Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
SERENITY
An alarm sounds somewhere in the room, and the first thing I notice isn’t the light, though the desert sun is already aggressive, slicing through the gaps in Diesel’s heavy blackout curtains.
It’s the weight. A heavy, solid heat is draped over my waist, pinning me to a mattress that feels like it was engineered by people who understand the true meaning of luxury.
My back is pressed against a chest so broad it feels like a wall, and the rhythmic huff of breath against the nape of my neck is steady, warm, and terrifyingly familiar.
Reality hits me with the force of a Vegas heatwave. We didn’t just kiss. We didn’t just cross a line. We dove over it, set it on fire, and danced in the ashes. I’m in Diesel Walsh’s bed.
Panic, sharp and cold, prickles at my skin, but I manage to swallow it down. I should regret it, but I don’t. Now, I just have to face the consequences of my actions.
I try to shift, my movements small and cautious, but the arm around me tightens instinctively.
He leans over to turn off the alarm, then he pulls me closer, tucking my head under his chin.
The intoxicating scent of him surrounds me like a physical barrier.
It’s a scent that usually makes me feel safe, but right now, worry is starting to cut through me.
Alana is going to kill me. She’s going to exhume my body just to kill me again for sleeping with her older brother.
"Stop thinking so loud," a low, gravelly voice rumbles against my ear. His breath hitches, then smooths out as he stirs. "It’s too early for whatever crisis you’re having, sweetness."
I freeze, my heart doing a frantic little jig against my ribs. "I’m not having a crisis. I’m just… assessing the situation."
"Assessing?" Diesel pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes dark and heavy with sleep. His hair is a wild mess of dark curls, and his jaw is shadowed with enough stubble to be dangerous. He looks like a man who just spent the night doing exactly what we did, and he doesn’t look a bit sorry about it. "That’s your accounting brain talking. You’re trying to find a way to make the numbers balance, aren’t you? "
"The numbers don’t balance, Diesel," I whisper, my voice trembling more than I want it to. "I’m Alana’s best friend. You’re her brother. You’re the guy who’s supposed to be keeping me safe, not… this. What if we ruined everything?"
Diesel’s expression shifts. The sleepiness vanishes, replaced by a devastatingly focused intensity.
He shifts onto his elbow, hovering over me, his tattoos a dark map across his shoulders in the dim light.
He reaches out, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw with a gentleness that makes my breath catch.
"We haven’t ruined anything," he says, his voice dropping into that deep, possessive register that makes my toes curl.
"You think this was an accident? You think I just tripped and fell into bed with you?" Diesel lets out a short, dry laugh. “Serenity, I’ve been fighting my feelings for you for as long as I can remember. I’ve spent years trying to convince myself you were just a kid, just my sister’s annoying friend.
And every time you looked at me with that sassy little smirk, I had to walk away before I acted on my feelings. "
I stare at him, my mouth slightly agape. "You’ve… wanted me for years?"
"Years," he repeats, his eyes searching mine. “And years." He kisses my shoulder. “And motherfucking years.”
Relief, warm and thick as honey, washes through me, drowning out the panic. I reach up, my fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck. "I’ve been half in love with you forever."
"Half in love?" He smirks, and the tension in the room changes, shifting from heavy to electric. "Only half? We’re going to have to work on those percentages, Ren."
He leans down, his mouth hovering just inches from mine. The air between us is charged, the kind of heat that doesn't just warm you—it burns. When he kisses me, it’s not the desperate, frantic collision of last night. This is slow. Deliberate. It’s a claim.
He moves with a graceful, heavy confidence, his hands exploring my body as if he’s trying to memorize every curve.
He treats me like I’m something fragile and priceless, even though I’ve always prided myself on being made of steel.
"You’re so beautiful," he mutters against my skin, his lips trailing down my throat to the swell of my breast. "Mine. Do you hear me, Serenity? You’re mine now. "
"Always," I gasp, my back arching as his tongue finds my nipple. The sensation is a physical blow of pleasure, sharp and sweet. "I’ve always been yours, even when you were pretending I wasn’t there."
He moves lower, his head disappearing between my thighs.
I let out a jagged moan, my fingers fisting in the sheets as he licks through my folds, his tongue finding my clit with the precision of a man who knows exactly how to make my girly parts sing.
He sucks my clit into his mouth, his hum vibrating through me, and I’m gone.
I’m just a collection of nerves and heat, centered entirely on the way he’s devouring me.
When he finally moves back up, his face is flushed, his dark eyes burning with a hunger that makes me feel more seen than I’ve ever been in my life.
He lines his cock up with my wet opening and enters me in one slow, thick slide, stretching me until I’m full to bursting.
I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, wanting every inch of his cock, every bit of the weight he’s offering.
We move together in the morning light, a rhythmic, soul-deep friction that feels like coming home.
Each thrust is an answer to a question we’ve been asking for years.
He watches me the whole time, his hands pinned beside my head, his jaw tight with the effort of holding back.
I’ve never felt so cherished, so completely focused upon.
It’s not just the physical release, though that’s coming for me like a freight train; it’s the way he looks at me, as if I’m the only light in his world.
I come with a shattered cry, my pussy clamping down on him in tight, rhythmic waves.
A moment later, Diesel let out a low, guttural growl, his body going rigid as he explodes inside me.
He collapses against me, his heart thudding against my chest, a mirroring beat that says everything he isn't saying with words.
We stay like that for a long time, the only sound the quiet hum of the air conditioner and our matching, ragged breathing. Eventually, he stirs, pressing a kiss to my sweaty temple.
"Shower," he mumbles, his voice thick. "We’re already late, but if we stay here much longer, I might decide to keep you in this bed until next Tuesday."
“Sounds like a plan to me.” I laugh as he carries me to the en-suite bathroom that’s larger than my entire kitchen back in LA. He sets me down in the walk-in shower and turns on the water. He washes me with a quiet, focused tenderness, his large hands sliding over my skin with soapy suds.
I lean my forehead against his chest, the water sluicing over us both. I look up at him, the water dripping from his eyelashes, and the realization hits me that this isn't just physical attraction. I’ve already fallen in love with him.