Page 119 of Wicked Pickle

So many things have changed since then. My friendship with my bestie. My career. Even how I feel about myself.

Diesel did that. We did that together.

My head falls back, my wet hair streaming down my back as he spreads my thighs more widely, delving in deeply.

His free hand reaches up to massage a breast. I squeeze my eyes closed in the warm flow of water.

I surrender to him, his mouth, his touch, the sucking of my clit.

The familiar tug begins low in my belly, spreading through my body. It twists and turns, growing in intensity.

My thigh quivers, and Diesel moves my leg to his shoulder to provide more support.

I hang on to the metal bar, sinking into his face, my entire body starting to shake.

He’s so good at this, so thorough, so skilled. He cares about how I feel, what I like, what makes me tick.

The pleasure bursts out in a wave, and I release a keening cry. His name slips out, over and over. I might be crying, the tears lost in the shower flow, and thank goodness he can’t see them.

I can’t get emotional here. I don’t know what’s next, if anything. They might still enlist. They might move on.

Stop. Just be here. Don’t think.

Diesel stays in place until the last pulses subside. He lowers my leg and begins a long, slow massage of my entire body, calf, knee, thigh, butt, waist.

I almost flinch when he grasps my belly, but he leans in to bite it.

I laugh and look down at him, leaning forward to get out of the spray. “Are you eating your potato?”

“This is my favorite part.” He bites again.

That’s Diesel. He can make my most self-conscious place into the best, the most glorious, something to show off, to tempt him with.

Emotions soar through me again, but I have to ignore them, let them wash down the drain. Be here, Symphony. Take this moment. You didn’t even know you were going to get it.

“Have you drawn my potato belly?” I ask him.

He stands up before me. “I haven’t been sketching.”

“Why not?”

“Couldn’t.” He smooths my hair back. “You ready to go airborne?”

“What do you—” My question ends in a squeal as he lifts me, then slides me down his hard chest.

It’s even stronger and more bulging than before and so, so tan.

I wrap my legs around his waist as he enters me. God, it’s delicious, opening for him, my arms around his neck.

“I’m going to fuck you damn hard,” he says. “Then I’m going to fuck you slow out there on the bed.”

I press my cheek against his. “Yes, to both.”

He’s magical, lifting me like I’m nothing to slam me down on his cock, over and over again. I don’t think about orgasm, not here, not like this, as I enjoy the lightheadedness of the ride. My body slides up and down his, filling me with hard, rocking thrusts.

He groans against my shoulder. “Symphony,” he murmurs. “Fuck, yes.”

I feel the pulse of him inside me, then the sudden warmth. Barebacking again. Fuck, it’s hot.

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