Page 49

Several Months later

Sun through the kitchen window warms my cheeks, and I pause for a moment — turning off the tap and taking up my cup of coffee — and look out at the backyard of the house. The faded brown of the grass is gradually greening as spring arrives, and even now I see the small tufts of bulbs and flowers poking up through the dirt; it won’t be long until our home is surrounded by flowers, by life, by whatever fruits and vegetables I can get to survive in the small plot of land I set aside as a garden after that one day I spent watching too many programs on HGTV and got it into my head to take up gardening. I doubt much will survive. My hands don’t just have scars on them — reminders of the car crash that ended Jake’s life and the cost of my freedom — but I have to black thumbs, too. But even if I only grow weeds, I like the idea of doing something more to make this house that Diesel and I are renting into a home.

A home.

I smile, drain my coffee cup, then refill it.

A real, damn, truly-my-own home.

Well, our home actually belongs to our landlord, but it’s close enough. And our landlord would never mess with someone associated with the MC, especially an MC that has a ferocious lawyer as the president’s ol’ lady, so this place is as good as ours for as long as we want it.

And I want to live here for a long time.

“What’s got you so wrapped up this morning?” Diesel says, as he does that very thing with his arms and hugs me from behind.

“You.”

“And?”

I smile again, lean back into him, feel the warmth and solidity and pure strength of him — his chest, his powerful arms, his scent — and release a small moan. “Just you.”

“I’m not out in that patch of ground you’re staring at. Though I could be, especially if it meant you’d look at me the same where you’re looking at where you want to grow those tomatoes you were talking about you.”

“I think I look at you with a little more love than I look at the dirt. Even if that dirt will someday support tomatoes.”

“Only a little more love?”

“Have you ever had a rich, ripe, home-grown tomato fresh from the vine?”

“No, and now I’m thinking I should.”

“You should. Then you’d understand.”

Diesel chuckles, then gives me another squeeze. "Speaking of today, you ready for the barbecue? It'll be good to have everyone over to celebrate Goldie finally getting out of the hospital."

His words, warm and loving and everything I want, wash over me and I smile, my heart full at how normal and happy our life has become, such a contrast to the violent chaos we once faced. In this moment, everything else in the world, the looming threats, the fact that I haven’t found a job and don’t know whether I should be disturbed at my lack of initiative or proud of my dedication to self-care and the community that I’m cultivating here in Ironwood Falls, it all fades away into the background; at this moment, it’s just me and him.

"I am,” I say. “Even though it means I don't have any more time to stand around telling you about how you need to eat more fruits and vegetables. I've got work to do, including a run to the grocery store for some last-minute stuff for the barbecue." I pause, my mind drifting back to my lack of a job. It’s felt necessary to have this time to myself, to be selfish in the best way, but maybe it’s time… “And I think I’m going to go by city hall, too.”

"Always looking out for my health," he says. “What’s at city hall?”

"Someone has to look out for your health, since you seem to have a nasty habit of getting shot at." I turn in his arms to face him. "And I thought I’d go by city hall and ask about that program that they’re starting up. The one that Valeria was talking about.”

“Program?”

“Community outreach for at-risk people.”

“Oh fuck, you’d be perfect for that. Go for it.”

I grin and kiss him. “Hey, what does Goldie like to eat? Anything specific I should get?"

Diesel frowns. "Anything that seems grossly healthy, like that nasty fermented tea shit... what's it called, kombucha? Yeah, that. Or stuff with soy or weird seeds in it."

"Kombucha and hippie health food. Got it. I'm sure I can find something along those lines at the store."

"Better you than me." He grins and plants a quick kiss on my lips. "I'll get started cleaning up the backyard and patio. Holler if you need help hauling groceries in when you're back."

"Will do." I give him a playful slap on the ass as he turns to head to the backyard.

The look he gives me over his shoulder — part smirk, part wink, all Diesel — is enough to make me leave my place by the kitchen counter and follow him out into the backyard. Now, it’s my turn to wrap him up from behind.

“What’s this? I thought you had to go buy hippie shit,” he says.

“Later.”

“Later?”

“I have something else to do first.”

He leans down a little, lowers himself just enough so that my lips can find his ear, and I teasingly work his earlobe. He knows what I want, and he wants it, too. “What’s that?”

“You.”

“But what about the barbecue?”

“There’s some other hot meat I want right now.”

“Oh fuck, that was so bad,” he says.

“Then you better give me what I want and shut me up, because there’s more where that came from, and I can promise these puns will be just as saucy as anything you put on that grill.”

“You fucking serious?” He says, but he doesn’t give me time to let loose with a different meat-themed sex pun. Instead, he turns and presses his lips to mine in a kiss that sends my heart racing.

When he breaks, I smile up at him. “Was that to kiss me because you want to fuck me, or because you want to shut me up?”

“Something can be two things at once, you know.”

I kiss him again, run my hands up and down his back, and then squeeze his buns. In his ear, I whisper, “You know, I really relish these moments with you.”

“Was that a—?”

Another kiss. My tongue stops his in his mouth. “It damn well was. Now, shut up and take me to the bedroom.”

Diesel scoops me up in his arms, and I wrap my legs around his waist as he carries me inside. Our lips never part as we stumble through the house, bumping into walls and furniture, a chaotic jumble of limbs. When we finally reach the bedroom, he lays me down on the bed with surprising gentleness. I pull him down on top of me, savoring the weight of his body. His hands roam over me, leaving trails of fire in their wake. I arch into his touch, desperate for more.

"God, I love you," he murmurs against my neck.

"I love you, too," I breathe. "Now stop talking and fuck me already. Unless you’re burning for some more barbecue puns?"

“Fuck no,” he says, chuckling, a low rumble that vibrates through me.

