Down & Dirty: Diesel (Dirty Angels MC Book 4)

by Jeanne St. James

  “Stop with that shit or you’ll get a taste of my ‘beast.’ Ain’t sure you’re gonna like it.”

  “Try me,” Jewel echoed him.

  Diesel’s head jerked back and he tipped his chin down to her. Her face wasn’t hard. Fuck no it wasn’t. It was soft, her eyes inviting.

  Jesus fuckin’ Christ.

  He needed to get the fuck out of there. He let her go and shoved her away. “Gimme my shirt.”

  Her eyes held his for a moment, then she grabbed the hem of his T-shirt and yanked it over her head, taking her own top with it.

  “Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he muttered out loud this time. He swallowed hard as she stood in the middle of her living room only wearing a red thong and her black leather knee-high boots.

  Fuck me.

  He had never seen the woman naked and in the past had imagined it many times, but what stood before him was so much better than his own visuals.

  Way fucking better.

  “Jesus, Jewelee,” he said quietly. He was frozen in place because if he moved forward he was going to toss her over his shoulder, take her to her bedroom and then fuck her until neither of them could move.

  But if he moved toward the front door...

  Yeah, that’s what he needed to do. He needed to grab his shirt from between her fingers and get the hell out of Dodge.

  But, for fuck’s sake, he couldn’t stop staring at her. And she made no move to cover herself. His shirt hung from her fingers by her side. Her tits, not huge, but perfect for her smaller frame, were firm and the nipples peaked into hard points.

  Her lips were parted and her eyes hooded.

  And his dick was screaming at him to take action.

  Until now, he had no clue that she had a tattoo of a red rose with thorns over her right hip. And a belly button ring. Her stomach and hips had just enough flesh so she wasn’t skinny; her thighs looked soft and inviting.

  Too fucking inviting.

  He wanted her to turn around. He needed to see her ass with her red thong up the crack.

  Jesus. That’d be like unwrapping a birthday gift. It’d be the best fucking birthday ever.

  But reality hit him that today wasn’t his birthday and he needed to get the fuck out of there before he did something really fucking stupid.

  Something that neither one of them would forget.

  “Jewelee.”

  “Yeah?” A look of hope crossed her expression.

  “Shirt on the couch. Go to your room an’ lock the fuckin’ door until you hear me leave. Then come out and lock the front door.”

  She frowned. “D—”

  “Do it. Now.”

  She lifted her hand that was empty, pleading, “D... don’t go.” Her voice was low and husky and it shot all the way down into his already steel-hard dick.

  He shook his head but his eyes never left her. He couldn’t stop himself from letting his gaze roam her tight little body once more. He swallowed again. This time it was more difficult. “Gotta go.”

  “D.”

  “No, woman, ain’t playin’ this game of yours.”

  “Why?”

  “’Cause you’ll end up clingy an’ a fuckin’ nag.”

  She winced but quickly hid it. “Just a one-time thing. Promise.”

  Oh, fuck no, he wasn’t falling for that trap.

  He was going to say something and knew he’d regret it, but he had to snap himself out of whatever trance he was in and he had to hit her with some hard reality so she’d do the same. It was the only way he was going to get out of her apartment without driving himself deep inside her.

  “Just had three of Dawg’s strippers on my cock not more than an hour ago, woman. Want sloppy seconds?”

  This time when she winced, it stuck. Her eyes hardened, her demeanor changed. And her mouth became an angry slash as she threw his shirt on the couch and turned.

  Jesus. That ass with only that scrap of red cloth parting those round cheeks... Fuck.

  She strode in those damn high-heeled boots down the hallway and not a second later he heard the slam of her bedroom door.

  He closed his eyes, took a shuddered breath and cursed himself. He opened his mouth to call her name but when his eyes opened they landed on her way-too-short skirt abandoned on the couch.

  He shrugged off his cut, grabbed his T-shirt, yanked it over his head, slid his cut back on and was out the fucking door before he made a very bad decision.

  Diesel groaned and flipped onto his back. His eyes were squeezed shut, his palm was wrapped around his dick and he yanked at it as he struggled to get the picture of Jewel wearing only her thong and boots out of his head.

