Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
DIESEL
Saturday morning, I’m up before sunrise, this part of Vegas still silent except for the steady slap of my shoes on the concrete.
I push hard, pounding the miles out along the edge of the development, the tightness in my chest slowly burning into focus.
Every time my lungs sear, I picture Serenity sleeping in the bedroom down the hall and pick up the pace.
If I don’t get this wild energy out of me, I’ll end up knocking down Serenity’s door and doing something we both might regret.
Not that I’d mind her naked and gasping in my sheets, but I’m trying to be a goddamn gentleman here.
By the time I get back, sweat’s dripping down my back and my shirt clings to every muscle. I throw open the door, expecting silence and maybe time for a cold shower, but she’s already there. Serenity. Sitting at the breakfast bar, wearing glasses and a faded tee, biting into a banana.
She glances up, eyes scanning me head to toe, and damn if I don’t want to drag her over the counter and claim her right now. “Didn’t have you pegged as a runner,” she tosses out, eyebrow arched like she’s defying me to prove her wrong.
I grab a bottle of water, twist it open, and smirk. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, sweetness.”
I catch the way her gaze lingers. Oh, yeah. She’s curious, and I’m more than ready to show her everything. I groan as my cock hardens in my athletic shorts. Fuck. I walk over and lean against the counter, hoping to hide my sudden, embarrassing condition.
She doesn’t miss it. Not for a goddamn second.
Those blue eyes flick down, her cheeks turning pink, but instead of looking scandalized, she smirks.
“You, uh, need a minute to… cool off, Diesel?” Her lips wrap around the next bite of banana, and I actually have to close my eyes so I don’t do something insane like haul her over my shoulder and carry her straight to the nearest bed.
I clear my throat and take a long slug of water, but it does nothing to fix the problem south of my waistband. “You keep looking at me like that, sweetness, and cooling off isn’t in the cards.”
She’s still smiling when she slides off the stool. The hem of her shorts is scandalously high on her thighs. “So, what’s on the agenda today? After you cool…” she glances down at my cock, “off.”
Fuck, I love how sassy she is. It makes every nerve ending I have light up like a firecracker. Fuck. I need to get control of this situation. Deep in my soul, I know she needs more time before I make her mine. “Are you up for a ride after breakfast?”
Her eyes actually light up. “Heck yes.”
She looks so fucking cute and earnest that I almost lose my mind. I have to glance away, or I might end up doing something idiotic, like bending her over the kitchen counter right now and showing her exactly how badly I want her.
Instead, I grit my teeth and focus on not being a total fucking animal.
While I shower, she fixes us breakfast. When I come out, the whole space smells like fresh coffee and something sweet, and my gorgeous little houseguest has an actual spread laid out.
French toast, berries, and real bacon. She’s wearing my “kiss the cook” apron, and that sight alone almost does me in.
I want to tear all her clothes off and see her standing in my kitchen in nothing but my apron and that sassy smile.
Fuck. I might be going soft, but I don’t even care. Every second with her makes me want more. I grab a plate and sit next to her at the bar, my leg pressed against hers. I don’t miss how her breath hitches just a fraction.
“This is delicious,” I tell her, reaching over to steal a blueberry straight out of her bowl. My fingers brush her hand, and it’s like an electric shock. My cock’s already waking up again. Unbelievable. I just jacked the motherfucker off in the shower.
“I’m glad you like it,” she quips, and I can’t help but grin. “I thought you might need a few extra calories after your run and,” she pauses and winks at me, “extra-long shower.” She’s quick and she’s not afraid of me at all. I fucking love that.
She pours two mugs of coffee and pushes one toward me. “Do you do this every weekend?” she marvels, shaking her head. “Wake up at the ass crack of dawn and run miles before breakfast, then you eat like an actual lumberjack?”
I just shrug and shovel in another bite. “Pretty much.”
She snorts and rolls her eyes. “Figures.” She finishes her plate like she’s been starving for days, then starts stacking up dishes before I can even blink.
I help her clear up, plates and mugs clattering as we load up the dishwasher. She hums under her breath, that little wiggle in her hips making me absolutely insane. Fuck. I’m ready to explode, and it’s not even 9 AM.
“You always clean up right away?” I toss the rag aside and shoot her a look.
She just smirks, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “I won’t enjoy the day if I know I’m coming home to housework.”
