Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
SERENITY
The morning sun in Las Vegas doesn't just rise; it aggressively takes over. It spills across the desert floor like molten gold, turning the dry brush into silhouettes and making the chrome on Diesel’s Harley-Davidson look like a weapon.
After a whole week of silence from Kirk the Jerk, I’m starting to feel a little more at ease.
“You’re doing that thing again,” Diesel says. He’s leaning against the bike, his massive frame making the heavy machine look like a toy. He’s wearing a black T-shirt and jeans. And he smells like that intoxicating mix of woodsy spice and worn-in hide that I’ve started to associate with safety.
I squint at him through the visor. “What thing?”
“The thing where you look at me like that, and I want to forget my promise to take you for a ride,” he says, his lips twitching into a smirk. “And keep you in bed all day.”
“I’m good with that,” I tell him as my lady parts wake up.
He laughs, a low, rumbling sound that vibrates right through my core. He reaches out, his large hand cupping my jaw, his thumb stroking the edge of the helmet’s strap. The touch is brief, almost incidental, but it anchors me. It always does.
“First we ride,” he murmurs. “Then we can burn up the sheets.”
“Sounds like a plan to me,” I say, trying to keep the sass in my voice to hide the way my breath hitches.
“Climb on,” he commands, and there’s that rough edge to his voice that makes my stomach flip. It’s the tone that says he’s in charge, and for once, the steel in my own spine is happy to let someone else take the lead.
I swing my leg over the back of the bike, the leather seat warm beneath me.
When I wrap my arms around his waist, I’m struck by the sheer solidity of him.
He’s a mountain of muscle and heat, and when he kicks the engine over, the roar of the Harley is so loud I can feel it in my teeth.
It’s a primal, screaming thing that demands attention.
We pull out of the driveway, and I’m hyper-aware of the wind whipping past my legs and the way the asphalt looks like a gray blur just inches from my feet.
God. I love this. We leave the suburban sprawl behind, the neon and strip malls giving way to the vast, open maw of the Mojave. The air changes, losing the scent of exhaust and gaining the dry, sharp tang of sagebrush and heated stone.
I press my cheek against the back of Diesel’s leather-clad shoulder, closing my eyes for a second, feeling the rhythmic vibration of the engine and the steady heartbeat of the man holding the handlebars.
We’ve been riding for nearly an hour when the landscape shifts from dusty browns to brilliant, impossible reds.
Massive sandstone formations rise out of the earth like the spines of sleeping dragons, glowing in the midday heat.
Diesel slows down, navigating a narrow, winding track that looks like it hasn't seen a car since the nineties.
He brings the bike to a halt near a cluster of jagged rocks that seem to form a natural fortress. When he kills the engine, the silence that follows is so heavy it feels like a physical weight, broken only by the ticking of the cooling metal.
“We’re walking from here,” he says, hopping off and offering me a hand. I’m a little wobbly on my feet, my legs still buzzing from the vibration, but he catches me easily, pulling me against his chest for a second longer than necessary.
“Where are we?” I ask, looking around at the prehistoric beauty of the red rocks. “This isn't on any of the tourist maps Alana showed me.”
“That’s because nobody knows it’s here,” he says, grabbing a backpack from the bike’s side-bag. “I found it years ago when I needed to get away from the club, the garage… everything. It’s the only place I’ve found where the world actually goes quiet.”
He leads me through a narrow crevice in the rocks, the stone cool and rough where my skin brushes against it.
We scramble over a final ridge, and I stop so fast Diesel nearly bumps into me.
Below us is a small, shimmering pool of water, fed by a trickle of a spring that manages to look emerald-green against the scorched red earth.
It’s a literal oasis, a secret tucked into a fold of the desert.
“Diesel,” I whisper, the sound swallowed by the canyon walls. “It’s beautiful. Thanks for sharing this with me.”
“I want to share everything with you,” he says, and the way he looks at me, not with his usual brooding intensity, but with something softer, something almost vulnerable, makes my heart turn over in my chest.
He drops the bag on a flat ledge and starts stripping off his boots.
I watch him, my brain momentarily short-circuiting as he pulls his shirt over his head.
His back is a map of his life. Intricate ink covers most of his olive skin.
He’s beautiful in a way that’s almost painful to look at, all hard lines and dark intent.
“You coming in, or are you just going to conduct a visual audit of my tattoos?” he asks as he pushes his jeans and boxers down his legs, glancing back at me with a wink.
“I’m assessing the situation,” I shoot back, though my hands are already fumbling with the buttons of my shorts. Underneath, I’m wearing a simple black bikini I’d shoved in my bag on a whim. Darn. I kinda feel slightly overdressed.
“Get in the water, Serenity,” he growls playfully.
He dives in first, the splash echoing off the rocks.
When he surfaces, his hair is slicked back, revealing the sharp, handsome angles of his face.
I follow him, the water hitting my skin like a shock of ice.
It’s colder than I expected, but it feels incredible after the heat of the ride.
It washes away the dust, the lingering scent of gasoline, and the low-level hum of anxiety that has lived in my chest since Kirk first sent that photo.
We swim for a while, the silence of the desert wrapping around us.
Diesel moves through the water with the same controlled power he does on land, his arms cutting through the surface effortlessly.
At one point, I find myself treading water right in front of him, the distance between us narrowing until our knees brush beneath the surface.
“Mine,” he growls against my lips. He blocks out the sun and kisses me until I lose track of everything except him.