  His hips rose and fell onto his mattress following the rhythm of his fist. The hand not full of cock was twisted in the sheets as he tugged harder, his balls tightening painfully.

  He needed to wipe that vision of Jewel out of his head and he hoped a good jerk off would do it.

  As much as he’d wanted to touch her, he couldn’t. He couldn’t. She wasn’t his and she’d never be his.

  She wasn’t a quick fuck. She wasn’t a woman he’d fuck against the wall in the bathroom.

  She wasn’t the kind of woman he’d just fuck to drain the load from his balls.

  And that’s all he was looking for because he didn’t want anything more. He didn’t want an ol’ lady. He also didn’t want to make the mistake of sticking his dick in snatch that would expect to become his ol’ lady, either.

  That shit wasn’t for him.

  Never was. Never would be.

  So this was why he was jerking on his own pud right now. To try to get Jewel, her sweet body, and the speculation of what her tight, wet cunt would feel like wrapped around his dick, out of his mind.

  But, fuck him, it wasn’t working.

  He groaned again, flipped over to his belly and punched his bed in frustration. Grabbing his pillow, he tucked it under his torso and imagined it was Jewel under him, with her legs wrapped around his waist while he was buried completely into her slick, wet heat. He tilted his hips back and forth, driving his cock up and down on his mattress.

  This was what he was reduced to. Dry humping his fucking bed when he could’ve stayed and took what was offered. The real thing. He could’ve driven his cock deep into her sweet pussy and then her tight ass, blowing his load only when he’d had enough.

  But no.

  Gritting his teeth, he pumped his hips faster, the friction from the sheet making him suck in a breath. Squeezing the pillow under him harder, he shoved his face into a second pillow and with a final pump, he came with a grunt. His cum shot between his stomach and the sheet, making a complete mess.

  Just like his fucking life.

  Chapter Three

  Diesel gave a chin lift to the prospect that stood outside of Dirty Dick’s tasked with keeping an eye on the line of Dark Knights bikes parked out front.

  “Gonna get greeted,” the young, light-skinned prospect warned.

  “Right,” D grunted and yanked open the door anyway.

  Loud music Diesel didn’t recognize assaulted his ears, tangy smoke that was more of the illegal than legal variety burned his nostrils, and the typical sounds of a rowdy biker bar on a Friday night hit him. As eyes turned his direction, his skin prickled.

  He had to remind himself that the Knights weren’t rivals but instead more like allies. The Dirty Angels had no beef with them and he wanted to keep it that way.

  A dark-skinned man almost his size suddenly blocked his way. Almost his size, but not quite. D had a good inch and about twenty pounds on him. But even so, he looked like a bad motherfucker that D wouldn’t want to be enemies with.

  They clasped palms and bumped shoulders.

  “Magnum,” D greeted.

  “D,” was the grunt in response. He jerked his chin toward a corner in the bar. “Step into my office.”

  D grunted in return and followed the large man, who was the Knights’ Sergeant at Arms, just like him.

&nbs
p; They hit a table tucked in a corner, but one in a location where the whole bar could be watched. Magnum settled into a chair where his back was against the wall and his eyes scanned the bar before landing on D.

  D pulled out a chair, swung it around and dropped his weight into it backwards, his arms resting along the chair back. He didn’t want to be caught between the table and his seat if anything went down. Not that he expected it to, but one never knew. Better to be ready to move, then get stuck. And fucked.

  Magnum eyeballed him for a moment then lifted his large hand over his shoulder. A pretty dark-skinned woman with hair cropped close to her head, dark eyes and heavy tits barely contained in a tight tank top, approached the table.

  Diesel’s eyes raked over her curves stuffed into tight short shorts and her long, endless legs with skin so smooth that they gleamed.

  “Like what you see?”

  D’s gaze fell back on Magnum. “Yeah.”

  “Don’t mind sharin’ our women. ‘Specially if you like the chocolate variety.”

  D glanced back at the woman who stood there patiently, wearing a welcoming smile. Normally with an offer like that, he’d say yes. Tonight he wasn’t feeling it. “Just a beer.”

