by Mona Cox
“Diesel… I want you. I want you now,” I beg of him, not feeling capable of resisting one more minute without having him inside of me. He simply grins at me and, taking his hands out of my pussy, grabs at my ass and, pointing his cock at me, eases his member against my drenched folds and pierces me in one single and swift motion.
I moan hard, pleasure exploding underneath my skin and driving me to the brink of insanity. I take my hands to his ass and, lacing my legs around his back, force myself to roll to the side. His eyes widen in surprise, but he then grins as he sees me on top of him.
I’m a big girl, and I can do more than just lie back.
"Feels good, doesn’t it?" I whisper, repeating his words from before with a grin as I start to sway my hips against him, my breasts bouncing as I jump up and down on his hard cock.
Not being one to simply lie back, Diesel starts to thrust his hips at me, his cock going in and out of my pussy quickly, battering me so fast I can’t help but moan endlessly.
I’m riding him hard, but he’s fucking me even harder. I tighten my pussy around his cock as I keep jumping on him, my ass slapping hard against his thighs, the sound of it almost like music to my ears.
I've never been big on cursing, but what we are doing is both lovemaking and fucking. This is it. There’s no way I can escape what’s really happening here, and to be honest, I love it like this. Why do we have to separate love from sex? It doesn’t make any sense, does it?
I start bucking my hips faster at him, a relentless rhythm matched by Diesel as he thrusts at me, each time his cock goes deep inside my pussy a throaty moan escaping my lips.
Even though I’m still wet from the bath, I can already feel sweat trickling down my back, my ass bouncing as I sway my hips back to front. His hands dart to my hips and he starts guiding my movements, holding his cock in place whenever he wants to thrust hard and make me scream.
I lean into him, both my hands on his chest, and let my hair fall to my face, the tip of it brushing over his pectorals and shoulders. I dig my fingernails on his body, knowing that I’m not hurting him; Diesel looks tough, but he’s even tougher than one can even imagine. I would know; he has punished my body quite a few times since we’ve met.
"It’s so good… Being here with you..." I whisper as I feel my whole body about to explode. In a minute every single muscle in me starts to tense up, electricity buzzing under my skin. I let myself go, surrendering to that sweet avalanche of pleasure as I keep bucking my hips against him.
No other man in the world will ever be capable of making me feel like this. This is the epitome of perfection.
I push through, rocking my body against him until I feel him ready.
He closes his eyes and, just like me, his whole body tenses up, his muscles becoming taut and hard. His whole body is about to burst in an explosion of pleasure.
In a heartbeat, his cock starts to spasm inside of me, his warm seed hitting me fully as I clench my pussy around his cock. He’s gushing in a torrent, and I remain still as our orgasm washes over both of our bodies.
We remain like that, me on top of him, until the waves of delight recede and we both finally catch our breath, his cum slowly dripping down my legs and his cock.
I roll to the side, staring at the ceiling of our room, and then I hear Diesel moving. He positions himself between my thighs, his hands on my knees, and he spreads my legs wide. Not wasting a simple second, he dives into me, his open mouth going straight for my pussy.
I arch my back as I feel his lips on my folds, his tongue running up and down the length of my pussy as his semen keeps on dripping out of me. “Oh, God,” I pant, surrendering to how it feels to have him suck on me, taking his own seed into his mouth and licking me dry.
He keeps on doing it until there isn’t a single drop of cum between my thighs. He looks at me then, and I can’t help but grin viciously as I see strands of cum hanging on his lips. Guided by unconscious desire, I sit up on the bed and lean into him, reaching for his chin with the tip of my tongue. Trembling slightly, I take the cum he has on his skin inside my mouth, and that’s when he grabs me by the hair and crushes his mouth against mine.
