12 Inches: A Secret Baby Dark Romance

by Alexis Angel

  “Dick pics!” Ashley announces.

  “What?!” Becca and I squeal in unison. I promise, we didn’t practice that. It just sorta happened.

  “Yeah. If he’s swinging a big dick, we’ll know he’s at least a man. Plus, then we all get to admire the package he’s packing.”

  “Ooohhhhh…I like how you think,” I say, wide-eyed at her brilliance. “God, I’m glad you’re my friend, not my enemy. That level of conniving is genius.”

  We screech to a stop outside of my apartment building and as Becca swipes her credit card through the reader – it’s her turn to pay – we all pile out and head to the elevator. Becca squeezes in and as we start the ascent, I begin texting Carlton. God, I hate that name.

  I begin texting Diesel.

  Much better.

  “There,” I say, pressing send. “Now let’s see if he responds. Hopefully, where he’s at really does have phone service.”

  The doors open just as my phone vibrates in response.

  As you wish.

  And then...

  “Oh…” Ashley breathes, jostling up against me.

  “My…” Becca echoes, squishing in from the other side.

  “God,” I finish because someone had to and I promise, we didn’t practice that one either. But the sight of this magnificent cock was literally swoon worthy. I felt a little faint as I stared at the thick, veiny, purple headed cock on my screen.

  I hand the phone over to Ashley with a stern, “Don’t drop this and for fuck’s sakes, don’t close that pic!” as I shove my key in the door. Once we’ve made it in the door, we all gather around my phone for some more oogling time.

  “I think it’s almost as big as Apollo’s dick,” Ashley finally says, and I just glare at her. There is no way Apollo, a suit, has a dick this big. She shrugs at my glare. “I’ll have to have him do a dick pic sometime so I can show you guys.”

  I turn back to the photo in my hand. Apollo is fine and whatever, but he isn’t Diesel. Ashley’s welcome to her boyfriend.

  “So, now that we at least know that he’s hung,” Ashley says, “how else can we know that he’s an outlaw?”

  We begin cleaning up in the bathroom. Thank god it’s big with double sinks so we can spread out.

  “What do all outlaws ride?” Ashley asks, excitement in her voice.

  “Horses?” Becca asks, deadpan.

  “Outlaws in this century,” Ashley shoots back.

  “Motorcycles…” I say slowly. “Ash, you’re a genius!” I drop my hairbrush and begin texting Diesel again. “If you are a real outlaw,” I mutter out loud as I type, “you’ll pick me up on your motorcycle and take me somewhere dangerous on our date. There!” I say, pressing send. “Let’s see what he has to say about that.”

  Before I can even put the phone down, it vibrates.

  Deal.

  “I wonder where he’s going to take you!” Becky squeals, as my phone vibrates again.

  Fair’s fair - I showed you mine…

  “Oh god, Lisa!” Ashley squeals in my ear. She snuck a peek over my shoulder. “Are you going to? Are you?”

  “What?” Becca asks, crowding in on the other side of me. She lifts her gaze and all three of us stare at each other in the mirror over the bathroom counter. There’s nothing but the sound of my heartbeat.

  “Are you?” Becca asks breathlessly.

  “Do it, do it, do it!” Ashley chants, and Becca joins in. I start laughing. I cannot believe them!

  I cannot believe I’m considering this!

  With a big inhalation for courage, I slip into my bedroom, lay down on the bed, pull my panties to the side, and click!

  Like a selfie, except, you know, not my face.

  After a couple more tries to get it just right, I send it off, hardly breathing when I do. This isn’t me. I don’t do shit like this! But there’s something about Diesel that makes me want to...

  Nice. The text message is almost instantaneous. Now I’ll have something to stare at tonight when I go to sleep.

  You better take me somewhere amazing, and dangerous, for our date.

  You’ll just have to wait and see.

  He’s killing me, absolutely killing me.

  72

  Lisa

  The driver of the Rolls Royce pulls up to a smooth stop. “We’re here, ma’am,” he says in a thick French accent and I have to wonder if Diesel actually hired this guy from France just to drive his car or if he’s just pretending to be French. It isn’t like I’d be able to tell the difference.

