Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
DIESEL
"Careful with that," I call as Sandra balances on a ladder, paintbrush in hand, attempting to reach the top corner of what will become her bedroom. "I can do the high spots when my ribs are better."
"I've got it," she insists, stretching just a bit further. A drop of pale green paint falls, landing on her cheek. "Shit."
"Told you." I can't help the smile that tugs at my lips. Three weeks since Vanessa's arrest, and I'm still not used to the sight of Sandra in the middle of her grandfather's cabin, making it her own.
Making it ours, in a way that fills my chest with warmth I'm still getting accustomed to.
My ribs are healing, though slower than I'd like.
Dr. Mawry cleared me for light duty at the garage last week, which means I can supervise Marcus and handle paperwork, but no heavy lifting or complex repairs.
It's driving me crazy not to be working on Sandra's Mustang, but she's been surprisingly patient.
"You look good up there," I comment, watching as she carefully climbs down the ladder. "Paint suits you."
"Yeah?" She turns, revealing speckles of pale green across her cheek, forehead, and the oversized t-shirt she's wearing over leggings. My t-shirt, I realize with a surge of possessiveness. "Is this my new look? Paint Splatter Chic?"
"Works for me." I pull her close, careful of my still-tender ribs, and brush my thumb over the drop on her cheek, smearing it further. "Everything works for me when it's on you."
Her eyes darken, and she rises on tiptoes to press her lips to mine. The kiss is gentle, mindful of my healing body, but the heat is there, simmering beneath the surface. It's been three weeks of careful touches and frustrated desire, both of us waiting until I'm healed enough for more.
"How are you feeling today?" she murmurs against my mouth, the question loaded with meaning.
"Better." I slide my hands to her waist, relishing the curve of her beneath my palms. "Much better."
"Good enough for..." She lets the question hang, but her meaning is clear.
"Let's find out." I deepen the kiss, testing my limits. There's discomfort when I pull her closer, but it's manageable, overwhelmed by the desire that's been building for weeks.
She breaks away first, breathing harder. "Bedroom. Now."
"We're already in a bedroom," I point out, glancing at the half-painted walls.
"A bedroom without a bed," she laughs. "And I'm not making our first time in weeks on a drop cloth covered in paint cans."
"So demanding." I let her take my hand, leading me through the cabin to the guest room we've been using while renovating the master. It's small but cozy, with a queen bed that's seen more cuddling than action since I got hurt.
At the doorway, I stop her, turning her to face me. "You sure about this? I don't want to rush if you're worried about hurting me."
Her expression softens, one hand coming up to cup my cheek. "I've been ready for days. The question is, are you? And don't you dare say yes just because you think it's what I want to hear."
The concern in her eyes warms me more than desire ever could. Even now, even with want evident in every line of her body, her priority is my wellbeing.
"I'm sure," I tell her, covering her hand with mine where it rests against my face. "I'm not saying it'll be the acrobatic performance of a lifetime, but I need you, Sandra. Have since the minute I woke up in that hospital bed and saw you there."
Something changes in her gaze, a deepening of emotion that steals my breath. "I need you too," she whispers. "So much."
This time when our lips meet, there's no hesitation, no holding back. The kiss ignites instantly, her body pressing against mine in all the right places. My hands slide under her t-shirt, finding warm skin beneath, traveling upward until I'm cupping the soft weight of her breasts.
She moans into my mouth, arching into my touch. I walk her backward toward the bed, following her down as she sits on the edge, positioning myself carefully to avoid strain on my ribs.
"Let me," she says, understanding without words. She pulls her shirt over her head, revealing bare breasts that make my mouth go dry. "I'll do the heavy lifting today."
"Works for me." I sit beside her, drinking in the sight of her. "You're so fucking beautiful."
Color rises in her cheeks, but she holds my gaze, confidence radiating from her as she stands to shimmy out of her leggings and panties. Completely naked, she's a vision—all curves and smooth brown skin, her body strong and soft in all the right places.
