5. Ruby
Ruby
I can’t believe I’m kissing a man I just met today.
How can something this crazy feel so right?
The thought is a flicker, there and then gone, incinerated by the heat of his mouth on mine. This isn’t a gentle, questioning kiss. It’s a demanding claim. A hungry collision that steals the air from my lungs and the strength from my knees.
Diesel takes, and a part of me wants to give him everything with no questions asked.
A low, rough sound rumbles from his chest, vibrating through me as he backs me up.
My shoulder blades meet the cool, rough wall of the stairwell, trapping me between unyielding drywall and the solid, living wall of him.
The contrast is dizzying—the cold at my back, the furnace of his body pressed against my front.
My duffle bag slips from my numb fingers, hitting the floor with a soft thud that’s swallowed by the pounding of my own heart. I need to find a purchase in this freefall.
My hands fly up, gripping the worn leather of his vest. The material is tough, scarred, just like him, but beneath it, I can feel the powerful flex of his shoulders, the unshakeable strength of the man.
He is solid. He is perfect. He’s like nothing I’ve ever known.
While one hand cups my face like I’m fragile, the other hand slides down my side, settling on my hip. His grip is firm, like he’s not a man who is fond of sharing.
It’s not enough. I arch into him, a silent plea for more, and he answers by deepening the kiss, his tongue sweeping past my lips.
The taste of him is pure Diesel—cigarettes and something uniquely male. It’s an addiction I never saw coming, but I’m confident that I’ll never get enough.
He tears his mouth from mine, but only to trail searing kisses along my jaw, down the sensitive column of my throat. I gasp, my head falling back against the wall with a soft thud.
“Diesel… ” I breathe his name, before the undeniable sound of a moan leaves my lips.
He stills for a heartbeat, his breath hot against my skin. I can feel the frantic beat of his heart where my hand rests on his chest, a wild rhythm that matches my own. He pulls back just far enough to look at me, his eyes black with a hunger so raw it should frighten me.
I’ve felt fear plenty as of late, but this is the last man to make me feel this way.
That look is my undoing. I use what strength I have left to tug him forward and drag his mouth back to mine. This time, there’s no hesitation. The kiss is pure fire, a desperate, open-mouthed clash of tongue and teeth.
He doesn’t just kiss me; he devours me, swallowing my next moan whole, stealing my breath and giving me his in return. It’s messy and perfect and everything I didn’t know I needed.
“No one’s ever gonna touch you again,” he growls against my lips, the words a rough, possessive vow. “No one. You hear me?”
The promise coils deep in my belly, a hot, tight spring of desire. My hips buck against him of their own accord, seeking friction, seeking him.
“Don’t say no one,” I plead, the words ragged and breathless. “You touch me, Diesel. Only you.”
A sound halfway between a groan and a snarl escapes him.
In one fluid, powerful motion, his hands slide down to my thighs, gripping them through the denim.
His thumbs press inward, branding me with their heat, digging in so close to the heart of the ache building inside me.
I can feel the rough texture of his calluses, a delicious friction that has me rocking against his hands.
“You are trouble.” Muttering the words, he slides one of his hands between my thighs to feed into this hunger he’s created. His fingers press against the crease of my jeans, tracing the outline in a way that makes my breath catch.
His eyes lock on mine, watching every flicker of pleasure on my face as he rubs me through.
A sharp, broken whimper escapes my throat. I am molten, utterly lost in the sensation. A part of me wants to just shove his hand inside so I can feel his fingers directly, but the tease of his touch makes my body hum with delight.
“Fuck, Ruby,” he rasps, his voice thick with need. His fingers press down firmer, and I grind against his hand, a shameless, frantic rhythm. “I can feel you. Soaked through for me.”
My eyes screw shut as I concentrate on the pressure, all while nodding my head.
Losing myself in our next shared kiss, I’m left panting against his tongue before the pleasure becomes too much. Hips jerking, I feel the wetness soak the layers as I come from the friction alone.
He smiles like the devil, proud of his evil doings. Right now, he’s got me in the mindset of going up to his home and handing my innocence on a platter. Even more now that I can feel the rock hard proof of his arousal brushing up against me with each shift.
