Page 20 of Desired By Diesel
"I need—" I pull back, looking up at him. "I need to feel something else. Something that isn't this."
He searches my face. "You sure?"
"Please."
He kisses me. Soft at first, careful, like I might break. But I don't want careful right now. I want to feel alive. I want to feel his.
I deepen the kiss, fisting my hands in his shirt, pressing my body against him. He groans and lifts me, my legs wrapping around his waist, and carries me to the bedroom.
He lays me on the bed and pulls back to look at me. "Tell me what you need."
"You. Just you."
He undresses me slowly, but it's not teasing this time. It's reverent. He peels off my shirt and presses a kiss to my collarbone. Slides my jeans down my legs and kisses the inside of my knee. Unhooks my bra and cups my breasts in his hands, thumbs brushing my nipples until I arch into his touch.
"You're shaking," he says.
"I can't stop."
"Then don't." He strips off his own clothes and settles over me, bracing his weight on his forearms. "Just feel this. Feel me."
He reaches between us, his fingers finding me wet despite everything. He strokes me slowly, circling my clit, watching my face.
"That's it," he murmurs. "Stay with me."
"I need you inside me."
He doesn't make me wait. He positions himself at my entrance and pushes in slowly, inch by inch, his eyes locked on mine the whole time. The stretch is overwhelming — he's big, and my body is still wound tight with leftover adrenaline — but it's exactly what I need. Something real. Something solid.
"Okay?" he asks when he's fully seated.
"Don't stop."
He moves. Slow at first, long deep strokes that I feel in my bones. His eyes stay locked on mine, and I can hear his breath, feel the tension in his body as he holds himself back.
"You don't have to be gentle," I tell him.
"Yeah, I do." He kisses me, soft and sweet. "Tonight I do."
He keeps the pace slow, but there's nothing passive about it. Every thrust is deliberate, hitting a spot inside me that makes me gasp. His hand slides between us, his thumb finding my clit, circling it in time with his movements.
"Diesel—"
"I know." He's watching me, drinking in every reaction. "I can feel you getting close. Let it happen."
The tension builds like a wave, slow and inevitable. I'm crying again — I don't know when I started — but he doesn't stop. Just keeps moving, keeps touching, keeps holding me together.
"Look at me," he says.
I open my eyes. He's right there, so close I can see everything — the focus in his expression, the way he's holding himself back for me.
"You're safe," he tells me. "Right here. With me. You're safe."
I shatter.
The orgasm rolls through me in waves, pulling a sob from my throat along with the pleasure. He groans and buries himself deep, and I feel him pulse inside me as he follows me over.
We lie tangled together afterward, breathing hard. I can't stop the tears. They're not sad — just too much feeling to contain.
