Page 6 of Her Dirty Biker (Savage Kings MC #3)

Chapter six

Willow

I’ve never felt anything like this in my life.

My body is buzzing, wrecked, and still trembling from the orgasm Diesel just gave me with his mouth. I’m flushed and soaked and panting, spread out beneath him like I don’t have a single thought in my head except more .

I want more. I want him.

“Can I try something?” I ask, voice still breathless, cheeks hot.

His head lifts, eyes dark with surprise. “What do you mean, baby?”

I swallow and slide my hand down his chest, toward the thick, hard length pressed against my thigh. “I want to taste you. Like you tasted me.”

He lets out a harsh, low sound that makes my core clench again.

“You wanna suck Daddy’s cock?” he rasps, the word Daddy so filthy on his lips it makes me ache.

I nod, already shifting. “Yeah. I want to make you feel as good as you made me feel.”

He blinks once, then rolls onto his back and pats his chest. “C’mere then, little fox. Show me how hungry you really are.”

My knees shake a little as I straddle his chest and work my way down. His cock is huge, thick, and flushed, the tip already glistening. I wrap my fingers around the base and lean in, licking a long, slow stripe up the underside.

His whole body jerks beneath me. “Fuck.”

I like the way he reacts. It makes me bold.

I swirl my tongue around the head, then slide my lips over the tip, letting the weight of him rest on my tongue as I go deeper, inch by inch. It’s a stretch, but I want to take him. I want him to know how much I crave this.

“Oh, fuck yes,” he groans, one hand fisting in my hair, the other bracing against the mattress. “Good girl. That mouth of yours is fucking heaven.”

His praise makes heat rush to my core all over again.

I start to move slowly, hollowing my cheeks, using my hand at the base to work what I can’t fit in my mouth. He’s panting, swearing under his breath, calling me sweet, filthy things that make me squirm.

“Goddamn it, Willow. You’re gonna make me come if you don’t stop.”

He sits up fast, grabbing my hips and dragging me into his lap. “You want me to come? I’ll come inside you. Stretch that sweet virgin pussy and fuck you so full of me, you won’t know where I end and you begin.”

I moan at the words, gripping his shoulders. “Please.”

He shifts us, flipping me beneath him again, body sliding over mine in a slow, delicious press.

“You’re still sure?” he asks, voice rough, jaw tight.

“Yes,” I whisper. “I want it. I want you .”

He reaches between us, guiding his cock through my folds, dragging it slowly against my clit until I gasp.

“I’m not gonna be gentle, Willow. I’ll take care of you. But once I’m inside you, there’s no going back.”

“I don’t want to go back,” I breathe. “Please, Daddy…”

His eyes flare. Then he pushes forward.

I cry out, not in pain exactly, but in shock. He’s thick and huge. My body has never been stretched like this. He moves slowly, holding my gaze, letting me feel every single inch as he breaks through the last barrier and fills me completely.

“Jesus fuck,” he groans. “You’re so tight. So goddamn perfect.”

Tears sting my eyes, but not from pain. From how full I feel and how deeply connected I suddenly am to this man I barely know, yet feel like I’ve known forever.

“You okay, little fox?” he asks, brushing my hair back from my face.

I nod, voice shaky. “Yeah. I didn’t know it would feel like this.”

He kisses me, slow and deep. “It’s never felt like this for me either.”

He starts to move with slow, grinding strokes, each one stealing a little more breath from my lungs. The initial sting fades, replaced by pressure, heat, a steady, building burn that makes my thighs start to shake.

“Please,” I whisper. “Harder.”

He growls and shifts his angle, driving into me harder, deeper, his hand slipping under my thigh to hike my leg up around his waist.

“Is this what you wanted, baby? Daddy’s cock buried so deep you can’t think straight?”

“Yes. God, yes, don’t stop—”

He pounds into me now, relentless and hungry, his hips slapping against mine. His other hand comes to my throat— not choking, just resting, holding, grounding. I arch into him, helpless and wild, moaning with every thrust.

“You’re mine now, little fox,” he snarls. “Took your virginity. Fucked you raw. Nobody else gets to touch you like this.”

My orgasm slams into me so fast it blinds me. I cry out, legs locking around him, nails clawing his back as I shatter apart beneath him.

He swears, slams deep one last time, and spills into me with a guttural groan, grinding against me as he comes, pulse after pulse of heat filling me.

The room spins. My body is spent and trembling, my head tucked under his chin, both of us gasping.

Eventually, he rolls to the side, pulling me with him, our bodies still tangled.

His hand drags up and down my spine, slow and steady. My cheek rests on his chest. His heartbeat thunders in my ear.