We kiss as if we are mad, adrift in a sea of insanity. Our tongues are dancing around one another, his cum their dresses, and our lips feel slippery from all the cum. This is madness, I know it … But it’s the sweetest kind of madness I've ever known. Forget about sex; this goes beyond that. It’s not lust or passion, either; this is pure existence without shackles, living in the now and sailing through an ocean of unconscious desire.
“God… This was…” I pant, looking into his eyes as I try to catch my breath. He grins at me, his lips glistening from the cum there, and then he places one hand on my cheek and lays a gentle kiss on my mouth.
“I know,” he says. “It was amazing.” Then, there’s a flicker of lust in his eyes and he continues: “And do you know what’s the best part?”
“What?” I ask him, throwing myself back on the mattress and just staring at the ceiling as my heart drums loudly.
“The hotel is paid for… I figure we have the whole day just for ourselves.”
I don’t even need to look at him to know what he means by that. The whole day just for ourselves…
Has anyone ever said something more deliciously wicked than that?
14
Lisa
I wake up with a grin plastered on my face. God, I feel amazing. Between the whiskey, the hot bath, and the deep fucking, it was just what the doctor ordered.
I roll over and face Diesel, who’s awake and staring back at me. I smile in surprise and his face lights up. “Just wondering how long I can creepily stare at you before you wake up,” he admits cheerfully.
I laugh.
“Listen, I just want to say,” I take a deep breath for courage, “that…I really like you. And I’m not just saying that because you got me drunk off my ass. I like you more than I ever expected to like a guy, and…well, I just wanted to let you know that I’m done kidding around about you needing to be an outlaw before I’ll want to fuck you. You can get tats and have the valet bring your bike around all you want, but you can drop the story about the Black Fist MC. I really don’t need that, I promise.”
“Drop it…? Lisa, I’m telling the truth. There’s nothing to drop.”
I sit up in bed, pushing the covers off me. “C’mon,” I say, my voice tinged with irritation. “You know and I know that there is no MC gang called the Black Fist.”
“No, I don’t know that.” His voice matches mine. He’s getting irritated too. Good. If he’s going to piss me off, then I’m going to piss him off.
“This really isn’t funny anymore,” I say, climbing out of bed. I spot new clothes laid out for me over the back of the damask-covered couch, and eagerly begin pulling them on. Now this is a nice surprise to wake up to. The lacy Victoria's Secret bra fits perfectly, and I have to wonder if Diesel has been sneaking a peak at my underwear to get this right.
“Yeah, I know. It’s not funny. Lisa, look at me.”
He stops talking, forcing me to look at him to get him to continue.
“It’s never been a joke. I really was in the Black Fist for a long time; I really was the president. I’m not anymore. But they’re still my friends. I didn’t just borrow that Harley from a friend or something; that’s my Harley.”
I pull on my stilettos and grab my Coach purse.
“Diesel, I get it in the beginning. It was a joke. It was a joke that’s gone too fucking far. If you can’t be honest because you think I need this lie to—” I stop myself from saying love, “fuck you, then you really do have a pretty damn low opinion of me. For the longest time, I did think I wanted an outlaw. I did think I wanted a man’s man. But you…you’re what I want. The real you. The honest version of you. And if you can’t do that, then there’s really not much else we have to talk about.”
I storm out of the hotel room, slamming the door behind me as hard as I can, which,
for fuck’s sakes, isn’t hard at all because they have some whisper quiet door closing system on their doors that keep me from slamming them.
And that just makes me cry as I walk down the hallway and ride down the elevator. Well, that and the guy I’ve fallen in love with is a serial liar.
So, you know, two things.
15
Lisa
I stare into my gin and tonic, swirling it around and around in my glass, which is eerily reminiscent of the scene a week ago, right before Diesel saved my life on the subway platform. Except this time, instead of listening to Ashley and Christine blather on about how amazing the men in their lives are, I am listening to Becca complain about work. Again. She works at the New York Daily Journal and her boss is a real bastard.
Becca has no reluctance about telling the world that fact.
And especially telling me that fact.