“You’re unreal.” Muttering the words under his breath, his thumb swipes across my swollen bottom lip.
“I thought I was trouble.” Catching myself smiling, I’m surprised he doesn’t kiss me again, especially when he stares at my mouth like he wants to.
Scoffing under his breath, he pulls away and snags my duffel bag from the ground. “Come get settled. You’ve had a long day.”
That’s an understatement. If my legs weren’t shaky from what he’d just done, they’d be wobbling from all the weight I’ve been carrying.
While he lets me start the climb first, he’s patient with each step. Somehow, I make it all the way to the top.
His home is built like a studio apartment, and the smell of bleach lingers in the air. Already catching myself wondering why, I decide it’s better to leave some questions unanswered.
“Shower is that way, and I’ll change the sheets. You can take the bed, the floor is mine.” Rubbing the back of his neck, he stares at his home like he’s seeing it for the first time, too. “Sounds good?”
“No.” The word slips past my lips without thinking. “I mean, you shouldn’t have to sleep on the floor. The bed is pretty big. Enough room for two people.”
I can’t have this guy messing up his back out of the kindness of his heart. How can he be at his top form if I make him lie against hardwood flooring?
Just the thought of him getting his arms around me, his hands against my body… even in a friendly manner, is too good to give up such an opportunity.
He nods, not putting up even the slightest fight. It’s hard to stifle the sound of amusement that comes because of him.
As exhausted as I feel, I do need a shower. Tomorrow, I’m supposed to return to work and pretend everything is going to be okay while Diesel works in the background. Unsure of how long this is all going to take, a part of me dreads what’ll happen after everything is said and done.
Will this biker be done with me, just like that?
What happened in the stairwell isn’t something I’d just do with anyone.
My lips still feel tender, slightly swollen. A ghost of a sensation that makes my stomach flutter even now.
Does Diesel understand that? Does he know that kiss felt like the beginning of something new, and not just a moment of heat? Even if he does know, does it make a difference to a man like him? Or am I just a complication, a moment of weakness in a high-stakes situation?
The questions are a cold splash of reality, dousing the embers he’d ignited. The heat that had coiled low in my belly now twists into a sharp, aching knot of longing. I want to go back to five minutes ago, when the only thing that existed was the space between our mouths.
With that thought dampening the earlier fire, I take my bag from him.
My fingers brush against his, and the brief contact is a spark that threatens to rekindle everything.
I don’t dare look at him. If I see my own longing reflected in his eyes, I’ll be lost. If I see nothing but cool indifference, I’ll start to regret stepping into this shop.
“Thanks,” I murmur, my voice barely a whisper.
I escape to the bathroom, locking the door behind me and leaning against it for a moment, my heart a frantic drum against my ribs. I need to let the hot water wash away the fear, the grime of the day, and the frustrating, beautiful, terrifying hope that clings to my skin as stubbornly as his scent.
Only then will I be able to convince myself that everything will be okay.
* * *
My feet hurt. Like, really hurt. Each step toward the employee-only area is a small protest in itself.
I swipe my badge with a tired sigh, then wrestle my apron off. The stiff fabric smells like leaking meat juice and something else I can’t describe. I stuff it into my locker, slamming the metal door shut on the scent and the long shift.
Should’ve called off, but Diesel insisted I couldn’t run away and hide in his home all afternoon. At the same time, he did sound like he was trying to convince himself of the same thing.
He didn’t work in his shop in the morning or during lunchtime.
Instead, he glued himself to my side and asked me questions here and there.
Some were about finding out details about me, such as silly things like my favorite movies.
Then he’d question me about my stalker. Then, I’d have to tell him about my favorite food.
Back and forth, he’d leave a sour taste in my mouth before offering something sweet.
Is he out there in the parking lot, waiting for me? The thought hits me as I push open the door leading out of the back and back onto the main floor. A little thrill, a mix of excitement and nerves, pushes some of the tiredness away.
I try to smooth down my hair, knowing it’s probably a hopeless mess after being tied back all day.
Hopefully, he understands my manager has an exceptional talent for holding me up right at the moment I should be clocking out, so he’ll forgive my tardiness.