  I slide out of the backseat with the help of the driver and look up at the...

  “Is he fucking kidding me?” I say out loud.

  “Excuse me?” the driver says, closing the door behind me.

  “Nothing,” I mutter.

  With a nod, he walks around to the driver’s side and drives away, leaving me in front of…the Clover Club.

  Before you say, “But Lisa, the Clover Club is this amazing place with live jazz music and these cocktails to die for,” yeah, I know. I’ve been here before. The boring suits like to take their dates to places like this.

  This does not qualify as a dangerous place. I stalk up to the front door, letting the doorman open the door for me before I sweep inside. This really is ridic. The dark woods and exposed brick lend a sophisticated air to the place, as does the tie on the maître d’.

  If this is living dangerously...

  Just as the maître d’ opens his mouth to ask me if I have reservations, Diesel slides his arm around me. “George, she’s mine,” he tells the man, and leads me back to a private table in the back. Sure enough, a man playing the alto sax is serenading the restaurant, and I stare at Diesel.

  “You think this is some place dangerous?” I ask him. “This is the Clover Club!”

  “I noticed,” he said with a chuckle. “Let’s order, shall we?”

  The waiter, in a black suit and tie, came up to the table, and I let Diesel order for me, since he seemed to know the menu here from memory. After the waiter disappears to retrieve a bottle of red wine, I just stare at Diesel, eyebrow cocked, total imitation of Ashley. Hey, it works on me; it can work on him!

  “Brooklyn is dangerous,” Diesel says. “Did you know that there is this really long history of killings that have happened in Park Slope?”

  The waiter smoothly slides our wine glasses between us and then disappears again.

  “Down by the Atlantic Pacific Avenue,” he insists, when I continue to just stare at him disbelievingly. “They’ve been going on for years. I have to protect you from all of that.” The jazz musician continues to wail on his saxophone and I tilt my head toward him.

  “Going to protect me from the evil musician who might blow his sax a little too loud in my ear?” I ask sarcastically.

  “Deafness isn’t something to joke about,” Diesel said, mock seriously. “I could always save you from him.”

  “By asking him to go into the other room?”

  “Yeah, pretty much.”

  “Don’t bother. I think my eardrums will survive the night. But I appreciate your willingness to battle for me.”

  “Anytime,” he says with a swagger in his voice and I laugh and I know I shouldn’t be encouraging him but I can’t help myself. He really is full of shit, but since he’s the sexiest man I’ve ever laid eyes on, I forgive him for it.

  After eating a sumptuous four-course meal that includes escargot—because that’s something only outlaws eat—we finally head outside, the maître d’ bowing as we leave. “Put it on my tab, will you?” Diesel asks as we pass by. He nods his head in acknowledgment, and then we’re outside, the evening air rushing over us.

  “Well, it’s really too bad you didn’t come here on a motorcycle,” I tell him with a teasing grin. “I would’ve gone home with you and fucked if only you’d lived up to your bad boy promises. I already told you, outlaws don’t ride in Rolls—”

  A Harley pulls up to the curb, the engine idling loudly and the
n the valet cuts the engine and puts down the kickstand. The sudden silence is almost as deafening as the engine had been. He hands the keys to Diesel.

  “Here you go, sir,” he says, a little wide-eyed with excitement, but trying to pretend that he rides Harleys every day. He isn’t fooling me. He pulls down on his jacket as he heads back inside, smoothing back his hair casually.

  Diesel smiles a naughty grin at me. “You were saying?” he asks, swinging his leg over the seat.

  I stare at him for a moment. Oh god, I really talked myself into that corner, didn’t I?

  With a groan that is part panic, part pure excitement, I swing my leg over behind him, hitching up my skirt so I can straddle his body with mine. My crotch is pushed up against his hips and the vibrations of the motorcycle; I might just orgasm from this ride alone.

  Ducking my head and snuggling my face against his back, I close my eyes as we take off into the evening air.

