said. So it wasn't his first time in jail. Oh God. I refused to give him the reaction he expected, but I couldn't think of anything to say in response, so I just blinked and stared.

He pushed himself off of the side of the truck and walked over to me, until he was standing right in front of me. His face was only inches from mine and his smell, that combination of sweat and man and oil, completely overwhelmed my senses.

"Are you scared?" he asked softly, his voice deep and smooth.

I was shaking, my heart beating out of my chest, but I wasn't scared of him. I wanted him, but I couldn't tell him that.

"No," I whispered, shaking my head slowly back and forth, trying to convince myself as much as I was trying to convince him.

"Well," he replied, his eyes locked on mine. "You should be."

A moment passed between us, and then he lifted one hand and took a lock of my hair between his fingers, fingering it gently. He brought it to his face, his eyes closing as he inhaled. He made a noise, deep in his throat, and looked back at me.

"You are fucking stunning, do you know that?" he asked, his eyes wide, his jaw clenched. I shook my head at him, not knowing what to say, how I should answer, if an answer was even required. But then he took a step back and turned, returning to his position under the hood of my truck.

He worked in silence again for awhile, and I kept my mouth shut this time. I wanted to talk to him some more, but I was afraid of what else I would learn.

He walked around to the cab of the truck, sitting in the driver's seat, and he turned the key. The engine turned over easily, and he cocked his head, listening carefully to his work. It ran smoothly and evenly. No sputtering, no lurching.

After a few minutes, he turned his head to me, meeting my eyes in a long, heated gaze, and a slow grin spread across his face. I walked over to the side of the truck, outside the open driver's door, and waited to thank him.

He turned off the engine without breaking eye contact with me and climbed out of the truck, gently closing the door. He took a few steps toward me, making me a little nervous, so I started to step back, moving away from him, until he was again standing directly in front of me. I tried to back up more, but I was pressed against the side of the truck. I had nowhere to go.

His eyes ran slowly down my body, with that same libidinous grin that he wore at the door, and he leaned in even closer, almost, but not quite touching me. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply.

"So fucking sweet," he whispered.

Each time he said something like that, something about me, it both scared and thrilled me, and made me even more confused than I had been. I knew he was trouble, but I felt powerless to remove myself from the situation. I decided to move the business of my visit along.

"So," I mumbled nervously. "How much do I owe you?"

He smiled even broader at my question and placed his hands on the truck, on either side of me, pinning me in place.

"What have you got?" he asked with a chuckle. I knew this wasn't the way it worked, that he was toying with me, but I had no choice but to play along. And the proximity of his body to mine, it was clouding my head, and I couldn't think straight.

"Um... well... I have about forty dollars in cash," I began, but he remained silent, waiting for me to continue. "And I have a credit card, but it only has a little left on it." I looked down then, ashamed at my inability to pay him properly, hoping he would be willing to work out some sort of payment plan.

He placed a finger under my chin and lifted my face so that I was looking at him again. The smile was gone.

"That's not what I want," he growled, a sound that went straight through my body and settled between my legs.

"Then," I whispered nervously, "what do you want?"

He laughed, his soft, warm breath pouring all over me. He lifted a hand to my face and stroked my cheek softly with his thumb, his hand falling gently down my neck. When he reached the top of my blouse, he didn't stop as I assumed that he would. Instead, he continued down my body, his thumb smearing a greasy line down the front of my blouse. He stopped when he reached my breast, but only enough to circle around my hard nipple. Slowly. Again and again. The feeling was maddening. He was awakening something in me that I didn't even know existed.

He leaned in and whispered in my ear.

"I want to fuck you," he said, his thumb continuing its slow assault on my breast. "Right here." He moved his hand down my body, slowly stroking my stomach. "Against your truck." His hand settled between my legs, stroking slowly up and down over the fabric of my skirt, then pressing his middle finger hard against me, until I moaned. But it wasn't enough, I wanted more, I needed more, and I knew that I shouldn't, but I couldn't help myself... I opened my legs for him, asking him not to stop.

