Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 64662 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 323(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64662 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 323(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
He punishes me with another delicious slap on the ass, grunting when I pulse harder around him. “This one’s mine, remember?”
My head falls forward at his words. “You’re going to torture me, aren’t you?”
“Only a little,” he says through clenched teeth as his hips pick up speed and intensity. “But you’ll love every agonizing second.”
It’s a promise he fulfills for the next few hours, fucking me from behind, laying me face down while he slowly fucks me and massages my tits.
Diesel turns me over, showing me that the right guy with the perfect cock can make even missionary erotic as hell. But when he lifts me off the bed, impaling me on the biggest cock I’ve ever seen, I come so hard that I see stars. Hell, not just stars, the stars, the moon, maybe even a few planets lurking and watching.
I keep coming harder and more intense. Every flutter around his cock triggers more sensitive nerve endings until he finally explodes. He holds me tight enough that I can feel the flow of come into the condom, and it’s so intimate after those amazing orgasms that I feel a little strange, and I can’t exactly understand why.
Thankfully, orgasm number three doesn’t leave me with a lot of bandwidth to think about it before we both pass out on the bed.
I enjoy the feel of his arm around my back, the soothing pulse of his heart right beneath my ear, the steady rise and fall of his abs under my hand as we drift off to sleep, only to wake a few hours later and do it all over again.
I don’t want to leave, but when the sun rays start to streak the sky, I know I can’t wait any longer. I need to get to Morgan International to get that trailer hitched so I can hit the road.
I dress quietly and quickly but pause at the door, deciding to leave a note on the empty bag of barbecue that includes my phone number before I slip out.
I need to get away from these feelings as far and as fast as I can.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Diesel
I wake up alone in Cassidy’s motel room with a note—and her number—scribbled on a restaurant bag. I know she had to go, but dammit, I had plans for us this morning.
I take a quick shower, hoping to get to Morgan before she leaves. She said she had a load for Bakersfield from Aria, so I might be able to catch her.
I hop on my bike and fly over to the warehouse. When I get there, her truck is nowhere to be found. “Shit!” I say as I drop my backpack on the table inside the shop. There’s an old tractor/trailer in the bay I still need to figure out, so I send a quick text to Cassidy. I tell her to have a safe trip, and I put my gearhead on and get to work.
After about an hour of breaking my brain on the truck, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out and see a text from Cassidy.
Sorry, I had to bolt. No rest for the wicked.
Her words put a smile on my face, and I look up, glancing around to make sure I’m alone.
I type in a reply: You are one of the wickedest.
Is that a compliment?
Always. Where are you?
Her next message is a photo of her smiling inside her truck with aviator sunglasses on that make her look like an even bigger badass. Just finished fueling up and ready to hit the road.
You coming back? Do I sound like a thirsty-ass boy who can’t wait to see his girlfriend again? Maybe, but I don’t give a damn.
She sends a bunch of laughing emojis at first. I could be persuaded to for such a pretty face.
Fuck, this woman. Has any other woman I’ve been inside ever made me smile so much? Probably not. On top of that, my skin feels warm, and I can’t stop smiling like an idiot.
In that case, just call me pretty.
Oh, I do. She messages back with more laughing faces.
Be safe out there, and I’ll catch you on the flip side.
Talk soon. Send pics when you make progress on Shelby.
“What the fuck are you smiling about?” My brother’s voice pulls me from thoughts of Cassidy and my phone.
“I’m not smiling,” I insist, keeping my gaze on the truck rather than what I know is Lucky’s scowling face.
“Yeah, you are. Why?” He does that big brother scowl shit that used to make me spill about all the bad shit I got up to back in the day with my so-called friends.
“What? A man can’t smile? You smile all the fucking time, and I don’t give you shit about it.”
His frown morphs into a smile. “Yeah, well, I got a reason to smile. Do you?”