I close my eyes and fall asleep to the rhythm of his touch, pretending this moment might be enough.

I wake to the sound of a heartbeat. Steady. Deep. Like a bass drum inside someone else's chest.

For a second, I think I’m dreaming. Some half-lucid haze where everything’s too warm and the air smells like motor oil and sex.

But then I shift, and my thigh brushes rough denim. My head nudges into a wall of muscle. And a gruff sound rumbles beneath my cheek.

Diesel.

Memories flood in, his mouth on mine, his tongue between my legs, my hands in his hair. My begging. His growling. That dark, devastating voice calling me little fox as I came apart in his arms.

I blink up and find him already awake, one arm wrapped under my back like it belongs there, his dark gaze locked on the ceiling like he’s been up for hours.

“You watching me sleep, creeper?” I whisper.

He finally looks at me. That slow, smoldering sweep of his eyes makes my toes curl under the blanket.

“I couldn’t move.”

“Why not?”

He exhales through his nose. “You.”

A flush spreads from my chest to my cheeks. “That good, huh?”

He doesn’t smile. Just brushes a thumb across my hipbone. “You don’t even know.”

My heart lurches.

Is this where I’m supposed to say thank you or make a joke? I’m supposed to throw a blanket over my naked shame and pretend I’m not freaking the hell out.

Instead, I lift on my elbow, letting the sheet fall just enough that his gaze drops to my bare chest before he catches himself.

“You gonna kiss me again,” I murmur, “or pretend this never happened?”

His jaw ticks. “It shouldn’t have happened.”

Ouch. I pull the blanket tighter around me, rolling away before I can make it worse.

“Got it,” I say softly. “Regret. Loud and clear.”

He grabs my wrist. Not hard. Just firm enough to stop me.

“Don’t twist it.” Diesel sits up. Rakes a hand through his messy dark hair. “I don’t regret you . I never could. I just—fuck, Willow. You’re twenty-one.”

“So?”

“So you’re soft and good and you don’t know what you’re getting into.”

I yank my arm free. “Wow. You know, I thought I was done being told who I am and what I can handle. Guess I was wrong.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Save it,” I snap, climbing out of bed and wrapping myself in the nearest oversized tee. Probably his. Doesn’t matter. I don’t care. I stomp out of the room like a toddler throwing a tantrum, because apparently, I’m too soft to fuck a biker and not catch feelings.

The hallway is narrow, the walls bare. There’s no decoration. No warmth. Just cold wood and colder air.

When I find the kitchen, I flip on the light, blink against the sudden brightness, and breathe deep.

I fix a cup of coffee, but my hands are shaking, and I have to grip the edge of the counter to keep from spilling it.

Why does this feel like rejection?

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I was supposed to be smarter. Tougher.

Footsteps behind me make me stiffen. I don’t turn around. Just keep sipping the coffee.

“You gonna stay mad at me all day?” he asks from the doorway.

“Thinking about it.”

He exhales. “You want me to lie?”

I spin, hot tears threatening to humiliate me. “I want you to want me, Diesel. Not because I’m young or innocent or in danger. I want you to see me . ”

His face changes. Like he wasn’t expecting that. Like I just knocked the air out of him.

“I do see you.”

“No,” I say, stepping closer. “You see some fragile little girl you’ve gotta protect. But I’m not. I’ve taken care of myself my entire life. You don’t have to save me. Just don’t push me away.”

“I’m not trying to push you away,” he says, low and rough. “I’m trying not to ruin you.”

“You won’t.”

“I could.”

I touch his chest, press my hand flat over his heart. “Then don’t.”

We stand there in silence, my fingers over his heartbeat, his eyes boring into mine like he wants to devour me and run at the same time.

“You scare the shit out of me,” he finally admits.

“Yeah,” I whisper. “Same.”

Something shifts in his gaze.

He cups my jaw, tilting my face up. “You’re not a mistake, Willow. You’re the first thing in a long time that feels right.”

My breath catches. He kisses me. Gentle. No heat, just lips and truth and aching promises he doesn’t know how to say yet.

And when we finally pull apart, he doesn’t step away.

He murmurs, “You hungry?”

I blink. “What?”

“There’s not much, but I can make eggs. I need food after the way you blew my mind last night.”

I grin. “You mean blew your—?”

“Finish that sentence, and I swear to god I’ll bend you over that counter.”

A shiver runs through me. “Noted.”

He cooks and I eat. We don’t talk about what happens next.

But when he brushes a kiss over my temple before heading to the garage to “check in,” I realize something terrifying.

I trust him.