"Is that a yes?" he growled, his hand never stopping. My knees felt like they were going to buckle at any minute, and my heart was beating so fast, so loud, I was sure that he could hear it.

I couldn't answer. He had rendered me unable to speak yet again... with his looks, his presence, his heat, his scent. I threw my head back, eyes closed, and moaned again, rather loudly.

"Open your eyes," he ordered roughly. "Look at me."

It took every bit of strength I had, but I did as he asked and brought my face back to his, my eyes matching his.

"I asked you a question," he said. "Is that a yes? You have to tell me, you have to say it." His hand never stopped moving between my legs. Rubbing. Pressing. It was the most delicious agony I had ever felt in my entire life. I still couldn't speak. All I could do was moan and gasp as he touched me, waiting for my permission, waiting for me to tell him it was okay to take it further. I had to wonder why he needed that so much, why he needed to hear me say it, and it set something off in the back of my head, something I couldn't put my finger on.

But I knew I didn't want to stop. I wanted him to take me. So I gave him what he needed.

"Yes," I whispered. I could barely breathe, yet alone speak.

His hand stopped moving, and he cocked his head, as if he didn't quite believe what he had heard, so I said it again, a little louder, a little more sure of myself. He wanted me. This Greek God, this beautiful, dangerous man, wanted me. I didn't care if it was for one night. I knew if I didn't do it, I would regret it forever.

"Yes," I said. "Yes... don't stop... please."

"Thank fucking Christ," he said, almost angrily, his hands moving up to my neck, behind my head, plunging his fingers into my hair. "It's been so goddamned long..." he muttered, so softly I could barely hear him.

Then, he pulled me to him, hard, crashing his lips on mine, his mouth open, his tongue instantly inside my mouth. He held my head tightly to his, and I couldn't move if I wanted to. My knees started to buckle again, and I was gasping for breath. He was relentless. He would take a quick breath and pull me back to him again. Each kiss was more passionate than the one before.

He started to press his body against mine as he kissed me, and I could feel his hard length between my legs, rubbing against me, his hips grinding against my own. He was driving me insane.

After several minutes had gone by, he suddenly pulled back and looked at me, panting and trying to catch his breath. His eyes left mine and moved down to my lips, my neck, my heaving chest. His hands followed until they were on the front of my blouse.

Suddenly, he grabbed the two sides of my shirt and ripped it open, most of the buttons popping easily off and hitting the ground with a soft plink. I was shocked at his violent act, and I yelled out in surprise, but I was incredibly turned on at his desire, the level of his need for me. No one had ever wanted me so much before that they felt the need to rip the clothes from my body.

"Fucking stunning," he said again, his hands moving immediately to my breasts, palming and squeezing, running his thumbs over my nipples. He leaned down and kissed me again, hard, while roughly pulling down the cups of my bra, exposing my breasts. He pulled back again, looked down at his handiwork, and muttered a soft "fuck." He took my nipples between his fingers, rolling them gently at first, tugging on them, then when he kissed me again, he got rougher, squeezing harder and harder, until finally, I could take no more, and I cried out.

He stopped immediately and looked at me, a worried expression on his face, but he was panting, breathing hard, and still grinding his hips against me.

I brought my hands to his head, my fingers buried in his soft, sweaty hair.

"Me too," I whispered.

He looked at me curiously, not understanding what I was trying to tell him.

"It's been a long time for me too," I said and pulled him to me, my mouth on his, letting him know that I wanted him too. I thrust my chest forward, back into his hands, begging him to continue. I knew it was wrong, that I should stop, walk out, and go home, but I couldn't. I had completely turned over control to him.

He moved from my mouth to my jaw, then to my neck, and I tilted my head to the side in encouragement. His mouth felt so good on my skin, his tongue, his teeth. Then, he sucked one of my nipples into his mouth, and I lost it. My hands were still in his hair, and I grabbed two handfuls and pulled, hard, as I cried out at the sensation.