His tongue takes over, deep and rough, like he needs to claim me right here in this secret canyon. Holy hell, the man can kiss. My whole body goes limp, and my nails dig into his shoulders. He tastes like salt, heat, and something that makes my brain short-circuit every time he gets close.
I’m shameless. I don’t even care. I wrap my legs around Diesel’s rock-solid waist and yank him in, shifting in the cold emerald water until his cock lines up with my opening.
Every part of me is throbbing for him. The rough stone digs into my ass, the sun beats down, and I feel so freaking alive.
Diesel’s hands grip my hips, dragging me closer. I want to drown in him.
“Hold tight, sweetness,” he orders, his voice turning to pure gravel.
He pushes into me, slow at first, thick and hot and perfect even in the freezing water.
It’s so good I whimper against his throat, clutching him with my thighs as he starts to move.
I bite the side of his neck, letting my teeth sink in.
He groans, head tipping back, and I can tell he loves it.
My hips are already rolling into his, greedy and desperate, needy as hell.
This is what I want. This is what I’ve always wanted.
Water splashes all around us, but nothing can drown out the slick heat driving me wild.
I bite him again, harder, and Diesel just fucks me slow and deep, his cock filling me until I feel it everywhere.
God. I’m ruined. And I absolutely love it.
I get totally lost in him. The world evaporates.
There’s just Diesel, all hard muscle and need, and what he’s doing to me under the water.
My pussy clamps down on his cock, sending a lightning bolt of sensation straight through my brain.
Holy shit. I can’t breathe, I can’t move, I can’t even think with Diesel buried so deep inside me.
I swear I’m going to black out from the pleasure.
“Fuck, sweetness,” he groans, his hands digging into my hips, holding me right where he wants me. “You feel so goddamn good.” He thrusts again, slow and deep, making me see actual fucking stars for a second.
I squeeze tighter, desperate for more friction. “Harder,” I beg, barely able to get the word out.
He doesn’t need to be told twice. Diesel pins me against the cold rock, his cock ramming into me with brutal, perfect force. I swear the whole canyon can hear the filthy sounds we’re making, and I hope they do. I want the world to know I belong to this man.
Every stroke is electric. My nails score his back, and Diesel sucks on the base of my neck, hard enough to leave a mark. “You’re mine, Serenity,” he growls. “I’m never letting you go.”
That does it. I spiral out, my whole body locking up as my orgasm rips through me like a bomb. I scream his name, legs shaking, my inner walls milking his cock.
Diesel loses it. He slams into me and floods me with heat, holding me so tight I know I’ll have bruises.
Best. Ride. Ever.
We eventually climb out, drying off in the sun on the flat rocks.
Diesel pulls a picnic out of his bag. He made sandwiches, some fancy fruit salad, and brought two bottles of water that are still surprisingly cool.
We eat in a comfortable, companionable silence, the kind that doesn't need to be filled with chatter.
He reaches out, taking my hand in his. His palm is calloused and rough, but his grip is incredibly gentle.
He doesn't say anything else, and he doesn't have to. The way he’s holding my hand says everything. He’s telling me that my dreams don't have to be small just to be secure. He’s telling me that I can have the career and the safety, but I don't have to sacrifice the passion to get it.
“I’ve never felt this happy, Diesel,” I whisper, the confession spilling out before I can stop it. “Being here… with you. It feels like I’ve been holding my breath for twenty-one years, and I finally just took a lungful of air.”
He pulls my hand to his mouth, kissing my knuckles, his eyes never leaving mine. “I love you, sweetness.”
His words should terrify me, but they have the opposite effect. For the first time in my life, calm predictability doesn’t appeal to me. Instead, I’m ready for all the chaos this smoking hot biker brings to my life. “I love you, too.”
Diesel yanks me into his lap and crashes his mouth over mine, swallowing the words before I can say anything else. His hands lock around my waist, and just like that, I’m done for. I think my soul actually leaves my body, floats up five feet, and watches while I go limp against his chest.
“Say it again,” he demands, his voice all rough whiskey and pure bossy command.
“I love you,” I whisper back, totally gone for him. “I fucking love you, Diesel.”
He lets out a noise, low and possessive, and it vibrates through me straight to my toes. “You’re mine, Serenity. From here out, you’re never getting away from me.”
Thank God for that, because it’s everything I want.
He kisses me again, harder. There’s nothing gentle about it. My lips are already tender, but I can’t get enough. My fingers tangle in his hair, tugging him closer, even though I’m basically welded to his chest.
“Never getting away,” I echo. “Hope you’re ready for a lifetime of sass, old man.”
Diesel just grins, eyes dark and hungry, and lifts me clean off the ledge like I weigh nothing. I squeal and wrap my legs around his hips. “Old man, huh? You keep talking like that, and I’ll show you what an old man can do.”
My whole body tightens with heat. Down, girl. I don’t even bother pretending I’m immune—I’m slick and throbbing for him, even after he just wrecked me. “Promises, promises.”
The sun begins its slow descent, the red rocks deepening into shades of violet and burnt orange. It’s time to go, but I find myself lingering. I want to memorize all of it. The scent of the spring. The heat of the stone. The way Diesel looks at me like I’m the only thing in the world that matters.
We pack up the bag and make the trek back to the bike. The ride back is different. All the worry is gone, replaced by a deep, resonant sense of belonging. I don’t squeak when we lean into the turns anymore; I move with him, my body an extension of his, our rhythms perfectly aligned.