  Her eyes flicked to Magnum and so did his. The Knights’ enforcer gave her a slight nod and D watched her move as she headed back to the bar. The way her hips rolled, he guessed she’d be a pro at riding his cock.

  “She’s good, brother.”

  “You had her,” D stated.

  “Yeah.”

  “Then I can’t compete.”

  Magnum threw his bald head back and laughed. When he finally sobered, he cocked a brow D’s way. “Don’t know. You’re a big fucker. Could be hung bigger than me.”

  “Could be,” D replied. He leaned forward. “Not here to compare dick sizes.”

  The laugh lines around Magnum’s dark eyes disappeared. “Yeah. Got that. Whataya here for?”

  “Warriors.”

  “Right, brother. Been keepin’ an eye out for those fuckers.”

  “Got that an’ appreciate it.”

  “We find ‘em, we’ll deliver ‘em to the Valley on a silver fuckin’ platter.”

  “Got that, too.”

  The woman came back, slid a frosted mug of beer in front of D, giving him another inviting smile as she did so, slid a bottle of beer in front of Magnum, then when the Knight waved his hand, she quickly, but with noticeable reluctance, disappeared.

  A woman who didn’t give lip. D could appreciate that.

  He turned his attention back to Magnum. “Got an event comin’ up.”

  “’Nother fundraiser like Dogs & Hogs?”

  The Knights were one of several clubs that had attended the fundraising event the DAMC held a couple months back. His brother, Hawk, and the club’s attorney, Kiki—now Hawk’s ol’ lady—had planned the event that benefited veterans with PTSD so his brother could work off the community service part of his sentence. He’d been thrown in jail after they had played with a few of the Warriors in South Side at an Irish pub.

  And by played with he meant beat the fuck out of. Diesel had been arrested, too, but luckily his charges had been dropped. Hawk hadn’t been so lucky and did a ten-day stint in County. The only good thing that came out of it was him hooking up with his permanent piece, Kiki.

  Of course, all the money they raised for the charity during the fundraiser was a bonus, too.

  But the end of that event had turned into a complete clusterfuck when the Warriors tried to steal some of Kiki’s hard-earned donations.

  “No,” D finally said. “Somethin’ else.”

  Magnum raised a dark brow.

  “A weddin’.”

  Magnum leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “Yours?”

  “Fuck no.”

  A slow smile crossed Magnum’s face. “Ain’t a fool then.”

  “Nope. Our former prez is marryin’ his ol’ lady.”

  “Z, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Saw his ol’ lady at Dogs & Hogs. The sweet little baker. Can see why he’d wanna lock ‘er down.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Still don’t get why you’re here.”

  “Need a favor.”

  Magnum waited.

  “Gonna be an outdoor weddin’. At a lake. Too much shit has gone down with the Warriors lately, an’ we’re all gonna be occupied with the formality of Z handin’ over his balls. Got my crew on tap to help keep a lookout, but need more eyes than that to keep shit safe.”

  The Knight nodded, then reached for his beer bottle. He put it to his lips and drained half of it. “Take it inside,” Magnum suggested when he finally put the beer back on the table.

  D shook his head. “Z’s ol’ lady’s got a dream. An’ it ain’t gettin’ married in a church. One with a steeple or the one attached to The Iron Horse.”

  Magnum smirked. “Bitch got his balls in a vise, for sure.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Got it. Askin’ for our protection.”

  “We’ll repay the marker when you need it.”

  Magnum nodded. “To be expected. But, brother, why you here instead of your prez? Your prez should be talkin’ to ours.”

  D took a sip of his beer, then another one before setting it back down on the scarred wooden table. The truth was their president, Pierce, was a dick. And the brothers were going to plan an upheaval sooner than later, but Diesel couldn’t admit what they were planning or even that there would be any shift in power. Any admittance of kinks in the chain of command would be a sign of weakness.

  They also weren’t sure of when it was going to happen. Right now Z was concentrating on getting hitched, not taking back the head of the table. Once all the wedding shit was settled, they could move on to the next order of business.

