Chapter 6
Grace
I tell myself to take a step back.
I don’t.
My wet hair drips down my neck. My borrowed T-shirt hangs loose over my curves, the flannel pants warm but not enough to stop the shiver running through me. I’m cold, yes, but that’s not all of it.
I’m too aware of him. Of the heat rolling off his body. Of the way his gaze tracks me without ever turning crude, like he’s fighting something inside him and losing ground by inches.
“Grace,” he says, rough, like my name hurts.
I should say something smart. Something safe.
Instead, I swallow and hear my own heartbeat louder than the rain.
My body betrays me. My breath catches. My skin tightens. My nipples pebble under the thin cotton, and shame flashes hot through my chest because I can feel it happening and I can’t stop it.
Men like him don’t want girls like me.
Not really.
Not the soft kind. Not the curvy kind. Not the kind my father called piggy like it was my name.
Diesel’s gaze drops, just once, and comes back to my eyes as if he felt the same thought and hated it.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says quietly.
The words go straight through me. Not because I believe them easily, but because I want to. Because some starving part of me has been waiting years to hear a man say that and mean it.
My throat tightens. I force a laugh that sounds broken. “You could,” I whisper. “You could, and I wouldn’t be able to stop you.”
His jaw flexes. “I know.” His voice turns harder, not at me, at the truth. “I’d never hurt you. I’ll protect you. Even from myself. I won’t touch you if you don’t want this. I won’t even kiss you again, unless you ask me.”
He reaches out slowly, hand hovering near my face. He doesn’t touch until I nod.
I hate that my eyes sting. I hate that tenderness makes me feel weak.
“I want this. I want you to kiss me,” I whisper.
His knuckles brush my cheek, barely there, like the gentlest question.
The contact snaps something in me. My chin lifts into his hand before I can think, and his breath catches like I punched it out of him.
For one suspended heartbeat, he looks at me like a man at war with himself.
Then he makes a decision.
His palm cups the side of my neck, thumb under my ear, and he kisses me.
It’s controlled for exactly one second, and then it turns into something fierce, something hungry, something that makes my knees go loose as if my body recognizes his mouth better than it recognizes fear.
I make a sound I don’t mean to make. A small, wrecked whimper.
Diesel groans into my mouth like he’s been starving.
His hand slides into my hair, anchoring me, keeping me close without trapping me. My hands fist in his shirt because I need to hold on to something, need to prove I’m real and this is real and he’s real.
His mouth moves with mine, slow then deeper, and I can taste mint and something purely him. Heat blooms low in my belly, spreading out like a slow fire. My body responds like it’s been waiting for permission.
He breaks the kiss abruptly, forehead resting against mine, breathing hard.
“Tell me to stop,” he says, voice shaking with restraint. “Grace. Tell me, and I will.”
My lips are swollen. My mind is a mess.
I should stop this. I should think about consequences.
But the only thing I can think is how safe his hands feel even when they’re burning.
I shake my head.
His eyes flare.
“Say it,” he demands, not cruel, desperate. “I need to hear you choose it.”
My voice comes out small. “Don’t stop.”
Something in him breaks loose.
He kisses me again, harder, and walks me backward until the backs of my knees hit the edge of the bed. I sit without meaning to, the mattress dipping, the fire popping in the hearth like it’s cheering us on.
Diesel follows me down, bracing his hands on either side of my thighs, holding himself off me like he’s afraid of crushing me.
His gaze drops to my body, and shame tries to claw up my throat.
I fold my arms instinctively, covering myself, the old reflex of making myself smaller.
He stills.
“Don’t,” he says, and his voice is so raw it stops me. “Don’t hide.”
My cheeks burn. “You don’t want…” I can’t even finish it. I can’t say the words. You don’t want a girl like me.
His eyes lift to mine, steady, unblinking.
“I’ve wanted you since I saw you on the side of that road,” he says, like it costs him to admit it. “And I hated it. Because I knew it would make me reckless.”
My lungs forget how to work.
I stare at him. “Me?”
His mouth twists, like he doesn’t have patience for lies. “You.”
The certainty in his voice hits harder than any compliment. It doesn’t sound like flattery. It sounds like fact.
My chest aches. My eyes sting again. I blink hard, furious with myself.
Diesel leans in and presses his forehead to mine. “You’re shaking,” he murmurs.
“I’m fine,” I lie automatically. “It’s… it’s my first time.”
His mouth brushes the corner of my lips. “We don’t have to do this now. We can wait.”
That does it.
Something inside me gives way. I grab him and kiss him like I’m the one starving, like I’m the one who can’t stand another second without his mouth.
He makes a low sound and slides his hands to my waist, thumbs stroking slow circles through the fabric of the T-shirt. It’s such a small touch, but it feels like claiming. Like reverence. Like he’s memorizing me.
His hands move lower, fitting over my hips, and instead of shame I feel heat. Instead of wanting to hide, I want to press into him, want to make him feel all of me.
Diesel drags the T-shirt up, pausing when it reaches my ribs, waiting.
I lift my arms.
The shirt goes over my head, and cool air hits my skin. Firelight paints my curves in gold. I brace for the look men always give, the one that says too much.
Diesel’s gaze softens like a wound.
He leans in and kisses the center of my chest, then lower, and lower. Possessive in a way that makes my whole body spark.
My hands slide into his hair, damp at the edges. I tug, just a little.
His eyes flick up. Dark. Wanting.
