Page 38 of Diesel’s Desire

“Probably.”

“I have a case. A missing girl. I shouldn’t be up here with you.”

“Probably not.”

“Shut up and kiss me, then.”

I don’t need telling twice.

Her mouth is soft and furious at once, all those years of wanting crammed into the first press of her lips against mine. I fist a hand in her hair, tilt her head back, and she makes a sound low in her throat that unravels something I’ve kept knotted tight since the day she drove away from that clubhouse without looking back.

“God, I hate how much I want you,” she breathes against my mouth.

“Hate it later.” I walk her back until her spine hits the bike’s saddle, and she gasps when the seat presses against the backs of her thighs. “Right now, let me have you.”

She yanks at my shirt, drags it up over my head, her hands going flat and greedy against my chest, tracing the ink that wasn’t there seventeen years ago. “You got more tattoos,” she says, breathless, fingers skating over a scar on my ribs.

“You got more scared of wanting things,” I say. “Look at you now.”

“Shut up, Evan.”

“Make me.”

She grabs the back of my neck and drags my mouth down to hers, and I lift her by the hips, settle her onto the leather seat of the bike, her legs falling open around me like they were built to. I get my hands under her shirt, drag it up over her head, and the sight of her in nothing but a plain white bra under starlight does something violent to whatever’s left of my restraint.

“Off,” I growl, working the clasp until it gives, and she shivers when the night air hits her bare skin, nipples pebbling tight before I even get my mouth on them.

“Evan—”

“Say it again.”

“Evan,” she moans, arching into me when I close my lips around one peaked nipple and suck, hard enough to make her fingers dig into my shoulders. “God, that’s—don’t stop.”

I don’t. I work down her body, unbuttoning her jeans, dragging them and her panties down her legs in one rough pull until she’s bare from the waist down, thighs trembling in the cool air, and I drop to my knees on the gravel because I’ve wanted to do this since she climbed onto the bike and I’m nowhere near done wanting her.

“Evan, we’re outside⁠—”

“Nobody’s out here but us and the crickets.” I hook her knees over my shoulders, drag her hips to the edge of the seat. “Now shut up and let me eat this pussy like I’ve been dreaming about since the day you left me.”

She doesn’t argue after that. Her hand fists in my hair the second my mouth covers her, and the sound she makes echoes off the rock face behind us, filthy and unguarded in a way I’ve never heard from Officer Carpenter, only ever from Penny.

“Fuck,” she gasps, hips rolling against my tongue. “Don’t—God, don’t stop, Evan, please⁠—”

I go harder. I work her with my mouth, my fingers, until she’s shaking apart above me, thighs clamped tight around my ears, her release rolling through her in a long, broken cry that carries out over the valley below.

I’m not done. I stand, wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, and she’s already reaching for my belt, fumbling it open with fingers that haven’t steadied yet.

“Need you inside me,” she says, low and wrecked. “Right now.”

I free myself, line up against her where she’s slick and swollen and ready, and I drag the head of my cock through her folds slow enough to make her whimper before I finally push in, both of us groaning at the fit of it.

“Christ, Penny.” I bury myself to the hilt, forehead dropping against hers. “You feel so good.”

“Move,” she demands, nails biting into my shoulders. “Evan, move, I swear to God⁠—”

I do. I fuck her hard against the seat of my bike, one hand braced on the metal beside her hip, the other gripping her thigh to keep her open for me, and she stops trying to keep quiet.

“You like that?” I growl against her throat. “Like getting fucked on the back of my bike like some club girl?”