Page 27 of Her Dirty Biker
“Yeah,” he says roughly. “So are you.”
I’ve never been one for fairy tales. Didn’t grow up dreaming about knights or castles. My reality was a lot closer to survival. To men who smiled with their mouths but not their eyes. To women who made themselves smaller to keep the peace. I promised myself I’d never need someone to save me.
Diesel brushes a strand of hair off my face. “You okay?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “It’s a lot.”
jaw ticks. “Yeah, it is.”
We lie there in silence. Not uncomfortable, exactly, but charged. I think we’re both afraid to say the next thing. Whatever it is.
Eventually, I sit up, tugging the sheet to my chest. “I should shower and get dressed.”
“Stay a little longer.”
His voice is low, intimate.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I say. “Just the bathroom.”
He grunts like he doesn’t quite believe me, but lets me go. I walk across the room, bare feet on wood floors, and pause at the door. When I glance back, Diesel is propped on one elbow, watching me like he’s trying to memorize every inch.
The shower is small but clean. I let the hot water roll over me, scrubbing away last night’s sweat and sex. When I shut off the water, I wrap myself in a towel and stare at my reflection in the mirror.
My lips are swollen. My neck has a faint red mark from his mouth. My skin glows like I’ve been kissed by the sun.
I finish getting ready, finding a clean shirt Diesel left folded on a chair. It’s too big, but I kind of like the way it hangs off one shoulder. When I step back into the bedroom, he’s dressed too. God, he looks good, dangerous, and off-limits.
He hands me a protein bar and a bottle of water.
“You taking care of me now?” I tease.
“Someone has to,” he says.
We eat in companionable silence, sitting at a small table near the window. Outside, the sky is turning blue, birds chirping like they don’t know the world’s gone to hell.
I swallow hard. “What happens next?”
Diesel stands, stretches. “That depends on what you tell me.”
“I already told you what I heard.”
“Yeah,” he says. “But I don’t think you told me everything. We’ve let ourselves be distracted.”
The heat between us shifts—less romantic, more tense. I can feel him withdrawing, putting armor back on.
“I’m not trying to push,” he adds. “But if something happens to you because I didn’t ask the right questions, I won’t fucking forgive myself.”
I fold my arms. “You think I’m lying?”
“No. I think you’re scared.”
I can’t argue with that.
He grabs his phone, typing out a message. “Stay inside. Don’t open the door unless it’s me or one of the Kings.”
I arch a brow. “And how will I know it’s you?”
He strides over, grips my hips, and pulls me flush against him. “I’ll be the one you want to kiss.”