  They also needed to find and bury six-feet-under their former prospect Squirrel and this Black Jack. And any other Warrior they could get their hands on.

  “Pierce’s occupied with some other shit right now. Got me handlin’ this.” Sort of a lie, sort of wasn’t. The man sitting across from him wasn’t going to know that either way.

  “The redhead gonna be there?”

  D cocked a brow in surprise. What the fuck was that about? “Ivy? Yeah.”

  “That brother get her ass under control? If not, a few of my brothers want a shot at ‘er.”

  Blood rushed into D’s ears. He needed to keep his shit together and do his best to not make enemies today. “Talkin’ ‘bout my cousin, brother.”

  “Yeah, and?” Then Magnum smiled and D realized the man was busting his balls. Testing him.

  “Right,” D grunted in relief.

  Out of nowhere, a blonde white woman approached Magnum, wrapped her hand around the back of his neck, leaned over and kissed the top of his head.

  “Talkin’ business here, woman,” Magnum grumbled but snaked his arm around her hips and pulled her tight against him. The man’s eyes landed on D. “Got an ol’ lady?”

  “No.”

  He tilted his head to his. “Good. Don’t. Pain in the fuckin’ ass. All of ‘em.”

  The woman laughed, and said, “You got it good, ol’ man.”

  “Yeah, ‘cause you got a temper an’ you like those angry fucks like that redheaded bitch.”

  How Magnum knew that about his cousin, D didn’t know and didn’t want to know.

  “Those are the best fucks,” the blonde said, her green eyes flashing a challenge.

  D couldn’t agree with them because he never had one. All his fucks were easy, quick and disposable. To him, those were the best kind.

  He didn’t need any drama in his life or in his bed.

  “We done here?” Magnum asked.

  “Yeah, if you’re in agreement.”

  “Gotcha covered, brother. Give me the details when you got ‘em, an’ we’ll get your back.”

  Diesel nodded. “Good.”

  Magnum unfolded his big b
ody out of his chair. “Stay, finish your beer. See somethin’ you like, let me know. Like I said, willin’ to share.” He steered his woman around with a hand spread along her lower back. Before he walked away, he tossed over his shoulder, “But we’ll expect the same courtesy.”

  D didn’t like the sound of that at all. There was no way they were sharing their women with another club. Dark Knights or not.

  Hell, it was bad enough that Axel, not only Z’s brother, a cop, and the VP of the Blue Avengers MC, was chasing Bella.

  That wasn’t going to happen, either. Not as long as Diesel was breathing.

  The brothers were spread out over the clubhouse courtyard. The night air was starting to cool down a bit since it was getting toward the end of summer. Jag, the Road Captain, had organized a run earlier in the day. Mama Bear and some of the sweet butts, as well as the prospects, had prepared the rest of the shit for tonight’s party. But the evening seemed a bit more on the mellow side and D wasn’t going to bitch.

  Nash’s band, Dirty Deeds, seemed to be keeping their music on the more mellow side, also. Though, Dawg was out in the trampled grass by the light of the bonfire still finding the slow rock songs fast enough to bump and grind on some of his girls.

  Some of the hang-arounds, guys that liked to hang with the brothers but who had no desire to prospect, were enjoying the attention of the strippers, too. They and the prospects were allowed to touch them. They couldn’t touch the sweet butts since those women were only available to the patched members and they definitely couldn’t touch any of the ol’ ladies. Not if they wanted to find themselves breathing the next day.

  The band’s version of ZZ Top’s Rough Boy filled the courtyard.

  Dex, the club’s secretary, was hanging onto one of the sweet butts named Tequila, a hand on one of her huge fake tits, and the other on her ass which hung out of her obscenely short cut-offs, as he ground against her while they swayed in a slow circle. Crash had his arms wrapped around one of Dawg’s new girls, one of the three strippers that D had kicked out of his room a week ago. The man had a wide grin on his face as he ground against her ass. And D was pretty sure he was sporting a boner.

  Crash could have her. Dawg’s girls were a once and done for D. Once they started getting passed around, he wouldn’t touch them, with not only his own dick, but anyone else’s.