“Run and change into jeans and a sweatshirt.” My voice comes out rough. “And we’ll go for our ride.”
She practically bounces down the hall, all curves and that cocky grin. Holy hell, I’m in trouble. It’ll be a miracle if I make it through the weekend without making her mine.
She straddles my bike like she was born for it, her thighs tight around my hips, tits pressed into my back, arms squeezing just enough to make my cock twitch the entire ride.
Every bump in the road is torture. Every damn turn, I hear her gasp, feel her nails through my shirt.
I want to pull over, lay her over the seat, and show her exactly how a real man fucks his woman.
Instead, I grind my teeth and gun the throttle, trying to outrun the ache building in my body.
I’m so fucking hard I genuinely wonder if I’ll be able to hide it when we get back home.
I barely remember how we got there. I’m too keyed up, too fucking consumed by the scent of her skin and the heat of her against me.
When I finally kill the engine, she slides off slowly, legs shaky, eyes bright as fireworks. I want to bend her over the damn handlebars and eat her pussy right here in my garage.
Resisting her is nearly impossible, and I’m losing the battle. Hell, I never stood a chance.
A few hours after we get back from our ride, I’m standing at the breakfast bar. My phone vibrates against the granite countertop, a sharp, buzzing intrusion into the quiet of my kitchen. I glance at the screen and see it’s Savage.
"I’m here," I say, sliding the phone to my ear while watching Serenity in the living room. She’s curled up on the sofa with a hardcover book, her feet tucked under her, looking like she fucking belongs in my house.
"I’m emailing all the info I found on your guy." Savage’s voice is a low, digital rasp, the sound of a man who spends too much time in dark rooms with glowing screens. "In a nutshell, he’s a headcase."
I feel the heat start at the back of my neck, a slow, crawling burn that makes my jaw lock.
"Send it all to me," I tell him before hanging up. I glance over and watch my girl reading intently. She’s got her nose buried in her book, completely oblivious to the world. Every few seconds, she tucks her hair behind her ear, turning a page with so much focus.
Then she actually gasps. Like, full-body, jaw-dropped, chest-rising gasp. Her hand flies up and covers her heart like she’s about to have a stroke. The book nearly slips out of her grip, and it’s so unexpected I nearly choke on my coffee.
Fuck me, she’s adorable.
She clutches the hardcover tightly, eyes even wider now, staring at the page in total shock. A little sound comes out of her throat, some mix between a squeak and a growl. She is completely lost in whatever drama is going on in those pages.
She looks up and catches me staring, her cheeks flushed, her palm still pressed to her heart.
“Good one?” I ask, unable to keep the smirk out of my voice.
She lowers the book just enough to peek at me, all blue eyes and attitude. “Let’s say the main character just made a terrible life choice. I almost threw it across the room.”
God, this girl is going to be the death of me.
I’m seconds away from throwing her gorgeous ass over my shoulder. Fuck. Not the time, Walsh. I take a deep breath and blurt out, "I’m going to make dinner."
She follows me back into the kitchen, hopping onto one of the barstools. There’s something dangerously right about the way she fits into the space.
I pull the ribeyes from the fridge, then I prep some asparagus, focusing on the rhythmic thud of the knife against the wooden board. I can feel her eyes on me, tracking my movements as I work.
"I can’t believe you actually cook," she observes, her voice dropping into that soft, melodic register that makes the hair on my arms stand up. "I figured you’d be the type to eat a protein bar and call it a day."
"I love to eat," I say, keeping my eyes on the pan as I sauté the asparagus. "And I hate to eat out, so I had to learn to cook."
She looks up and smirks at me. "You should give your sister lessons." She giggles. "She could burn boiling water."
Serenity isn’t wrong. I huff out a laugh, stirring the asparagus in the skillet. “When she was twelve, she tried to bake a frozen pizza with the cardboard on it. That’s the time I taught her to use a fire extinguisher.”
Serenity actually snorts, her nose scrunching the way it does when she’s really amused. “At least you know when dinner’s ready when she cooks.” She glances at me, and we both say at the same time, “When the smoke alarm goes off.”
Fuck, I love it when she laughs. I want to hear that sound again and again, preferably from under me and out of breath, but I keep that thought to myself. Barely.
Now isn’t the time. First, I need to make sure Kirk Fucking Voss is dealt with. Then I can concentrate on making Serenity mine.