Page 46 of Diesel’s Desire

“Evan, what is happening right now?”

“I want you to take what’s yours.” I keep my voice low, steady, watching every flicker cross her face while I say it. “Last night was ugly. Real ugly. I don’t wanna talk about it, and I don’t want you asking me to. I just want you to choose me. Use me. However you want. No holding back, no worrying about being gentle with me.”

Her breath catches, and something behind her eyes shifts—confusion sliding into something hotter, something that wakes her up faster than any amount of shaking would’ve.

“You’re insane,” she says, but there’s no real argument in it, just disbelief.

“Probably.” I dangle the cuff again, giving the chain a small jingle that sounds obscene in the quiet room. “Cuff me to the headboard, Penny.”

“This is—” She sits all the way up now, sheet falling away from her bare shoulder, and I watch her gaze drop to my body stretched out beside her, taking her time about it in a way that tells me exactly how fast her hesitation’s losing ground. “This is completely ridiculous.”

“So is everything else about us.” I hold her eyes. “Do it.”

She hesitates one more second. Then her hand closes around the dangling cuff, and she climbs up onto her knees, straddling my hips loosely while she reaches up and loops the chain properly around the headboard’s iron bar, working the second cuff snug around my free wrist until both arms are stretched up and locked in place, the short chain looped around the bar.

I’m hard before she even finishes tightening it. Can’t help it, not with her weight settled over my thighs, not with the whole picture of her above me in nothing but an old T-shirt riding up her hips, hair a wreck, eyes gone dark and focused in a way I haven’t seen out of her since that bluff above Sutton Creek.

“There,” she says, breathless already, testing the cuffs with one tug to make sure they hold. “Happy?”

“Getting there.”

She sits back on her heels, studying me laid out beneath her, arms stretched taut above my head, and something predatory settles into her expression that I haven’t seen before—not from her, not from anybody, and it goes straight to my cock like a live wire.

“You don’t get to touch,” she says, dragging one finger down my sternum, over the old scar along my ribs, tracing lower. “Not until I say.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

“Liar.” But she’s smiling now, small and wicked, and she shifts down my body slow, deliberate, until she’s kneeling between my spread thighs, both hands braced against my hips. “Let’s see how long you last, Diesel.”

She wraps one hand around the base of my cock, and I groan low in my throat at the first slow stroke, hips trying to rock up into her grip before her other hand presses flat against my abdomen, holding me still.

“Behave,” she murmurs, and then her mouth is on me, hot and wet, and every thought in my head that isn’t her name gets burned clean out.

She takes her time. Works me with her tongue, her hand twisting at the base in counterpoint to the slow drag of her lips, and every time I get close—every single time my hips jerk and a rough sound tears out of my chest—she eases off, pulls back, lets me hover right at the edge without tipping over.

“Penny—” It comes out strangled, wrists straining against the cuffs, metal biting into my skin as I fight the urge to grab her hair and finish this myself.

“Not yet.” She licks a slow line up the underside of me, watching my face the whole time. “You said I should take what’s mine. I’m taking my time doing it.”

“You’re killing me.”

“Mm.” She smiles around the head of my cock before taking me deep again, and I throw my head back against the pillow, cursing at the ceiling, every muscle in my body locked tight, fighting off an orgasm she’s clearly not ready to let me have yet.

Just when I think I can’t take another pass of her mouth without losing it completely, she pulls off entirely, wipes her lips with the back of her hand, and crawls up my body instead, dragging the old T-shirt off over her head as she goes until she’s bare above me, straddling my chest now instead of my hips.

“Your mouth,” she says, low, “owes me something.”

She settles herself over my face without waiting for an answer, knees bracketing my head, and the first taste of her wrenches a groan out of me. She’s soaked, has been for a while probably, and I chase that taste with everything I’ve got, tongue working deep, arms straining uselessly on the cuffs, because I want my hands on her thighs, on her hips, anywhere, and I can’t have any of it.

“Fuck, Evan—” Her hand fists in my hair, grinding down against my mouth, and I feel her thighs start to shake almost immediately, wound tight from teasing me for however long she just spent doing it. “Right there, don’t stop, don’t you dare stop⁠—”

I wouldn’t dream of it. I work her clit with the flat of my tongue until her whole body goes rigid above me, and when she comes it’s loud, unguarded, a broken sob tearing out of her that she doesn’t even try to muffle, rocking against my face through every wave of it until she finally collapses sideways, panting hard, one hand still tangled in my hair like she needs the anchor.

“Christ,” she breathes.

“Not done.” My voice comes out rough, wrecked, cock aching where it’s been ignored through all of that. “Take what’s yours.”

She lifts her head, looks at me with something dazed and hungry both at once, and doesn’t answer with words. She just crawls back down my body, straddles my hips properly this time, and reaches between them to line herself up, sinking down slow, inch by inch, until she’s fully seated and both of us are groaning at the fit of it.