"Your turn," she says, reaching for the buttons of my flannel. "Though I'm doing the work here too."
I let her undress me, careful around my bandaged ribs, until I'm as naked as she is. Despite three weeks of inactivity, my cock stands fully at attention, eager for her touch.
"Lie back," she instructs, gently pushing at my shoulders until I'm reclined against the pillows. "Let me take care of you."
I've never been good at relinquishing control, at letting someone else take charge. But with Sandra, it feels right. Natural. I trust her with my body, with my pleasure, with everything.
She straddles me, careful to keep her weight off my torso, and leans down for another kiss. The feel of her breasts against my chest, her warmth hovering over my aching cock, is exquisite torture.
"Fuck, Sandra," I groan as she rocks against me, creating just enough friction to drive me crazy. "You're killing me."
"Can't have that," she murmurs, sliding lower, trailing kisses down my chest, careful around my bruises and bandages. "Not when I've got plans for you."
When her mouth closes over my cock, I nearly come off the bed, only the lingering pain in my ribs keeping me somewhat still. Her tongue swirls around the head before she takes me deeper, creating a wet heat that has me seeing stars.
"Sandra," I pant, tangling one hand in her curls. "If you keep that up, this is going to be over embarrassingly fast."
She looks up at me from beneath her lashes, lips still wrapped around me, and the sight is nearly my undoing. Then she releases me with a soft pop, crawling back up my body.
"Can't have that either," she says, positioning herself over me. "Not when I've been dreaming about this for weeks."
She reaches between us, guiding me to her entrance. She's wet, ready for me, and the first touch of her heat against the head of my cock pulls a groan from deep in my chest.
"Let me get a condom," I manage to gasp, amazed I still have the presence of mind to remember.
"Not tonight. I started birth control just so I could feel all of you," she says, pausing. "And I'm clean. Got tested after Martin, haven't been with anyone else before you."
The implication—that she trusts me, that she wants nothing between us—nearly undoes me. "I'm clean too," I tell her. "Got tested after Vanessa. Haven't been with anyone since I came to Crimson Hollow. Before you."
Her eyes widen at that. "No one? In five years?"
"I’m good with my hands," I clarify.
Something like tenderness fills her expression. "And now?"
"Now there's only you," I say simply. "Only ever you."
She leans down to kiss me, deep and searching, before straightening up again. Slowly, torturously, she lowers herself onto me, taking me inch by inch until I'm fully sheathed within her.
We both moan at the sensation, so much more intense without the barrier of latex between us. She feels incredible—hot and tight and perfect around me.
"God, Diesel," she breathes, starting a slow, rolling rhythm that avoids putting pressure on my ribs. "You feel so good inside me."
Words fail me as pleasure builds, as her movements grow more confident, more demanding. I reach between us to where we're joined, finding her clit with my thumb, circling in time with her rhythm.
She throws her head back, a cry escaping her throat as I touch her. Her pace increases, control slipping as desire takes over. I keep my thumb where she needs it, watching in awe as she chases her pleasure, using my body for her satisfaction.
"That's it," I encourage, fighting my own climbing release. "Take what you need, Sandra. Give me a show."
Her rhythm falters, her inner muscles clenching around me as she reaches her peak. The sight of her coming undone above me, because of me, is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
"Diesel," she cries, my name a prayer on her lips as she shudders through her release.
Before she's fully recovered, I grip her hips, careful of my ribs as I thrust up into her, chasing my own completion. It doesn't take long—not with the way she's still pulsing around me, not with three weeks of wanting built up between us.
I come hard, her name falling from my lips as pleasure crashes over me in waves. She collapses forward onto my chest, mindful even in the aftermath of not putting weight on my injured side.
For long moments, we just breathe together, connected in the most intimate way possible, letting our heartbeats slow to normal.
"Worth the wait," she finally murmurs, pressing a kiss to my shoulder.