I head toward the employee exit attached to the side of the building, closest to the parking lot, half-distracted by the hopeful image of Diesel’s bike rumbling out there, which is why I don’t see the person walking out of an aisleway until it’s too late.
I bump hard into a solid chest. A reflexive apology is out of my mouth before I even look up. “Sorry—”
My gaze lifts, and the words die in my throat.
I recognize the man I run into, but not in a way I should. He’s a customer, a regular. Someone who shouldn’t be here after closing hours.
The one who always comes through my lane, every day, and always gets enough food for a meal. He always has a quiet, polite smile. Not now.
His face is a cold, blank mask. Those blue eyes, usually so calm, are now sharp with an intensity that freezes me in place.
A few strands of his usually immaculate blond hair are out of place, as if he’s been running his hands through it.
He’s standing far too close. A cold trickle of dread slides down my spine.
What was his name again? Will? William? Something along those lines.
I can let management find him, can’t I? Diesel’s waiting for me. That’s why I’m getting this inner instinct to run, right? I don’t want him to get impatient.
“Excuse me,” I say, trying to sidestep before this unsettling sensation grows.
His hand snaps out, clamping down on my arm. The grip is like iron, catching me off guard.
“Who’s the bastard with the bike?” Eerily calm, he lowers his voice into a whisper like he’s trying to keep this conversation between the two of us.
For a second, I’m just startled. The question doesn’t compute. My mind is still on Diesel, on getting out of here. “I… don’t know what you mean.”
His grip tightens, fingers digging into my bicep. He leans in, his cool blue eyes narrowing. The question comes again, sharper, each word a clipped icicle. “The man on the motorcycle.”
He doesn’t have the patience for me to figure out that he’s talking about Diesel.
Without another word, he tugs me toward the dimly lit back corridor, back toward the place I just left.
I always thought this place had a haunting appearance during closing time.
Heck, even before I got scared easily, this place gave me the creeps.
The lack of life is one thing, but the music still plays like normal.
Louder than it should be, but hardly a hum compared to the blaring thoughts filling my head of questions on what is happening right now.
His stride is purposeful, confident. He doesn’t hesitate or look around. He ignores the couple of employees we pass who are just as eager to get out of this place.
A quick, sharp flicker of panic ignites in my head.
Does he work here? How does he know this way?
I’m just a cashier; I stick to the front and the break room.
I’ve never even been down this hall. William moves like he’s walked these back ways a hundred times, like he owns the shadows closing in around us.
A heavy metal door pushes open, spilling us into the cold, dimly lit dock area. The night air hits me, a slap of frigid dampness that steals my breath. A light mist falls from above, instantly soaking my skin. Or maybe it’s the fear causing the goosebumps that prickle across my skin.
He’s got me exactly where he wants us, like he’s planned this thoroughly.
The sound of the door swinging shut behind us is a death knell. We’re completely cut off from what little remaining life is inside. If I scream, will it be loud enough? There are cameras, I know, little black domes in the corners. But no one actively watches them. Not at this hour.
He rounds on me, his face a mask of quiet fury. The polite facade is gone, a mask cracked to reveal an obsession beneath.
“Who is he?” he demands, the words sharp and cold. “That biker who brought you home last night? The one who dropped you off.”
He was watching. He saw Diesel. The realization is a physical blow. Jealousy drips from every word, making his tone both accusing and terrifyingly possessive.
“I don’t—” I stammer, but my heart is racing so fast I feel lightheaded. The pieces click into place with horrifying clarity.
He isn’t just a stalker, he’s a staff member. He knows my schedule. He’s always been close, but I’ve never realized just how much.
My pulse hammers in my ears, a frantic, deafening drumbeat. The world tilts, the stacked pallets and dumpsters swimming in my vision. I’m dizzy.
Instinctively, I reach for my keys. The only weapon I own, and it’s in the form of a cute design. But of course, I don’t have it on me. I left it at Diesel’s apartment because why would I need my keys while I’m staying with him? I lowered my guard because I felt comfortable enough to.
It’s finally happening, the very thing I’ve dreaded.
I finally found someone who promised to keep me safe. Diesel is probably growing tired right now, all the way on the opposite side of the building.
My efforts are now useless. It doesn’t matter.
Right when I need someone the most, I am completely, utterly alone.