"Oh my God," I moaned. "Please..." I begged, but I wasn't even sure what I was begging for. Just more. I never wanted this to end.

"Fucking hell," he groaned, lifting himself away from my chest just for a moment. "You have no idea what that does to me when you say that." And then, to stress the point, he shoved his crotch between my legs again, moaning as he took my other nipple in his mouth.

As he kissed and bit on my breast, a bit gentler this time, his hands moved down my sides until they reached the bottom of my skirt, and he grabbed a handful of fabric in each hand and pulled until my skirt was at my waist. The air was warm in the garage, but the sudden exposure made me gasp, and I tried to remember what panties I put on that morning, if they were pretty enough, sexy enough.

He didn't seem to care, however, and he quickly slid his hand inside, under the fabric, until he was touching my most private part. He stroked me a couple of times, slowly up and down, and then let his middle finger explore a little, feeling my arousal.

"Oh fuck," he moaned. "You're so fucking wet... so warm..."

He started moving his fingers between my legs like he knew what he was doing, like he had a goal, and when he touched my clit for the first time, my entire body jerked, like an electric shock.

"Yes!" I screamed, thrusting my hips toward him. "Oh don't stop, please don't stop..."

He growled, deep in his chest, and I could only assume it was because I had said "please" again. It seemed to do something to him that I didn't really understand. I wasn't saying it to manipulate him, it was just a natural reaction to what he was doing to me.

"You like that?" he asked, the corner of his mouth turning up again. "Hmm?"

"Y-yes," I whispered. "Oh God, yes." I was so close now.

"Oh yeah," he said. "Come for me, pretty girl. Let me hear you." He slid a finger inside me and used his thumb on my clit, rubbing in slow circles. I was moaning non-stop now, and I felt that burning, tingling feeling in my stomach, the heat quickly spreading and blooming out through my body, until I exploded, my eyes rolling back in my head.

I screamed and shuddered as my orgasm coursed through my body, but he didn't stop. His fingers kept moving between my legs until I thought I couldn't take it anymore. I had never come so hard in my entire life.

Then, his fingers were gone, and I heard, rather than felt, the fabric of my panties tearing into pieces. Oh Jesus, he was ripping clothes off of me again. The look on his face, his expression, it was so hungry and desperate and vicious. I was his, and he was going to take what was his, no matter what, and that incensed me.

I felt his hand on my thigh, behind my knee, and he pulled my leg up, wrapping it around his hip, opening me up to him. He was fumbling with the zipper on his coveralls, and he quickly lowered it and grabbed his cock.

"Now, baby, it's my turn," he said roughly, and then with one quick motion, he was inside me. "Oh fuck, yes," he groaned as his hips started a pounding, unforgiving rhythm. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and hung on tightly. It was all I could do.

He had one hand still under my thigh, gripping tightly, and the other pressed into my hip. I was sure that I would have bruises in the morning. He was pulling me towards him with each hard stroke, and he was muttering dirty words under his breath.

"Goddamn it, woman," he growled. "You are so fucking tight... so fucking warm... so wet."

He had just made me come so hard that I saw stars, only minutes ago, but I could feel it building again, already. I couldn't believe it, couldn't understand it, this level of desire, of need.

"Oh God," I moaned as the feeling started to course through my body. He could tell that I was about to come, and it seemed to inflame him. He started thrusting harder and faster, drilling my body into the hard metal of my truck. I was clawing at his back, pulling at his undershirt, trying to get closer to him, to get him deeper inside me. He pulled at my leg, the one that was wrapped around him, lifting it higher, and shoving himself even deeper than he was before.

"Fuck, yeah," he said. "Come for me again, beautiful." He brought his mouth to my neck again, and bit down. Not hard, but hard enough, and the combination of sensations was so overwhelming that it pushed me over the edge.

I came again, this orgasm even more intense and prolonged than the last. He didn't stop, didn't slow down at all, but I could tell he was close because his thrusts became erratic, and a low rumble started from deep in his chest, rising quickly in volume.