“Lisa!”
Becca’s voice finally cuts through my thoughts and I realize, in a distant part of my brain, that she’d been saying my name for quite some time now. Whoops.
Way to pretend that you’re really listening, Lisa.
I look up and give Becca a weak smile. “Sorry, lost in my own thoughts. What were you saying?”
“What gives? I've never seen you like this before. Ev. Er. I’ve seen those dogs with the flappy ears that drag on the ground—”
“Hound dogs?”
“Yeah, hound dogs that look happier than you do right now.”
Ouch.
But, probably true.
Dammit, I really am in sorry shape.
“Diesel,” I sigh. “I mean, Carlton. No one names their child Diesel, except for Kindle authors, apparently.”
She’s just staring at me, so I plunge on.
“Anyway, the problem is, I’m in love with a liar. A man who literally cannot tell the difference between a lie and the truth. It was funny when he called himself an outlaw when we first met. I mean, that’s just a pick-up line, right? And then, after that, he pretends to be one because he knows I’m attracted to that and he wants to please me.
“But what I really want is to date someone who isn’t insane.”
“You’re in love with him?” Becca breathes excitedly.
My hand fina-fuckingly stops twirling my glass in my hand and I set it down with a thump.
Oh.
My.
God.
“I am,” I say, staring back at her, happiness welling in my chest. “Becca, I really, really am. I love him!” My excitement pops like a soap bubble and I wail, “I’m in love with a compulsive liar!”
Becca scoots her chair around the table so she can put her arm around me and pat me on the back comfortingly as I cry into my gin and tonic.
I never was a pretty drunk.
“Well, if the Kindle authors are to be believed,” she says authoritatively, “these kinds of shenanigans are usually wrapped up in about three weeks or so. So, you only have to make it through the next three weeks as a single woman, and then Diesel—Carlton—will pull his head out of his ass, start telling the truth, and declare his love for you.”
“You think so?” I sniff.
Indelicately.
Have I mentioned that I’m a sorry-ass drunk?
“When have Kindle authors ever let us down?” Becca asks brightly.
“Well, they say that people regularly name their children Diesel,” I remind her.
“Maybe they do and we just haven’t met them yet.”
Huh. Good point. It’s not like I’ve met all of humanity or something.
I toss back the rest of my gin and tonic because if I make a sorry drunk, well, I might as well be really good at being a sorry drunk. Goals and all that.
“The next three weeks better pass by real quick.” I signal the waiter for another drink.
I’m going to get really, really good at being a sorry drunk.
16
Diesel
The past three weeks have been … fucking awful.
Mostly because I haven’t been fucking Lisa.
I stare into my now-warm beer on the bar top in front of me, like it’s going to give me useful answers or something. Instead, the head on the beer just slowly dissipates until there’s nothing but golden brown staring back up at me.
Crankshaft, the Black Fist president, comes up and smacks me on the shoulder. “Damn, Diesel, I ain’t seen you like this before. What gives? Did some chick get all up in your head or something?”
Yeah. Or something. My head, my heart, my dick…all the important parts of the body, anyway. I wouldn’t be surprised to find Lisa wrapped up in my appendix.
“Just a lot on my mind,” I say, because what kind of an outlaw tells another outlaw that he’s mooning over a girl? They’d probably take my patch away for that. I may not be an active member of the Black Fist anymore, but they still let me come to the clubhouse, and in times of trouble, they still have my back. I can’t start acting like a pussy in front of them now.
“Well, if it is a girl, you gotta be willing to go after her.”
I look at him, shocked to hear him say that. Crankshaft just shrugs a little.
“If she’s worth it, she’s worth it. Don’t let nothin' stand in your way.”
He walks away, leaving the words reverberating in my brain.
If she’s worth it…
Is she worth it?
I think back over the past three weeks and how goddamn miserable I’ve been.
