Page 36 of Diesel

“Oh no,” I said faintly. “The consequences of my actions.”

He grinned—all teeth, faintly feral, absolutely devastating—and then his mouth was on my throat, working its way down. He took his time about it, like he was mapping me. Collarbone. Chest. He paused at my ribs and dragged his tongue along one like he was tasting me, and the rumble in his chest never fully stopped, this constant low purr of satisfaction that I felt in my bones.

“You smell like mine,” he murmured against my stomach.

“I smell like citrus shampoo and paint fumes.”

“Underneath that.” He looked up the length of my body, chin resting just below my navel, eyes glowing in the lamplight. “Your citrus smell drove me insane in that garage. You standing there eating a Danish, no idea I could hear your heartbeat pick up every time I looked at you.”

“That is a gross invasion of privacy,” I said, breathless. “Tell me more.”

He huffed a laugh against my skin, and then his mouth closed over my cock, and every word in the English language evacuated my skull simultaneously.

“Diesel…” I croaked. “You don’t have to—”

He pulled his mouth back from my cock, lips glistening. “Want to,” he murmured, eyes dark. “Love your taste.”

Then his lips were back on my shaft, sucking fiercely while one hand stroked my balls. With his free hand he grabbed the lube tube; the cap popped off. Cool gel dripped down to my taint before his finger brushed my tight hole.

The clash of his mouth swallowing my cock and his finger easing inside my ass sent my vision swimming. Pulses of heat radiated through me, building until I shook.

“I need more,” I panted.

A second finger slid in beside the first, stretching me wide with slow, methodical thrusts. Diesel tilted his hand just right, grazing that spot inside that made my vision erupt in stars.

“Yes!” I moaned. “Exactly there.”

He drew his lips from my cock with a wet lick and met my gaze. “Feels good?”

“Yeah,” I breathed. “Amazing.”

A third finger nudged past my rim, the stretch almost too intense. “Gonna ease you open nice and slow. Make sure you’re aching for it.”

Aching? I’d been aching since I met him, but Diesel lingered on each stroke, prying me open with skill that had me on edge. Every scissoring motion shot jolts of fire along my spine into my gut.

My hand slipped down to stroke my cock, desperate for relief as pressure swelled low between my thighs. He caught my wrist and squeezed.

“Not yet,” his voice dropped. “I want you craving it.” His fingers kept moving in lazy circles. My knees quivered. “Beg for it.”

“I’m begging,” I choked out. “Please, Diesel. Mountain man. Mr. Biker. Fuck me.”

He paused, pulling his fingers free and leaving me hollow. I felt the blunt head press at my ring of muscle.

He gripped my thighs, hauling them up and apart until I lay fully exposed. Vulnerable and raw, I could barely breathe.

“Look at you,” he whispered, thumb tracing my wet hole. “Needy and ready to get fucked.”

“Then stop teasing me,” I hissed, fists clenched in the sheets. “Fuck me or get off me and I’ll just jerk off.”

“Not a chance in hell I’m leaving this bed.” He angled his hips and drove in with a slow, purposeful thrust that stretched me completely. A sharp burn flared, then I forced my muscles to relax, letting him sink deeper until his pelvis locked against mine.

“Oh, sweet hell!” I cried out.

“Shit,” he rumbled as he settled in. “So tight…so sweet.”

He ignited every nerve ending. My nails raked his shoulders as I rocked back, chasing the friction coiling low in my belly.

“Keep breathing,” he murmured, forehead resting against mine.