Page 10 of Falling for the Biker
She looks up at me, her brown eyes wide and sincere, glistening in the dim light. In them, I see trust, vulnerability, and a flicker of the same desperate need that’s clawing at my insides. The last of my resolve snaps.
I raise my hand, my calloused fingers rough against the incredible softness of her cheek. I can feel the fine tremor running through her, or maybe it’s me.
“I told you I would,” I murmur, my thumb stroking just beneath her eye. “I’ll keep you safe, Ruby. I promise.”
The promise hangs in the air, coming off as final. It’s no longer about the club or the rules. It’s mine. She is mine to protect.
And I can’t do it anymore. I can’t stand here and pretend this is just about keeping my word. The line is gone. The control is gone. There is only her, the trust in her eyes, and the overwhelming need to claim it.
I bend my head, my gaze dropping to her lips. I hear her breath catch, but she doesn’t pull away. She leans into the touch on her cheek.
That’s all the permission I need to satisfy this demanding need to feed into this.
5
Ruby
I can’t believe I’m kissing a man I just met today.
How can something this crazy feel so right?
The thought is a flicker, there and then gone, incinerated by the heat of his mouth on mine. This isn’t a gentle, questioning kiss. It’s a demanding claim. A hungry collision that steals the air from my lungs and the strength from my knees.
Diesel takes, and a part of me wants to give him everything with no questions asked.
A low, rough sound rumbles from his chest, vibrating through me as he backs me up. My shoulder blades meet the cool, rough wall of the stairwell, trapping me between unyielding drywall and the solid, living wall of him. The contrast is dizzying—the cold at my back, the furnace of his body pressed against my front.
My duffle bag slips from my numb fingers, hitting the floor with a soft thud that’s swallowed by the pounding of my own heart. I need to find a purchase in this freefall.
My hands fly up, gripping the worn leather of his vest. The material is tough, scarred, just like him, but beneath it, I can feel the powerful flex of his shoulders, the unshakeable strength of the man.
He is solid. He is perfect. He’s like nothing I’ve ever known.
While one hand cups my face like I’m fragile, the other hand slides down my side, settling on my hip. His grip is firm, like he’s not a man who is fond of sharing.
It’s not enough. I arch into him, a silent plea for more, and he answers by deepening the kiss, his tongue sweeping past my lips.
The taste of him is pure Diesel—cigarettes and something uniquely male. It’s an addiction I never saw coming, but I’m confident that I’ll never get enough.
He tears his mouth from mine, but only to trail searing kisses along my jaw, down the sensitive column of my throat. I gasp, my head falling back against the wall with a soft thud.
“Diesel… ” I breathe his name, before the undeniable sound of a moan leaves my lips.
He stills for a heartbeat, his breath hot against my skin. I can feel the frantic beat of his heart where my hand rests on his chest, a wild rhythm that matches my own. He pulls back just far enough to look at me, his eyes black with a hunger so raw it should frighten me.
I’ve felt fear plenty as of late, but this is the last man to make me feel this way.
That look is my undoing. I use what strength I have left to tug him forward and drag his mouth back to mine. This time, there’s no hesitation. The kiss is pure fire, a desperate, open-mouthed clash of tongue and teeth.
He doesn’t just kiss me; he devours me, swallowing my next moan whole, stealing my breath and giving me his in return. It’s messy and perfect and everything I didn’t know I needed.
“No one’s ever gonna touch you again,” he growls against my lips, the words a rough, possessive vow. “No one. You hear me?”
The promise coils deep in my belly, a hot, tight spring of desire. My hips buck against him of their own accord, seeking friction, seeking him.
“Don’t say no one,” I plead, the words ragged and breathless. “You touch me, Diesel. Only you.”
A sound halfway between a groan and a snarl escapes him. In one fluid, powerful motion, his hands slide down to my thighs, gripping them through the denim. His thumbs press inward, branding me with their heat, digging in so close to the heart of the ache building inside me. I can feel the rough texture of his calluses, a delicious friction that has me rocking against his hands.