He stands long enough to yank his own shirt over his head, muscles rolling under ink, scars catching the light. My mouth goes dry.
I shouldn’t want him this much.
But I do. I tug the flannel pants off, pulse hammering like I’m doing something reckless.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, and the words hit me right in the gut, not because I want to be praised, but because it’s the first time “good” has ever sounded like safety instead of control.
He lowers himself over me again, kissing me until I can’t remember how to think. His hand slides down my belly, then between my thighs, and I gasp when his fingers find me through the thin fabric, warm and certain.
“Diesel,” I whisper, like a prayer and a warning.
He kisses my throat, then my jaw, then the soft valley between my breasts, taking his time with me, one nipple and then the other.
“Tell me if anything hurts.”
He slides my panties down. Nothing hurts. Everything is heat and hunger and relief.
His fingers move with maddening patience, coaxing, learning, and my body opens for him like it’s been waiting its whole life for hands that don’t punish. I arch without meaning to, a broken sound falling out of me, and Diesel groans like it tears him apart.
“You feel like…” He stops, jaw tight, like he doesn’t trust himself to say it.
“Like what?” I breathe.
His eyes find mine. “Like mine.”
A thrill skates down my spine, sharp and dangerous. I should hate it.
I don’t.
He lowers himself to my belly, kissing lower and lower, his strong hands parting my thighs gently but firmly, his eyes locking onto mine with a hunger that makes my core clench.
"You're so beautiful," he murmurs, his voice rough with need, before leaning in.
His warm breath fans over my folds, sending a shiver up my spine. I gasp as his tongue flicks out, tracing the length of my slit slowly.
The sensation is electric. Wet, hot, and insistent, making my hips buck involuntarily.
Diesel groans against me, the vibration humming through my pussy as he presses his mouth closer. His lips seal around my clit, sucking gently at first, then harder, drawing a moan from deep in my throat.
I've never felt anything like this; it's overwhelming, the pleasure coiling tight in my belly. His tongue swirls in circles, teasing the sensitive nub before dipping lower to push inside me, fucking me with shallow thrusts that mimic what I crave deeper.
My fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as I arch off the bed. "Diesel... oh god," I whimper, my body trembling.
He doesn't let up, one hand sliding up my thigh to hold me open wider while the other slips two fingers into my wetness, curling them just right to stroke that spot inside that makes stars burst behind my eyelids.
He pumps them in and out, matching the rhythm of his tongue on my clit, building me higher and higher.
The pressure mounts, my breaths coming in short pants. I'm so close, teetering on the edge. Diesel senses it, sucking harder, his fingers thrusting faster.
"Come for me, baby," he growls against my skin, and that's all it takes.
My orgasm crashes over me, waves of ecstasy rippling through my body as I cry out, my pussy clenching around his fingers, flooding his mouth with my release. He laps it all up greedily, not stopping until I'm a quivering mess beneath him.
As I come down, panting and flushed, Diesel rises, his lips glistening with me. He sheds the rest of his clothes quickly, revealing his hard cock, thick and veined, standing ready. My breath stutters.
His eyes track mine as I stare. “Don’t be scared,” he rasps. “You were made to take me.”
That heat flares again, need and trust curling together in my chest.
He settles between my legs, the head of his cock dragging slow along my soaked folds. I gasp, body arching toward him.
“I’ll go slow,” he says, voice like gravel and thunder. “I’ll take care of you.”
I nod, legs wrapping around him, trying to pull him in.
He pushes in inch by inch, the burn stretching through me, raw and real. I wince, and he stops immediately, his mouth capturing mine, kissing me deep and soft while I breathe through it.
“You’re doing so good, baby,” he whispers into the kiss. “So fuckin’ tight. So goddamn brave.”
He sinks in the rest of the way, groaning into my neck. My walls flutter around him, my body full in a way that steals thought.
“Jesus, Grace. You feel like heaven and hell wrapped up in silk.”
He starts to move. Slow, controlled thrusts that grind against my clit and have me clutching at him. The pain fades into heat, and the pleasure comes fast.
My nails dig into his back. “Yes, Diesel. Just like that.”
His rhythm changes, hips snapping forward harder, deeper, his cock hitting that spot that makes stars dance behind my eyes.
“You’re mine now,” he growls. “You get that? Not because I fuck you like this. Because I’d tear the world apart for you.”
I moan, words slipping out without thought. “I’m yours. I’m yours.”
His hand moves between us, fingers rough and skilled as they find my clit again. I’m already close.
“Come for me, baby,” he says, voice wrecked. “Show me who you belong to.”
And I do.
My climax rips through me, messy and wild. I sob his name as my body seizes, clenching around him, soaking him.
He groans, loud and broken, and slams into me one last time, spilling deep inside me, hips jerking as he comes hard.
He collapses gently over me, forehead against mine, chest heaving.
“Fuck,” he whispers. “You ruin me.”
We lie there, tangled, sweat-slick and spent, the only sound the rain tapping the roof like a steady heartbeat. After a minute, he pulls the blanket over us, wrapping me up like he’s sealing something sacred.
He kisses my forehead like he means it, then settles beside me, hand on my hip, thumb tracing soft circles.
“You okay?” he murmurs.
I nod slowly. “I don’t know,” I whisper. “But... I feel safe.”
His hand stills for one beat.
Then he exhales, thumb moving again, slower now.
“Good,” he says. “You’re supposed to.”
Outside, the rain keeps falling.
Inside, for the first time, I believe I can stay.