Page 51 of Diesel

“Okay?”

“Yeah. Okay.” I let my hand drift lower until I brushed against his morning erection. “Can we stop talking about club business now?”

His breath hitched, the sound raw and needy. His fingers dug into my hip hard enough to leave marks. “What do you want to talk about instead?”

“Nothing.” My palm slid over his shaft, thumb smearing the bead of pre-cum at his slit. “Not in the mood for words.”

A broken sound tore from his throat. “Christ, Ollie—” His hips jerked, cock swelling in my grip. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“Good thing we’ve got all morning.” I shoved the sheet off us, baring him completely. The sight of him—muscles coiled tight, skin flushed, cock flushed darker—made my mouth water. “Look at you. So perfect.”

“You’re the perfect one.” His hands were everywhere at once, mapping my chest, my thighs, the dip of my waist. “Spent all yesterday hard as hell watching you haul lumber. Sweat dripping down your back, tiny muscles flexing every time you lifted something. Wanted to bend you over that half-built porch and fuck you until you couldn’t stand.”

I groaned, my cock throbbing against my stomach. “So why didn’t you?”

His fingers wrapped around my shaft, stroking in time with mine. “Club members were there. Not exactly the audience I wanted around while I fucked you.”

“Edith would’ve cheered.”

His laugh was a dark rumble. “She’d have brought popcorn.” His thumb swiped over my crown, gathering the wetness there. “Fuck, you’re leaking for me.”

The pressure in my gut was already unbearable. I needed more. Needed him. “Want you inside me.”

“Yeah?” His pupils were blown, swallowing the blue of his irises. “Show me.”

I let go of his cock and rolled onto my back, legs falling open. The cool air hit my hole, making me shiver. “Please, Diesel. Need you.”

He moved fast, yanking the nightstand drawer open. The snap of the lube cap made my pulse spike. He slicked his fingers, then his cock. My hole clenched at the sight.

“Right here.” He nudged my thighs wider, settling between them. His lubed fingers pressed against my entrance, circling, teasing. One breached me, then two, stretching me open. The burn was good. So, so good.

“More.” My voice was wrecked, desperate.

“Greedy.” But he gave me a third finger, scissoring them inside me. When he brushed my prostate, my back arched off the bed. “There it is.”

I was panting, my cock dripping onto my stomach. “Now. Do it now!”

“Not yet.” His fingers curled again, hitting that spot over and over until my vision blurred. “Want you begging for it.”

“We had all night to savor every moment.”

“We’ve got the whole morning too.” Diesel’s thumb circled my entrance while his fingers plunged deeper. “I want you aching for me.”

“I already am.” I reached for my hard length, but he caught my wrist.

“Not yet.” He slid his fingers free, and the sudden void made me whine. “I want your mind locked on me.”

He lined himself up and eased in with one slow thrust. The burn of the stretch hit me hard, despite every slicking drop, and I gripped his shoulders, nails raking into muscle as I braced for the fullness.

“Breathe,” he whispered, forehead against mine.

I sucked in air once, twice. The sting began to soften, replaced by a deeper, wetter heat. My hips shifted, chasing every millimeter of friction.

He drew nearly all the way back before driving home again.

Each pulse sent me soaring, a mounting pressure demanding release. My cock leaked thick and hot, untouched and throbbing. He hit that perfect spot inside me with every thrust, and my thighs trembled from the rush.

“Touch yourself,” Diesel rasped. “I want to see you losing it.”