by Jc Emery
My eyes fall closed as I try to calm myself down enough to avoid coming before I even get into her pussy.
I’ve waited a long time for this woman, and it was fucking worth it.
She’s worth it.
Chapter 5
I have wet panties. Not “middle of August” damp. Not “just got out of the shower” wet. No, my panties are like a fucking waterslide. I’ve never been touched so much with so little physical contact before.
Dear God.
The clerk at the check-in desk must think I’m either on drugs or I need some drugs, because I could barely talk without losing my train of thought. Things got really awkward when the clerk asked if I wanted one bed or two. I’m not that girl—at least I’m not normally—so when I’m blushing and embarrassed, and desperately in need of an orgasm, and I can’t so much as have a basic conversation with a motel clerk because a man’s got my brain all mushy, I don’t know how to act.
I clutch the room key in my sweaty palm and try to keep myself in check as I head for the truck. I fail miserably at staying calm, especially when I eye Diesel leaning up against the old, dirty brick siding of the motel, with two duffle bags in one hand and one more in the other. His head is down, his shoulders are lax, and he’s got his chin tucked in to his neck. He’s rolling his head from side to side. The drive’s worn him out. I almost feel bad about refusing to let him crash the minute we get in the room.
Walking past Diesel and two doors down, I think back on everything he said in the cab of the truck. I didn’t mean to say what I had about sucking dick. I almost regret opening my big mouth since he’s somehow blaming Grady for what he perceives as some kind of emotional trauma. But then, Grady’s a dick, so I’m actually mostly okay with Diesel’s assumption. For now.
We get into the hotel room, and Diesel drops the duffle bags on the corner of the bed. He doesn’t turn around. Not when I close the door, not when I lock it, and not even when I clear my throat. We were so hot and heavy in the truck. He was talking endlessly, and now he’s quiet and distant. I don’t like it. I take a step toward him but stop when he slowly reaches into his pocket and pulls out my phone. He waves it in the air, tosses it on the bed, and then turns around to face me. I can’t make sense of the sudden change in mood, but it’s freaking me out. I’ve spent the entire day forcing myself to open up to him, to trust in the way he makes me feel, and to let this happen. I want it to happen, but all my old insecurities flare up and start to eat me alive.
I have to trust in somebody sometime, and even with my insecurities, I know Diesel’s my somebody.
“Left your phone in the truck. Amber called looking for an update on her boy. Guess we were wrong expecting Rig to call her right away, because she hasn’t heard from him yet.” His tone is emotionless, as are his eyes, which is starting to scare me. Calling to tell Amber her son is in danger was the hardest call I’ve ever had to make. I deliver bad news to people about their loved ones all the time. It’s just part of my job. Sometimes it’s confirmation of the affair they suspected their spouse was having. Sometimes it’s tracking down their college-aged kid only to find them strung out in a crack den across town. It’s rarely good news—like the spouse took a second job to pay for IVF treatments or some shit like that. The college-aged kids are never just studying in their dorm room and forgot to call home. Sometimes the relationship is beyond saving, and they call because they put up bail for their loved one and the asshole skipped town on them. People don’t call me because everything is right in their world. They only call me when not calling me ends with someone in prison or the morgue.
“I should call her,” I say and blow out a frustrated breath. I can’t even imagine what she’s going through. I’m scared half to death that Zander’s going to say or do something that tips Rig off to the fact that he knows they’re not on a bonding trip.
“Don’t bother. I calmed her down. Told her you’re making sure everybody knows the name Zander Wallace.”
Oh shit.
It’s just the panic setting in, but suddenly my chest is tight and I’m struggling to breathe. I should have told him sooner. I should have said something. I just . . . just didn’t want a reasonably shitty day to get even shittier.
“Yeah,” he says in a clipped tone, his eyes finally settling on mine. “I never thought to ask who Zander’s dad is. Didn’t think it was important.”
“I was going to tell you.” My voice shakes and for good reason. Working on finding Rig is bad enough, but this is a whole different level of subterfuge. If only he’d let me explain, I can make him see where I was coming from.
