Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 33713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 169(@200wpm)___ 135(@250wpm)___ 112(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 169(@200wpm)___ 135(@250wpm)___ 112(@300wpm)
“He followed you. Under my watch, he followed you.” He lets out a jagged breath that sounds like a growl, his forehead dropping to rest against mine. His skin is burning hot, and I can feel the frantic thud of his heart through his leather cut, echoing the frantic rhythm of my own. “I should have killed him. I should have ended it right there on that tile floor.”
“You saved me,” I say, fisting my hands into the front of his shirt, pulling him closer because the inch of space between us feels like a mile. “You’re the only reason I’m okay. Please. Just hold me.”
The dam breaks. Diesel lets out a sound that’s half-groan, half-sob, and his mouth crashes against mine. It’s not the gentle, exploratory kiss of our mornings in bed. It’s a collision. It’s raw and desperate, tasting of salt and heat and a terrifying kind of relief. He’s kissing me like he’s trying to breathe for both of us, his tongue seeking mine with a hunger that borders on feral.
I wrap my legs around his waist, needing to be closer, needing to feel the sheer bulk of him against me until there’s no room for the memory of Kirk’s pale, sweating face. I want to be consumed. I want Diesel to overwrite every terrifying second of this afternoon with the weight of his body and the heat of his skin.
He carries me through the house, never breaking the kiss, his hands gripping my thighs with a possessive strength that would have been frightening if it weren't exactly what I needed. We don't make it to the bedroom. He backs me into the hallway wall, the framed photos of his custom bikes rattling against the plaster as he presses me into the wood. His hands move through my hair, then slide under my shirt before moving down to trace the curve of my hips. It’s as if he’s trying to reclaim every square inch of my skin.
“You’re mine,” he mutters against my throat, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin just below my ear. “Mine, Ren. I’m never letting you out of my sight again. Never.”
“Yes,” I gasp, my head falling back as he trails hot, wet kisses down my neckline. “Yours. Always yours, Diesel.”
He rips my shirt over my head and quickly unhooks my bra. Then he tugs my jeans and underwear down my legs, his movements hurried and clumsy in a way I’ve never seen from him. Usually, Diesel is the king of calculated precision, but right now, he’s a man driven by pure, unadulterated instinct. I help him, fumbling with his belt, our breathing coming in short, synchronized hitches that fill the quiet hallway. When he finally strips me bare, he pauses for a heartbeat, his gaze devouring me.
He looks at me like I’m the only thing keeping the world from tilting off its axis. I reach for his shirt, peeling it away, needing to feel the friction of his naked chest against mine. When his skin finally meets mine, I let out a breath I feel like I’ve been holding since the coffee shop.
He lifts me higher, pinning me against the wall with his hips, and I feel the hard, thick length of his cock pressing against my thigh. He’s rock-hard, straining against his boxers, and the sheer heat radiating from him is enough to make my vision swim. He’s already glistening at the tip, a bead of pre-cum smearing against my skin, and the sensation makes my pussy ache and pulse with a sudden, sharp need.
“Diesel, please,” I whimper, my fingers digging into the muscle of his shoulders. “I need you. Now.”
He doesn’t wait. He shoves his boxers down and guides himself to my entrance. I’m already soaked, my folds slick and heavy with a need that’s been amplified by the day’s terror. He enters me in one slow, agonizingly deep thrust, his cock stretching me, filling me until I feel like I might burst. I cry out, the sound echoing in the narrow hallway, and wrap my arms around his neck, burying my face in the crook of his shoulder.
“Fuck,” he groans, his forehead leaning against the wall beside my head. “You’re so tight, Ren. So fucking perfect.”
He starts to move, his rhythm hard and uncompromising. There’s no finesse here, just the raw, rhythmic pounding of a man trying to anchor himself to the woman he loves. Each thrust is a declaration. You’re safe. You’re here. You’re mine. He’s fisting my hair, keeping my face tilted up so he can watch the way my eyes roll back, the way my mouth hangs open as I chase the peak he’s driving me toward.
The friction is intense, his thick shaft sliding against my clit with every deep, slamming motion. I can feel my internal muscles clenching around him, trying to hold him deeper, trying to pull him all the way into my soul. The hallway is hot, the air thick with the smell of sex.