“Then fuck me.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He pulls my shirt over my head, then removes my bra so quickly that he’s either a magician or he broke something, and then his hands caress my body and I know he’s got some magic in his touch; fingers lightly work their way down from my chin to my chest, encircling my breasts and touching my hardened nipples. A kiss follows, first to my lips, then my breasts, and I moan, holding his face to my left breast while he kisses and teases my nipple with his tongue and his hands undo the buttons to my jeans. I lift my hips to help him slide my jeans off, along with my underwear. His lips trail down my stomach, leaving a path of tingling warmth. When he reaches the apex of my thighs, I gasp and thread my fingers through his hair.

"Diesel," I moan as his tongue finds my pussy. He teases me for a moment me with his mouth, with his tongue, building the tension inside me until I'm trembling on the edge, and then his tongue circles and swirls around my clit, his lips holding it in place while his tongue caresses it. Gentle, at first, then with strokes that have my hands knotting the bedsheets and a low, plaintive moan rising in my chest. My hips buck against his face as the pressure builds, a crescendo of pleasure that turns my skin to fire and makes me feel weightless. Diesel's powerful hands grip my thighs, holding me in place as he works his magic with his tongue. I'm lost in the sensation, my world narrowing to the exquisite feeling between my legs.

"Oh god, Diesel," I pant, my voice ragged. "Don't stop, please don't stop."

When he slides two fingers inside me, curling them just right, I come undone.

The orgasm crashes over me in waves, my back arching off the bed as I cry out Diesel's name. He doesn't let up, working me through the aftershocks until I'm a quivering, oversensitive mess. Diesel kisses his way back up my body as I catch my breath. I pull him to me, tasting myself on his lips. My hands roam over his muscled back, then down to grip his ass.

"Your turn," I say, flipping us over so I'm straddling him. I grind against his hard length, still trapped in his jeans. He groans, his hands coming up to cup my breasts.

“Fucking god damn, Samantha,” he moans.

I make quick work of his belt and zipper, freeing his cock. I stroke him a few times, loving how he twitches in my hand. Then I sink down onto him in one smooth motion, both of us moaning at the sensation. I set a slow, torturous pace, savoring every inch of him as I rise and fall. Diesel's hands grip my hips, guiding my movements but letting me control the rhythm. His eyes are dark with desire as he watches me move above him.

"You're so beautiful," he says, voice husky. "I love watching you like this."

I lean down to kiss him, our tongues tangling as I grind against him. The new angle sends sparks of pleasure through me, and I moan into his mouth. Our bodies move together in perfect synchronicity, the tension building with each stroke. I can feel another orgasm approaching, a tingling heat spreading through my core. I arch my back and look down at him, see the adoration and lust burning in his eyes, and I crook my fingers and scratch a slow line down his chest. Deep enough to make him flinch, but not enough to draw blood.

“I’m going to come again,” I say. “But not like this. I want you to fuck my brains out. Give me that mea—”

“Don’t you dare,” he says. Diesel suddenly sits up, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me flush against his chest. The change in position drives him deeper, and I gasp at the sensation. Just as quickly, he turns and throws me onto my back. “Don’t you fucking think about it.”

Now on top, he drives into me with deep strokes that have me seeing stars. I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him even closer. Every thrust makes my body shake like I’m in the middle of a Richter-breaking earthquake.

"Fuck, Samantha," Diesel groans. "You feel so good."

I can only moan in response, lost in the sensations. The tension inside me grows, burns, coiling tighter and tighter in my core until every breath feels so intense I worry that I’m hyperventilating. Diesel must sense how close I am, because he slips a hand between us, his thumb finding my clit. The added stimulation sends me over the edge. I cry out, my body arching off the bed as waves of pleasure crash over me. Diesel's thrusts become erratic as my pussy clenches around him.

"Samantha... I'm gonna..." he grunts.

"Yes," I gasp. "Come for me, baby."

With a final, deep thrust, Diesel stills above me, his face contorted in ecstasy as he finds his release. I hold him close, savoring the feeling of his weight on top of me as we both come down from our high. After a moment, Diesel rolls to the side, pulling me with him so I'm nestled against his chest. We lay there in comfortable silence, our breathing slowly returning to normal.

"Well," I say finally, "I think that was even hotter than the grill we'll be using later."

Diesel groans and rolls off me. "I thought I told you no more barbecue puns."

I grin and prop myself up on one elbow. "What can I say? I'm on a roll."

He throws an arm over his eyes. "You're impossible."

"You love it," I tease, leaning over to plant a kiss on his chest.

"God help me, I think I fucking do," he admits with a chuckle. He pulls me tight to him, and I release a sigh, letting the scent of him fill my nostrils and every bit of tension leave my body as I drift off into sleep.

Suddenly, a heavy banging sound forces my eyes open. I sit up, and Diesel does, too.

“Fuck, how long were we asleep?” He says, reaching for his pants and digging his phone out of the pocket. I don’t need his phone to tell me what time is. That banging sound? It’s someone knocking at our door.

“Long enough that we’re definitely cooked,” I say. I grab my clothes off the floor into a haphazard bundle. “I’m going to go take a shower. No way I can go to the store like this. You keep our guests busy while I get ready.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. But unless you’d rather be the one to be seen in public buying kombucha, you’ll figure it out.”

His silent, gaping, yet somehow still handsome, face is the last thing I see before I shut the bedroom door behind me and make a dash for the shower. As the water washes over me and I hear the sounds of laughter booming through our house as Diesel greets our guests, I grin. I may have to buy kombucha later, but it’ll be worth it. Because out there I hear the one thing that I’ve wanted all my life: people to lift me up when I’m down, to share joy and triumph and barbecued meat with — a family.