“When! When were you going to fucking tell me my brother’s got a kid out there he doesn’t fucking know about!” He’s screaming, and even though he’s formed the words like a question, I know better. He doesn’t really want me to speak. Veins pop out of his neck and his forehead. He’s jabbing his pointer finger in my direction, and the way his eyes and mouth recoil as he looks at me, I can’t help but feel his disgust wash over me.
“I’ve dedicated my fucking life to my patch. I put it before myself and my family—ready to ride and die protecting what this stands for,” he shouts as he angrily hits himself in his chest over the patches on his cut that rest above his heart and tell the world he belongs to the Fort Bragg Forsaken.
“I never have to watch my own back because I have nine other men watching it for me. I got a nickel stretch in Lompoc under my belt, barely any formal education, and a workable skillset that begins and ends with fucking people up—now you gonna tell me to calm down knowing all I got to lose if shit goes south?”
“I should have told you,” I say. It’s not like I called him and asked for his help. Like everything with us, he just jumped right in, and I was too chicken shit to tell him what we were really getting into.
“Zander St—” he starts, but I cut him off.
“I’m sorry!”
He paces the small room, muttering curse words to himself and finally stopping in front of the open bathroom door. The cheap hollow door bows slightly under the strength of Diesel’s fist hitting it. I take a deep breath and hope he calms down soon. I knew it was going to be ugly when Diesel found out who Zander’s dad is. It was always going to come out eventually. I told Amber that years ago. I think both of us were waiting for the floor to fall out from under us before we had to really deal with the choices we made all those years ago.
Diesel hits the door again, much more violently this time. I’ve seen enough action to not be too surprised by the outburst. Next he’ll upgrade to kicking the door in.
For fuck sake.
“The kid is fourteen,” Diesel hisses without looking my direction. “You got so many daddy issues you don’t think my boy has a right to know he’s got a fucking son?”
“It’s not like that, D. This isn’t my story to tell, it’s Amber’s, but I’ll give you what I can when you’re ready to listen.”
“Thirty hours on the road and you don’t say shit, but now you’re ready to talk, Elysia?”
Taking a deep breath, I focus on anything but what’s actually happening right now. I should be used to angry men and their mood swings, but it still unsettles me. His full-naming me gets under my skin. He has a right to be pissed—it’s a shit situation—but destroying our motel room and getting us kicked out isn’t going to do any good.
“FYI, dickhead—unless you want me full-naming your ass, you better stop full-naming me, Darius Mitchell!”
Okay, so I suck at ignoring shit that bugs me and maybe he knows it bothers me and maybe he doesn’t, but he did it and it does, so fuck that. I take a step toward him when he lets out a frustrated scream and slams his fist into the door again. Splinters of wood fly around the room under the force of his anger.
“Good thing you can afford it, because even shitholes like this have a you-break-it-you-bought-it policy.” My hands are on my hips and I’m breathing as evenly as I can to keep my temper in check.
He turns around
slowly, his shoulders are heaving, his tan face is red, and his nostrils are flaring like he’s a damn bull. I may keep the club at arm’s length these days, but I know these men too well to antagonize a seriously pissed-off Forsaken man, so I keep my mouth shut. Well, I try not to antagonize them. An idea comes to mind—a way to distract him—and risking humiliation, I go for it.
With my hands clutching my shirt, I lift it over my head and toss it on the floor. Next, my hands work to unbutton my jeans and slowly slide the zipper down. Forsaken men are very emotional creatures. They’re alphas from head to toe, and they need some way to channel their feelings. It’s either sex or violence, and one is more fun for me than the other. So, when I slide my jeans down my legs and kick them to the side, I don’t take my eyes off his. I force my shoes off with my jeans. He can be angry with me, but I bet once he’s fucked me, he’ll at least be willing to listen to what I have to say.
