Page 18 of Her Dirty Biker
Chapter five
Willow
It starts with silence. The kind that fills every inch of a room until it’s heavy and stifling, almost erotic in its own right.
Diesel hasn’t touched me in hours. Not in any way that counts. But I feel him, always, like a current beneath my skin. I sense him in every room. In every breath. He moves with purpose, always watching, always listening, always holding back.
It’s driving me absolutely fucking insane.
He’s fixing something in the kitchen now, a loose cabinet hinge I didn’t even know was broken. His massive frame crouched down, muscles flexing with every slow turn of the screwdriver.
The man is lethal. Focused. Quiet in the kind of way that makes you lean in closer to see if he’ll breathe differently.
I sit on the couch, pretending to read a book I found on the shelf. I’ve read the same sentence five times and couldn’t tell you what it says because Diesel’s here. Shirtless. Grease-streaked. Quiet as sin.
So hot he makes me squirm in my seat. I cross my legs to ease the ache, but it just makes it worse.
He straightens, testing the door hinge with his hand. It swings smoothly, soundlessly.
“Done,” he says, voice low and gravel-coated.
I glance up like I’m surprised. “You fix everything that fast?”
His eyes lift to meet mine. “Only the things that matter.”
My stomach flips. My thighs clench. God, what is wrong with me?
He tosses the screwdriver on the counter and wipes his hands on a towel, then stalks into the living room like a man with a mission.
He stops a few feet away. Staring. Unmoving.
“Something you need?” I ask, voice light, like I’m not already breathless.
“You.”
I blink and laugh. “What?”
He steps forward. “I can’t fight this anymore. There’s nothing else to fix. You should tell me to get the hell away from you.”
I stand. Slowly. “Maybe I don’t want you to.”
His jaw flexes. “I’m trying to be good.”
“Don’t.”
He groans, low and rough, and in two long strides, he’s in front of me. His hand rises, cupping my cheek, thumb dragging over my lower lip.
I gasp, and his mouth crashes to mine.
The kiss is fierce—nothing soft, nothing slow. It’s a collision of need, a storm we’ve both been holding back from. My fingers twist into his hair, anchoring me as he takes over.
He pulls back just enough to speak, forehead pressed to mine. “You sure, little fox?”
“Yes,” I breathe. “God, yes.”
Diesel lifts me like I weigh nothing, hauling me into his arms. My legs wrap around his waist instinctively, and he carries me to the bedroom, eyes locked on mine the whole way.
He doesn’t toss me onto the bed.
