8. Diego
DIEGO
“Amber?”
There’s no one else it can be. Heat spreads from where her lips linger on the back of my neck, then she kisses down to the collar of my T-shirt and tugs ever so slightly at the fabric with her teeth.
“You should be resting,” I say while warm tingles rush up and down my neck and shoulders, sweeping down my arms while I turn in my seat.
“I rested,” Amber replies. “Now I want to say thank you.” She stands before me dressed in only one of my shirts, shrouded in the darkness that fills my kitchen.
Her eyes glint at me. When I try to stand, intent on taking her back to bed, her hands move to my shoulders and she pushes me back down into the chair.
“Let me,” she insists. “Let me say thank you.”
“Thank me?” My mind fogs with whatever she could be wanting to thank me for and something warm curls in my chest, something akin to doubt, but for some reason, I can’t focus on it. It escapes my mind. I’m so focused on Amber that nothing else matters.
She sinks slowly to her knees, bracing her hands on my thighs as she does so. Her hair sweeps to one side over her shoulder and the low light catches on the swell of her breasts peeking between the loose parting of my shirt. She only did up a couple of buttons.
An alarm blares in my mind. She shouldn’t be on her knees in her condition. She’s too injured. She really should be in bed resting.
As soon as those thoughts warm my mind, they vanish because of her. Every stroke of her hands down my thighs numbs my mind, especially when both her hands dip to the insides of my thighs and she pushes them apart just wide enough for her to slot between them.
“Amber…” Her name rolls off my tongue like honey and she gazes up at me through her dark lashes.
“Diego,” she says softly. “Let me. I want to. I need to thank you for saving my life.”
I can’t argue with that. Resting one hand on the table, I watch with shallow breaths while her hands slide back up my thighs to my crotch. She unbuckles my belt in half a second, pulls open the button keeping my jeans closed, and unzips me in the second after.
Heat pulses through my body from head to toe, then settles low in my gut as she leans forward and tugs my jeans open as much as she can while I’m seated.
I jerk slightly, but it doesn’t seem to bother her.
Amber’s intently focused on what’s between my legs and anything I can think to say just doesn’t seem worth it.
I blink and suddenly, my cock is free from my boxers and resting at half-mast in her fist. A sweet, almost coy smile pulls at her lips. She lifts her hand and strokes me slowly from base to tip. Another half-stroke and I’m as hard as a rock, much to her delight.
“Wow,” Amber murmurs. “That was fast.” Suddenly, she’s looking up at me and my heart leaps up into my throat. “You'd better not come that fast. I want to enjoy this.”
Everything freezes.
My thoughts.
My tongue.
My breathing.
It’s like her words have trapped me in a single pocket of time, caught in the awe of her boldness and her slight accusation that I’d come like some teenager after one touch.
Given how hot she is, it’s entirely possible.
My lips part, but no air or sound escapes until Amber leans fully forward and kisses her lips to the crown of my cock.
The soft, warm sensation sends lust lancing through me and I jolt in my seat.
Another kiss, but this one lingers. Then she parts her lips and slowly feeds the crown of my cock into her mouth until her lips curl around the ridge. Then she sucks.
That pulling sensation ignites life back into me, and I gasp hoarsely, dragging in much-needed air that cuts off any attempt at speaking, but my mind is racing.
This is insane. I should stop her. I can’t let her thank me like this or she’ll think I have sleazy motives for rescuing her. She deserves to be resting and cared for, not on her knees like this.
Desire pools hot in my lower gut and Amber sinks forward inch by slow inch, taking me further into her mouth and successfully silencing all doubt or concern that floods my mind.
Within seconds, there’s nothing but blissful lust and an aching want for her to take as long as she wants, as long as she doesn’t stop.
“Amber!” I croak out, curling my hand into a fist on the table. My other flexes against my thigh, fighting the urge to reach out to her. As much as I want to feel her hair running between my fingers, I don’t want to block my own view of her because she’s fucking beautiful.
Her lips stretch around my cock, her eyelashes flutter against her cheek as she sinks deeper and deeper down, her arm quivers slightly against my thigh, and she keeps one of her hands at the base of my cock to keep the zipper of my jeans away from her face.
She sinks all the way down until my cock brushes the velvety-soft heat at the back of her throat.
Amber swallows and I see stars as her mouth and tongue close around my cock, creating immense pressure that drags a long, low moan out of me.
She begins bobbing her head in a slow rhythm, and each long stroke down onto my cock has her taking me deep into her throat until she chokes slightly and withdraws.