  Maybe Diesel is an outlaw after all. Or, at the very least, owns a cool bike.

  73

  Lisa

  “You really have to be kidding me. Is this your outlaw pad?” I ask him, rolling my eyes. He’s standing by the doorway, his lips cocked into a smile as he bows.

  “My humble apartment,” he says with flair, allowing me to enter his apartment before he does. Like a true outlaw. Yeah, right.

  His pad is everything but humble; let’s just start by saying that no self-respecting outlaw would own an apartment in the Upper East Side. And when he flicks the light switch by the door, turning on the lights, I can’t help but gasp: he’s definitely pulling some kind of prank on me.

  The living room is like something out of a magazine, the furniture perfectly laid out as if he spent weeks getting the right angle just for the couch. The walls are a clear white, contrasting with the dark high-end furniture, and the room is so large it almost becomes uncomfortable. I look around, trying to find something personal—a family picture, or maybe one of him and some ex-girlfriend—but all my eyes find on the walls are paintings. The canvases are huge, and the artwork seems so abstract I don’t even know what I’m looking at.

  “I didn’t know outlaws hired interior designers,” I tease him, turning around to face him.

  “Maybe it was a criminal interior designer,” he shoots back, placing his keys and wallet on the mantelpiece. Even the fireplace seems like it was made to order.

  “Yeah, of course it was --” I start to say, but he just closes the distance between us and places his hands on my waist. His mouth is so close to mine that my eyes are drawn to his lips.

  “I remember something you said… What was it?” He runs his tongue between his lips, trying to look as if he’s lost in thought, and then continues. “Oh, yeah. Something about a motorcycle and fucking.”

  Blood runs through my cheeks, and I know I must look like a cherry tomato right now. But my face isn’t the only place where boiling blood is running to; my insides are warming up, and my pussy becomes even wetter than it was on the ride here. It’s going to happen, isn’t it? We’re really going to fuck.

  Sure, he might not be a real bad boy, an outlaw, but there’s something about him… There’s an edge to his eyes, and his grin sometimes looks dangerous as well. And, well, he does have a bike. No, I’m not futile enough to fuck a guy just because he has a bike, but I gotta tell you… Riding his bike, my crotch against his hips as he swerved in and out of traffic, it was something surreal. My arms were lacing his torso the whole time, feeling his strong frame, and I couldn’t help but imagine how he looks under his shirt. I guess it’s time to find out.

  “Well, I don’t break promises,” I purr, my eyes still locked on his lips. He’s smiling now and, God, I’ve never seen lips as delicious as his. His mouth was designed for kissing and perhaps for something more. Just thinking of that is enough to send a shiver up my spine, and I bite on my lower lip as I imagine all the things he might do with his mouth…

  “No need to play it cool, Lisa,” he says, his words just a whisper. “I know you’re dying for it.”

  “I’m… I’m not…” Shit, I can barely think straight right now. Work, brain, work!

  “Well, I guess I should just take you home, then,” he teases me, and that’s when my brain decides to start working. Except, instead of leading me down a straight and narrow path, it makes me jump down a sinful cliff. Without bothering to answer him, I just close the distance between our mouths and press my lips against his.

  My eyelids go down by instinct, the taste of his lips making me dizzy. His hands go down from my waist to my ass and, squeezing my cheeks with his long fingers, he pulls me into him. I tremble with anticipation as I feel something hard and impossibly huge pushing against my dress, and I just press my body against his.

  He pushes his tongue inside my mouth, parting my lips, and our kiss grows into something violent and fierce. He might not be an outlaw, but he sure as hell knows how to kiss a girl.

  Using his body, he pushes me until my back is against the wall, and then takes one hand to my neck and tangles his fingers in my hair. Yanking, he forces me to throw my head back and looks into my eyes. There are flames dancing in his irises, and I feel a sudden urge to be consumed by that violent fire.

  I take my hand to his crotch, my outstretched fingers ready to grab his cock, but he’s faster than me: he grabs me by the wrist, stopping me just before I press the palm of my hands against his erection.

