Page 44 of Diesel's Perseverance
“Myla.” Concern underpinned his hoarse timbre.
She raised her head, and their eyes collided. Diesel held her gaze, and the corners of his lips slowly turned up. Everything stopped for a split second, and his smile pierced through all the bad memories of Freddy.
“Thank you,” she breathed.
He shook his head at her as if she’d said something wrong. “Fuck, woman,” he whispered. And then he cupped her chin and kissed her.
Shivers skated across Myla’s skin, and she twined her arms around his neck and kissed him back. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer. Diesel teased her lips apart with his tongue, and she melted into his chest. His lips were firm and demanding, sending needles of pleasure to every nerve in her body. He then pressed against her, and she felt the thickness of his erection straining behind his jeans. When Myla palmed her hand against his hardness, he groaned deep in his throat, then slid his hands down her back to the curve of her ass. He gripped a cheek with one hand, grinding himself into her as he squeezed it hard, his ragged breath shuddering into her ear.
“Diesel, let’s go to the room,” she whispered.
It was as if she’d thrown a bucket of cold water on him. He mumbled something incoherent, patted her behind, and stepped away. At first, confusion washed over Myla, then anger sparked through her.
“What the hell?”
“I got out of line big time.”
She scowled. “Was I complaining?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Did you break up with Freddy before he took off?”
“Why are you asking me that now?”
“Just want to know if you two are still together.”
“It’s convoluted, okay?”
Diesel shoved his hands in his jeans pockets and rocked back on his heels. “Okay. I want a drink. What about you?”
“I guess.”
The sound of his boots hitting the ground seemed loud in the silence. When they reached the front door, he pulled it open, and loud laughter, music, and conversation assaulted her ears. He put his hand on the small of Myla’s back and guided her to the bar.
The prospect placed a shot of Jack and a beer bottle on the counter in front of them.
“What do you want?” Diesel asked.
“A beer is good.”
“Take mine,” he said, sliding the bottle to her.
“Thanks.” Before she brought the beer to her lips, another one appeared in front of Diesel. She wondered how the prospects could remember all the members’ drinks.
“Let’s bring them upstairs,” he said.
When they entered his room, Diesel went over to the window and opened it wide. A cool breeze stirred the blinds’ cords, its plastic knobs batting against the walls.
“I’m gonna jump in the shower.” He downed his beer, then put the empty bottle on the dresser.
Myla perched on the edge of the bed, legs crossed, and a finger tracing the foil still wrapped around the bottle’s neck.
Without looking at him, she said, “You know, don’t you?”
A few moments passed before he replied, “Yeah.”