"Definitely." I stroke her back, loving the feel of her skin beneath my fingers. "Though maybe next time we try a position that lets me do some of the work."
She laughs, the vibration of it traveling through both our bodies. "Deal."
Later, showered and dressed, we sit on the cabin's porch, watching the sun sink behind the mountains. Her head rests on my shoulder, my arm around her waist, a quiet contentment settling between us.
"Vancouver PD called today," I tell her, breaking the comfortable silence. "Vanessa's taking a plea deal. Ten to fifteen years, no chance of early release."
Sandra looks up at me, searching my face. "How do you feel about that?"
It's a good question. One I've been asking myself since the call. "Relieved," I say finally. "Not just that she's going away, but that it's over. Really over this time."
"And Ric? Her brother?"
"Parole denied," I say with grim satisfaction. "Without Vanessa's plan to discredit my testimony, he's staying right where he is."
She nods, settling back against me. "Good."
Another silence falls, this one contemplative rather than simply comfortable. There's something I've been wanting to ask her, something that's been on my mind since the day Vanessa was arrested. Now, with that chapter firmly closed, it feels like the right time.
"Sandra," I begin, heart suddenly pounding. "I've been thinking."
"Dangerous," she teases, but her tone is gentle.
"Yeah, well." I take a deep breath, gathering my courage. "This cabin. It's going to be beautiful when we're done with it."
"It already is," she says, looking back at the structure behind us. "Just needs some finishing touches."
"And I've been helping a lot," I continue, following the path I've rehearsed in my head. "Been here almost every day, even when I should have been resting."
She sits up straighter, turning to face me fully. "Because you're stubborn as hell and can't stand doing nothing."
"Because I like being where you are," I correct, taking her hand in mine. "Because more and more, this place feels like home."
Her eyes widen slightly, understanding dawning. "Diesel..."
"I know it's fast," I push on before I lose my nerve.
"Three months ago, you were engaged to someone else.
Two months ago, we hadn't even met. But I've never been more certain of anything in my life.
" I squeeze her hand, holding her gaze. "I love you, Sandra Hemmings.
And I want to wake up with you every day, in this cabin or mine or wherever you want to be. I want a life with you."
Tears fill her eyes, but the smile blooming across her face is radiant. "Are you asking me to move in with you?"
"I'm asking..." I pause, realizing I haven't been completely clear. "I'm asking if you'd consider making this our cabin, not just yours. If you'd want me here, permanently. If we could build a life together, starting right here."
She launches herself at me, arms winding around my neck as she presses her lips to mine in a kiss that steals my breath. "Yes," she says against my mouth. "Yes, absolutely yes."
Relief and joy flood through me as I hold her close, ignoring the twinge in my ribs. "I love you," I say again, because now that I've started saying the words, I never want to stop.
"I love you too." She pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, her own shining with emotion. "So much."
"I'll still keep my place above the garage," I say, practical even in this moment. "For nights when I work late or when one of us needs space. But this could be our home base. Then we can build my cabin into something that we can use for work somehow. Together."
"I love that plan." She settles back against me, both of us looking out at the view Joe Hemmings chose for his retirement, the mountains that brought both of us to this place. "And I love that we're doing this here, where Grandpa built his new life. It feels right."
"It does," I agree, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "He'd be happy for us, I think."
"I know he would." She sighs contentedly. "You know, when I inherited this place, I had no idea what I was going to do with it. I just knew I needed a change, needed to escape a life that wasn't working."
"And now?"
She turns to me with a smile that warms me from the inside out. "Now I know exactly what I'm doing with it. Making a home. With you."
The words settle around us, a promise of the future we're building together. As the last rays of sunlight disappear behind the mountains, I hold the woman I love close, more content than I ever thought possible.
My past is finally laid to rest. My present is filled with Sandra's warmth and light. And our future stretches ahead, full of possibility and promise.
For a man who came to Crimson Hollow seeking only escape and anonymity, I've found so much more. I've found love. I've found home.
And I'm never letting go.