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“Maybe… I think I need some more proof,” I tease him, flashing him one exhausted smile but still desperate for more. One thing’s true, at least, Diesel sure knows how to fuck a woman, and I’m guessing I’ve only seen the tip of the iceberg.
“You asked for it,” he says, moving fast and forcing me to roll to the side without even taking his cock out of me. I lay on my back, spreading my legs wide as Diesel positions himself on top of me.
“I did… Now give it to me,” I respond, locking my legs on his lower back and pulling him into me. I gasp as his long inches bury themselves deep into me, hitting that sweet spot inside my pussy. “Oh, God,” I cry out, digging my fingernails in his back.
He pistons into me with such a fury that every single nerve ending in my body is turning into ashes, an onslaught of sensations making their way to my brain and leaving me on the verge of unconsciousness. My body sways back and forth as he thrusts, the rhythm of his body almost too much for me, but he keeps on upping the pace with each pacing second, his cock completely ravaging my pussy. As tight as I was before Diesel, I doubt I’ll ever be the same: he’s stretching me wide, his pulsing cock pushing back against my inner walls and sending ripples of raw ecstasy through me.
“Harder, harder!” I cry out, the words leaving my lips before I can stop myself. And I should stop myself; I mean, how in the world am I going to survive this? I guess I’ll find out how good I am at surviving, since Diesel obliges to my request and starts going harder than before.
His thrusts are violent and strong, the rocking movement of his hips a perfect pendulum motion. He breaks his chain of movement with just one thrust, using all his strength at once and impaling me on his rock hard shaft; I close my eyes and grit my teeth, hissing as electric pleasure fills my mind at once and spreads to every single muscle in my body, no matter how small.
He cums at the same time as I do. I press my forehead against his as that sweet orgasm crawls under my skin, reaching for every single corner of my mind. I breathe out deeply, feeling the first spasms of his cum; he stops his thrusting motion and them simply holds his position, gushing a warm river of cum inside of me, coating my insides and dripping down.
Eventually he lets go of me, his cock twitching one final time before he pulls out from me and rolls to the side, sprawling his arms and surrendering to the sweet ecstasy that blankets us both. I let his cock slide out of me slowly, and then roll to the side and lay on top of the mattress.
Exhausted, my body still victim to the occasional twitch, I take my hand and reach for his. Finding it, I lace my fingers around it. As he squeezes it back, a wave of comfort rides through me.
“You might not be a bad boy, Diesel…” I say, my voice just a faint whisper. “But you sure know what you’re doing.”
“You really don’t believe me, do you?”
“Maybe I need some more convincing…” I turn to the side, so that I can look at him, and he does the same. In his eyes there’s a glint, and something tells me that this won’t be the last time we’re together…
If he keeps fucking me like this, I guess he can convince me of anything he wants.
8
Lisa
Okay, I’m not normally a clingy girl; I promise I’m not. But it’s been two whole days since the best fucking of my life, and I’ve heard...
Absolutely not a thing from Diesel. Is that normal? Well, fuck, I don’t care if it’s normal for other people, it’s sure as hell not normal for me.
So I decide that I’m not going to sit around and sigh and moan and hope that Diesel picks up the damn phone. Oh hell no. I wait for no man. I text him.
Where are you, Carlton?
He hates that name, and so I use it every chance I can get. Why? Because it’s fun to needle him.
I never said I was nice.
On the west side, with my mc.
I can’t help grinning as I text back:
Are you at Chelsea Piers, playing mini golf?
I need to throw in some mention of bikes—pedal bikes. That’d really get under his skin.
I mean, yeah, sure, he had the valet bring his Harley around that night at the Clover Club, but when you have a valet driving your Harley to deliver it to you, I'm sorry, that just doesn't count toward the masculinity factor. I refuse to think of someone who uses a valet as also being a rough and tough guy. It just…doesn’t compute.
Before I can come up with the best way to ask him how fast he can get his Schwinn bicycle to go, he responds:
No, although I can take you there sometime if you really want to go. I’m here at the clubhouse. Wanna come over?
Very much. What is the address?
I’m totally going to Google Map whatever addy he gives me. It’s probably going to be for some Italian restaurant or something.