  “Say it,” he whispers, mischievousness painting his face. At first, I’m confused; what does he want me to say? But the answer comes to me fast.

  “I… I want it,” I exhale sharply, straining against the hold he has on me.

  “What do you want?” he continues, tightening his fingers on my wrist.

  “Your cock, I want your cock,” I say, and he lets go of me immediately. My hand flies onto his crotch as fast as I can, and my brain almost explodes as I feel his hard-on against my fingers. It doesn’t feel like there’s a cock inside his pants, but a baseball bat made of steel. Handsome, cocky, and with a huge cock—where have you been all these lonely nights, Diesel?

  “You seem surprised,” he says, that devilish grin of his widening.

  “You’re… huge.”

  “Like I said, you seem surprised,” he repeats, yanking on my hair again and crushing his mouth against mine. I curl my fingers around his thick shaft then, and start moving my hand up and down, stroking him over the fabric of his pants. God, I need to see his cock… I need to feel it.

  Before I even know what I’m doing, I place both of my hands on chest and give him a slight push. He takes one step back, his lips leaving mine, and I use the opportunity to go down on my knees. Once I’m on the floor, I look up at him, my hand still on his crotch, and I realize that I’ve never wanted to taste a man’s cock as much as I do now.

  With my heart feeling as tight as a coiled spring, I reach for his belt and unbuckle it, my eyes locked on Diesel’s. He just looks at me as I take the belt out from its loops, and then reach for his fly. I unzip it, grab his pants and pull them down to his knees. His cock is straining against the fabric of his boxer briefs, a thick hard rod of power and lust. I flatten my hand against it, chomping on my lip as I feel the warm proximity of his cock.

  “Go on,” he whispers, and my hands move as if they have a mind of their own. Placing both hands on his outer thighs, I push his boxer briefs down, and his monstrous cock jumps free, pre-cum glistening on its tip.

  Reaching for it, I curl my fingers around it, my brain stretched thin while I try to comprehend how a cock can be this big. I can barely grab it with just one hand, and it’s so big that I’m not sure if I’ll be able to fit all of his inches inside my mouth, let alone my pussy.

  Grinning, Diesel kicks off his shoes and steps out of his pants and boxers. I look up at him, anticipation making my brain work overtime; I barely blink as I watch him unbutton his shirt with curt and steady movements, his fingers moving deftly. Pushing it down his arms, he
then stands naked and gorgeous, like a perfect gift destiny has thrown in my lap.

  I lean forward, laying my lips on his tip, sucking and allowing his saltiness to hit all of my senses. Curling my fingers around his cock, I part my lips and allow his cock to rest on top of my tongue, carefully feeling his eagerness inside of my mouth. He tastes like a man should, the sweet flavor of testosterone flooding me. I ease his shaft inside my mouth, slowly bobbing my head back and forth as I stroke him at the same time.

  He rests his hands on top of my head, guiding my head up and down, his fingers gently running through my hair.

  “Fuck, that’s good,” he breathes out, closing his eyes and throwing his head back.

  My hands grab at his firm ass, pulling him in and forcing his cock down my mouth. I lap with my tongue at his shaft, sucking eagerly and relishing every single second as I stroke him hard, using both my hands and flicking my wrists up and down in a flowing motion.

  His cock twitches inside my mouth and, for a second, I think that he’s about to cum. But he gently places his fingers on my jawline and pushes me back, his cock popping out of my mouth. He offers me one hand and I take it, allowing him to help me up to my feet.

  He takes me in his arms once more, pressing his mouth against mine, his hands grabbing at my ass hungrily. I want him to explore my body, to take all the pleasure that he can… I reach for his wrist and guide one hand toward my breasts. He obliges, squeezing the soft mound underneath my blouse and making me moan lightly, the sound of my voice just a whisper.

  He stops for a second, pulling back and looking into my eyes.

  “I’ll make you mine,” he whispers, and a shiver goes up my spine as I hear his words.

  “How?” I ask.

  He simply grins at me, that deviousness on his face. “You know how, Lisa…” he says, and it’s true: I really know what he means. His answer couldn’t be a more self-evident one.