Page 28 of Covert
Before my brain spirals, though, I'm spun and lifted unceremoniously by my hips and thrown over a broad shoulder with a squeal. Diesel pads barefoot up the stairs with me bouncing on his shoulder and pressing my hands into his solid back.
Instead of tossing me, like I expect, he kneels on the mattress and sets me down gently, like I'm worth being gentle with. The move makes my heart clench in on itself, and the soft way he looks down at me steals the breath from my lungs.
"Are you sure?" he asks, repeating my words back to me. His eyes dart to my thighs, where my skirt has slid up, and I'm sure a bit of my underwear is showing. He swallows thickly, and I marvel at his strong Adam's apple hiding beneath his beard.
"Am I sure I want a sexy, sweet biker to take me to bed? What do you think?" I parrot his words back to him, just from my point of view. Being with Diesel, texting him, just the simple, stupid act of hanging out with him and his friends, stealing light, flirtatious touches, andlooks have made me feel more alive than I have in a decade. Like I've been seen for the first time since I ran.
He moves to hover over me, and his t-shirt rides up a little with the motion. The sliver of skin it reveals above low-slung jeans has my mouth watering. God, he's gorgeous. I run my hand up his bristly cheek, and marvel at his chocolate colored eyes for a moment, before he lowers his mouth to mine. We've kissed before, but this one feels charged, knowing there's nothing stopping us now.
I have to focus on breathing as he kisses the life out of me. My hands roam the back of his head, threading through his hair and down his shoulders. I need to touch him everywhere, to see him everywhere. But before I can, he kisses down my cheek and neck. His beard tickles, and I squeal, trying to pull away. He just chases me with it and sends me into a fit of giggles, before he continues his torturous trail down my collarbone and chest. He sits back on his heels, and I whip off my sweater and wiggle out of my dress eagerly.
I don't think he's trying to edge me, but he just sits there and stares.
"Fucking gorgeous," he mumbles almost to himself and wipes a large hand down his face and across his mouth. I blush. I've never particularly felt beautiful. I've felt useful, and maybe I think of myself as pretty, but I've never seen that sentiment reflected in a partner, and Diesel's attention is making me squirm. When we first came to his patching in, yes, I wanted more of his attention, but this is too intense. In the intimate privacy of his cabin, with no one else around to distract us, I feel flayed open. Vulnerable in a way I've never been before. I can't drift into the background like I'm used to. I feel like he can see every secret, every desire, every fear I've ever had.
He must see the unease on my face because he drops his head again and kisses my right breast while pinching the left nipple in his fingers. I moan and arch my back. All fears and insecurities fly out of my mind in an instant.
He switches breasts, never quite giving me enough. I scissor my thighs together, trying to ease the ache at my core. I'm wet and needy. This entire night has been foreplay, and I'm more than ready.
But he leaves my breasts and kisses down my stomach.
"You... you don't have to..." I say, gripping his hair and tugging him gently back up to me.
His return grin is sinful. "Oh, I know," he gives me a wink before taking my entire pussy in his mouth, undies and all. The sensation is wild, and warm, and wet, as his tongue finds my clit and he circles it. The softness of the wet cotton against my skin sends a shiver up my spine and pulls a moan from my chest.
He hums back in response, and I love that he's vocal in the bedroom. He grips my panties in his teeth and crawls backwards, dragging them off of my legs before he tosses them onto the pile the rest of my clothes are in.
Whoisthis man?
He's on me again before I can react, pressing my knees apart and returning to my core. I don't have time to be self-conscious when his tongue thrusts into me. My hands fly to the back of his head on their own and push him harder into me mindlessly.
"Yes! Fuck, yes, Diesel. Please! Right there," I chant breathlessly.
I grind myself against his face shamelessly, chasing the pleasure that's coursing through me. His beard adds a delicious friction that stings. Maybe I'm into pain? Because I love the added sensation. Thepleasure builds and builds until the dam breaks. He thrusts a single finger into me, nips at my clit, and I shatter.
I come with a scream, every muscle in my body locking in rigid tension.
The pleasure ebbs away with each breath, and I realize I have Diesel's hair in a death grip with my fists. I release his hair and tenderly smooth it down in apology.
The look he gives me is a mixture of awe and satisfaction. I've just come, but the look on his face makes me want more, makes me want to give him just as much pleasure as he's given me.
I undo my bra hastily and toss it aside, and reach for his shirt.
But he doesn't undress with the same urgency. "Most beautiful thing I've ever seen..." he whispers as he helps me pull his shirt off.
"I've never done that before," I blurt out and cringe a little. He didn't need to know that. I don't know why I told him that. Maybe as a thank you? To make him feel good? I'm doing a lot of things these days that I shouldn't.
He stills, his head still caught in his shirt for a moment, before he finally pulls it off and tosses it aside. I try to look at his face, to gauge her reaction to my idiocy, but I can't pull my eyes away from his broad, muscular chest. Soft brown chest hair rests between two pecs larger than my hand, and trails down his stomach and into his jeans. He is mouth-wateringly good-looking. My eyes snag on the Saints and Sinner patch on his forearm, and it hits me like a brick. I will forever be a part of him and his story. A part of me will live on in his memory and on his arm long after I'm gone. Will he tell people about the girl who paid for it? The woman who spent money she didn't have so thatshe could gift a stranger a tattoo? Or will he hate the memory of me when I'm gone?
I trace my thumb over the tattoo, hoping to leave him with only fond memories.
"Hey, where did you go just now?" he asks, his voice laced with empathy and care. It makes me want to rage. To make him take it back. To leave and stop this foolish fantasy that I'll ever get to keep anyone. That I'll ever be more than a ghost, wandering from city to city, town to town.
A large, warm, calloused hand comes to my cheek and holds me there. I'm powerless to his touch and lean into it, closing my eyes and sighing.
Instead of giving him an answer that would have to be a lie, I undo his jeans button and pull down the zipper, using my toes to push them down his legs. I lean up and kiss him, desperate for more, desperate to leave the past behind me, and desperate to forget about the future.
He hesitates before giving in and kissing me back. He plays with my nipple lazily, but my impatience wins, and I shove my hand down his boxers to cup his hard erection. He returns my impatience with a grunt and a flex of his pelvis.