He moves quickly, and with less than three steps, he’s right up on me, breathing hot and heavy in my face. I don’t flinch or back away, nor do I divert my eyes. Those are signs of fear, and they can get you dead if you’re in close quarters with the wrong person. Diesel’s not the wrong person, but he’s charged right now and I don’t want to make the situation worse. With my chin up and shoulders square, I stare unwaveringly into his eyes. And I wait until his eyes tell me he’s calmed down.
He slides one of his hands up the side of my bare leg and hooks a finger into the side of my panties. His lips part and his eyes are roaming my mostly naked frame. My hands shake as I reach up to remove his cut. He helps me slide it off his shoulders and down his arms. When I have his cut in my hands, I neatly fold it and place it on the table beside us.
“I was barely in high school when Amber got pregnant. It was long before you patched in. Wyatt was a real bastard back then. They were always breaking up and getting back together, until one fight was too awful for them to bounce back from. Amber left town, and I didn’t see her again until Zander was a toddler. I did the best thing I could think of at the time—I stayed out of it.”
Diesel’s down to just his jeans now. No shoes, no shirt, no cut. I trail a finger up the middle of his stomach, admiring his incredible muscles on the way, and then back down to the fly of his jeans. I unbutton them slowly and, while doing so, lean in and place a kiss on Diesel’s pec.
“I made a promise to my friend that I would never talk to Wyatt about her. As far as I know, he has no clue she and I are still friends, and I’ve liked it that way. Wyatt knew she was pregnant when she left.”
“You could have told me,” he says quietly as his jeans hit the floor. He runs his hands up and down my sides, then reaches around my back and unhooks my bra. I just shake my head because he’s wrong.
“No, I couldn’t have. You would have been obligated to tell your brothers. Fort Bragg doesn’t have enough bodies to keep our people in town safe. Wyatt’s a different man now. If I had told you at Izzy’s party that Wyatt’s son, whom he’s never met, has been kidnapped by a man he would torture and kill for fun, you would have taken it to the club. We both know they would drop everything and rush out to Detroit to save Zander.
“What would have happened to Holly? Or Mindy? She’s healing, but she’s still fragile. Cheyenne’s down in San Francisco with little protection as is. Alex gets hurt and my father died for nothing. I thought about this the entire way out here, and the only thing I could come up with was that the best way to keep my family safe is to keep this from them. Amber’s confident a few guys in Detroit are misguidedly loyal to Rig even though they swear they’re not, so they’re not an option. The wider this spreads, the more likely the chance that I end up getting my nephew killed.”
“Fuck, babe,” he whispers. His hands knead my bare breasts. His deep brown eyes travel from my breasts to my face and back again. We finish strip each other down without another word.
This moment between us isn’t about winning and losing. It’s about understanding and connecting. The way he’s gently caressing my naked flesh sends a chill up my spine. He’s all about exploring my body with his hands and surveying my skin with his eyes. Every move he makes is so slow, thoughtful, that I feel like I’m about to explode with need. I just need more. We were so hot and heavy in the truck, but this is totally different.
“Tell me how you want me.” He pulls my naked body against his hard dick, sandwiching it between us, and he rubs my ass.
“I don’t care,” I say breathily. His hand leaves my ass only to return in a hard slap on my cheek. I yelp and jump in place.
“I don’t give a fuck what other men were like with you. Clean slate, Legs. I ask you how you want my dick, you tell me.”
“Legs?” A smile finds its way to my face.
“Fits, don’t it?”
I nod my approval but don’t say a word. He wants to know how I want him. One scenario after another runs through my head before I muster the courage to ask for what I want.
“You’re my man?” I ask and wedge my hand between us. His dick is so soft to the touch. He has these thick veins running through his stiff cock that feel incredible in my hand and will only feel better when he’s inside me.
“Yeah,” he says. One word. Simple. To the point. He says it like there’s never been a question about where his loyalties lie.
“What I said earlier,” I say, giving his cock a tug and rubbing the tip against my outer lips, “about sucking your dick? I want to. Not tonight, but I want to.”