All because I've missed her. I wanted to wake up next to her in the morning. I wanted to fuck her all night. I wanted to spar with her verbally and see if I could come out on top. I wanted to bathe her in bubbles and champagne.
I wanted to be with her.
I want to be with her.
What the fuck am I doing, just sitting around, feeling sorry for myself? God, I’m a pansy. I should turn in my patch right now, just because I’ve been a pansy.
But, I’m not going to. I have more money than God. It’s about time I start using it to get what I want.
17
Lisa
I smile politely as I chat with Kim and Cody at their garden party in the Hamptons. My heels are sinking into the ground (whoever thought that wearing stilettos to a garden party was a good idea should be shot on sight) and my face is so tired from smiling politely, I feel like I should take a week-long nap just to recover from it.
Like a marathon, but for cheek muscles.
Kim and Cody are all over each other, cooing and kissing and my upchuck reflex is on high alert. I mean, if I were the one doing all of the cooing and kissing, that’d be one thing, but…well, I’m not.
And despite Becca’s assurances to the contrary, Diesel hasn’t come to declare his love to me. She had seemed so sure that Diesel was going to come waltzing in at any moment and say, “Psych! Just kidding. I really do love you and I’m really not in an MC and I’m really not a serial liar!”
Except…he hasn’t shown up at all and its been three weeks as of yesterday.
Can I just say—Kindle authors are really starting to get on my nerves, what with their happily ever afters and dangerous bad boys and none of them are pathological liars.
Why is my bad boy turning out to be one?
Oh yeah, my face muscles are going to freeze in this position; I can feel the paralysis creeping over me.
“Hey baby, what’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?”
My momma always told me that if I rolled my eyes too often, they’d get stuck in that position, which means at this very moment, I am in imminent danger of having my cheek muscles and my eyes stuck in unflattering positions.
I turn on my heel, digging myself deeper into the lawn, and come face to face with Fabio. Okay, maybe not the Fabio ‘cause he’s an old dude, but this guy has it going on—long, flowing hair, a chiseled jaw that looks like it could potentially jackhammer its way through concrete, and muscles everywhere. Hell, this guy’s dick could probably out bench press me.
But instead of suitably drooling and cooing and laughing at his (awful) pick-up line, I’m just left cold. Like someone put me into an ice chest. Or, Wisconsin in January.
“Hi,” I say automatically, putting my hand out to shake his. He grabs it and yanks me toward him, throwing me off-balance and crashing into his rock-hard chest.
And rock-hard dick.
My eyes immediately shoot up to his and he just grins at me, obviously expecting me to take his hard-on as a compliment.
“Does a pretty lady like you want to—”
“Nope!” I say loudly, yanking back from his arms and righting myself on my heels again.
Who thought that stilettos were a good idea at a garden party again?
“But I haven’t even asked—”
“And I’m already saying no,” I cut him off. “Doesn’t that tell you something?”
His face went from leering to angry in a flash. “Goddamn bitches, wearing skirts like that and then acting like they’re too good to throw back a drink with—”
Which statement is also cut off, but this time by the rumbling of motorcycles. A lot of motorcycles.
Now, as previously mentioned, I’m at Kim and Cody’s house. In the Hamptons. To say that there aren’t a lot of motorcycles that roam the streets here is…well, like saying that Coach handbags are worth dying for. You don’t get much more “duh” than that.
Kim and I just stare at each other for the longest moment of my life and then I’m ripping my heels off my feet so I can run, goddamn run across the backyard and up the side yard and into the front yard—OMG, Kim, buy a smaller house next time for God’s sakes—and there, oh god, there is Diesel.
Except, for the first time since I’ve met him, he actually looks like a fucking outlaw. Blue bandana and black leather vest and leather chaps; holy fucking god above, is he hot, and he’s swinging off his Harley and coming straight for me, swinging me up into his arms and kissing me, endlessly kissing me and I can’t breathe and I don’t care because Diesel is there, he’s fucking there.