"I'm gonna come, baby," he said with a final thrust, his hips pressed hard against mine, finally stilling, until I felt him pulsing inside me. "Fuck!" he yelled, his face buried in my neck.

We stood there, for minutes afterward, not moving, my arms wrapped around his strong shoulders, his hands on my hip and thigh. He was still inside me, and I realized, when we had both caught our breath, and he started to pull out of me, that I didn't want him to. I didn't want to be... not touching him.

He stepped back, lowering my leg and gently stroking my cheek with his rough fingers, the same fingers that had just been inside me. And he kissed me, but it wasn't like before. This was soft, gentle. Almost tender. His lips were soft and warm, and I brought my hands to his face, stroking the rough stubble on his jaw.

He pulled back and grinned at me, a sweet, boyish smile, and then he started to get dressed.

So I did the same.

I looked down at my blouse, which was beyond repair, and I started to see the marks all over my skin. Dark, greasy smears, from his hands on me. Oh God. That image would be with me for a while. I almost couldn't wait to get home so that I could strip down and look in the mirror, see the evidence of what we had done, make it real.

I had one button left on the front of my shirt, so I quickly fastened it to cover myself up. I righted my bra, and pushed my skirt back down. My panties. Where were my panties? I started to look around the room, and I saw them on the floor a few feet away, completely shredded. I moved to pick them up, but before I could even take a step, he was bending down to grab them. He held them in his hand and looked at me and winked, then he put them in his pocket and turned away.

Finally, there was nothing left to do. It was time for me to leave. I wanted to say something to him, but I really didn't know what there was to say. I wanted to see him again, but I didn't dare ask. He didn't seem like a relationship kind of guy, and what we just did was probably only a one-time thing.

So I climbed into my truck and closed the door.

He walked over to the window, and I rolled it down, waiting for him to say something, anything. He leaned on the window and smiled at me. Then, he grabbed the back of my head and pulled me to him, pressing his mouth against mine, kissing me hard, like he did the first time.

But it was short. Obviously, a goodbye kiss.

He pulled away and reached behind him to the switch on the wall. He pulled on it, and the bay door started to rise, slowly and noisily. He kept his eyes on mine the entire time.

When the door was completely open, there was nothing left for me to do or say, so I put the truck in reverse and turned to back out.

I had a sudden thought, and I turned back to him. He was still watching me, so I leaned out the window to ask him one last question.

"Hey," I said with a nervous smile. "I don't even know your name."

He grinned back at me and quickly replied, no hesitation.

"It's Edward."

Edward. What a beautiful name for a beautiful man. For some reason, I started to blush furiously, the heat rapidly crawling up my neck.

"Hi, Edward. I'm Bella."

He chuckled again.

"Okay, Bella. Come back anytime, sweet girl."

There was nothing left to say, so I turned and drove away.

Edward had made me smile. He made me hopeful. Hopeful for what, I wasn't sure, but it made it just a little bit easier to back out of the garage, into the night, alone... to leave him. My truck was old and unreliable, so there was a distinct possibility that I would need a mechanic in the near future.

And luckily for me, I now knew an unbelievable one.

A/N: Okay, that's it. Hope you liked it. I sure had a hell of a good time writing it and imagining a variety of scenarios. What's better than a dirty, nasty Edward? UGH! Btw, this is just a one-shot. There will be no further chapters. I really, and I mean REALLY, need to concentrate on my multi-chaptered fic, "Beautiful" (insert shameless plug here, and no, you pervs, not a buttplug). Hoping to get chapter 5 out to y'all sooner rather than later.

Oh one more thing. You may have noticed that they didn't use a condom. I know that, but it just didn't fit into the story to have him whip one out and be responsible. Instead, just suspend belief for a minute and imagine that she's on the pill and they are both disease-free.

Thanks, as always, to my beta, and best friend, LibbyLou862. She says the word "clit" on the phone to me, with corrections, like it's just any other word, and I love her dearly for that. :)

Um, review?