He groans and bucks his hips into me. The tip of his cock parts my lips and presses against my clit. I gasp and part my legs just enough to open myself up for a stronger sensation.
“You want something, just ask, baby,” he says. I feel like a hypocrite even thinking about what I want, but this is a good test of the kind of man he is. So I lean in and kiss him slowly, my hand still on his cock. His hips are still bucking into me. We’re being reckless, doing this without a condom, but I don’t care. I want all of him, and even though I know better, nothing else matters but the feel of his flesh on mine. I slow the kiss and give his cock a hard tug, causing him to growl against my lips. I’m usually assertive during sex because it usually doesn’t mean anything. It means an orgasm I don’t necessarily have to work for, and that’s about it, but this with Diesel means something to me. I take a deep breath to center myself and start acting like the confident, bossy woman I normally am.
On a whisper, I say, “I want your mouth on my pussy, and I want to come on your face. And I want your tongue to fuck me so hard that you lose oxygen in the process.”
I’m not done, but he doesn’t seem to care, because I’m flying through the air and landing on the bed before I even realize what’s happening. He kisses his way up the inside of each of my legs, alternating his attention on one and then the other. I keep my legs parted as wide as I comfortably can and prop my head up on both of the pillows so I can watch him work. My hands are on the outside of my thighs, rubbing my skin gently, as he nears my waiting pussy.
“I’ve been wanting to eat your pussy for years, babe. I die down here, you tell the entire fucking world how I went out. Taking my cock in your mouth might not do much for you, but fucking you with my mouth makes me lose my fucking mind. So hold on to something, baby, and get ready to wake the neighbors.”
“God, I love you,” I say without thinking. I intended to keep that to myself. I was going to tell him I’m wet for him but Iwas thinking how I’ve fallen in love with him and somehow the wires got crossed in my head and that came out of my mouth.
Fuck.
I’ve ruined the moment.
I close my eyes and try to close my legs so I can retreat into a deep, dark hole where I didn’t just tell Diesel I love him, but he doesn’t let me. He crawls up the bed, and his big shoulders are wedged between my thighs. He moves fast, his head dipping down to my core, and the next thing I know, his tongue is licking up my lips and over my clit. My legs relax and part again. I force my eyes to open and wat
ch as he licks, sucks, and nips at my core. His mouth feels fucking perfect on my pussy. Just hard enough, just gentle and slow enough, to really get my body buzzing. Then he takes my breath away as he shifts and swiftly inserts two long fingers into my pussy. And he’s finger fucking me hard and fast. His mouth is sucking at my clit, harder with each breath he takes. He’s goddamn merciless in his effort to tear me apart using only his mouth. My orgasm builds in record time, but then he slows, and the feeling dies down, becoming a soft buzz. Just when my body slacks with pleasure, he’s back to eating me alive.
My legs twitch and my back arches as he slams his fingers into my swollen pussy and curls them in the exact right place. In a desperate attempt to keep the feeling, my legs clamp closed as my body jerks and twists. I don’t even realize that I’m screaming and panting wildly until my body is exploding into a thousand different pieces. I claw at the sheets underneath me, losing all sense of time and reason. Diesel moves a hand underneath me, and a wet finger teases at my ass. The pressure is exquisite, but I don’t want to come again like this. I need more of him.
My body jackknifes off the bed. Diesel responds quickly and sits up on the backs of his legs. He pulls my hips into his lap and helps me to straddle him.
“Tell me what you want, baby,” he says. His voice is gorgeously throaty, and he’s as damp with sweat as I am.
“I want you to fuck me as hard as you can,” I say and slide on his lap. Hovering over him, I wrap one hand around the back of his neck and the other around his cock. He removes my hand from his deliciously thick, hard dick and tells me to put it on the bed behind me. I do as I’m told, with my back arched in some kind of gymnastic position, when he shifts beneath me and, without warning, buries himself in my pussy. He doesn’t give me time to adjust to his size. He just hammers into me again and again, so relentless in his pursuit of owning my pussy.