Over and over again, she repeats this while sucking firmly.
I’m losing my mind.
It takes all my strength not to buck my hips up into her face. Hot shivers take over my body and pleasure tightens in my gut, building in heat and pressure until my balls are aching and the slow, continuous drag of her mouth over my cock is set to drive me insane.
I’m close.
I’m so fucking close.
She’s so fucking hot.
“Amber!” Moaning her name, I finally give in to my desire to touch and sink my hand into her silky-soft hair. The touch makes her glance up at me with sparkling eyes. I caress through her hair, careful not to aggravate her head wound—
Wait.
There is no wound. There’s no gauze or anything on her forehead.
What the hell?
My eyes snap open and I lurch up from my kitchen table with a soft, pained yelp as the muscles of my lower back protest sharply at the sudden movement. Sunlight streams in through the kitchen window, illuminating the room far better than the single overhead bulb still buzzing away.
My stomach knots and hot sweat flushes down my back as a pull of tight pleasure warms my core.
It’s morning. Maybe.
I’m hard as a rock in my jeans with a tired body eager to return to sleep, to the sexy dream that’s fading like mist between my fingers.
Just a dream.
Of course it was.
I smack my dry lips together and work my dry tongue around my mouth, chasing what little moisture remains, and sink back into my seat with a soft groan. What a dream. That was amazing. No part of me would ever complain to Amber on her knees in front of me as long as that’s where she wanted to be.
That’s also the first sleep I’ve gotten since she arrived, since I don’t count the quick five-minute naps I’ve snatched here and there when exhaustion has gotten the better of me.
Yawning, I push away from the table and retreat to the bathroom to take care of my aching cock, but my orgasm isn’t as satisfying as I crave.
My hand barely compares to the memory of dream-Amber’s mouth.
After a quick shower, tracking down my phone takes a few minutes, but finding it makes me freeze for a moment. There are countless missed calls and texts, all from my staff.
Shit.
Falling asleep meant I missed my shift last night and with it already being the late afternoon, I’m late for my next one. I quickly reply to a couple of the texts, feigning an abrupt illness that kept me away from my phone, then I assure them that I’m on my way.
“Amber?” Texts sent, I knock gently on my bedroom door and, as always, there’s a moment I fear she’s died due to her injuries.
A soft grunt rises from inside so I let myself in.
“Diego?” Amber blearily lifts her head from where she’s wrapped around my pillow. “What time is it?”
“Little after three.”
“Oh. Shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sleep for so long.”
I wave one hand at her, brushing off her apology. “Don’t. You need the rest. Are you okay? I have to head to work, but if there’s anything you need before I go?”
“You’re leaving?” Amber can’t hide the spark of worry that ignites in her sleepy voice and something strong pulls at my chest, like a yearning to go and comfort her.
“I will be back,” I assure her. “I need to head into work because I skipped my shift last night. Just need to make sure no one else drops round without invitation, y’know?”
She nods slowly but with her half-closed eyes and slow movement, she’s clearly still half asleep. “Makes sense,” she murmurs.
“There’s food in the kitchen. Take your medicine and you have my number if anything happens, okay? Don’t answer the door, stay away from the windows, and just rest, okay? I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Okay,” Amber murmurs.
“Rest,” I say softly. She murmurs an incoherent reply and sinks back down against the pillow.
Leaving her somehow feels worse after my dream and seeing her like that. Is she going to be alright? It’s been a few days so that surely means she’s past any dangerous turns or reactions to her injuries, right?
I hope so.
Taking the bus to work, I head inside ‘The Crown’ to a cacophony of laughs and cheers.
“He’s not dead!”
“Thought you’d finally taken a day off!”
“How sick were you? You were in here a few months ago with that flu, I don’t wanna catch it!”
“Can’t believe you missed last night. You’ve got so much to catch up on!”
The warm cheers of my regulars are a grounding warmth in an otherwise confusing life and it doesn’t take long for me to throw myself into serving and pleasing every single one of them.
Drinks pour, music flows, the sports on the television ignites a brief argument between a handful of patrons that’s solved when the losing team orders shots, and my staff berates me for vanishing without a word.
It’s normal.
Ordinary.
I haven’t felt this grounded since the night before Amber ended up in my car.
With the mystery surrounding who she is, what happened to the crime scene, and what happened to her, I quickly forgot that my life still existed.
Despite Mindy’s terrible visit, nothing is quite as grounding as the job I love.
Is this what my life is going to be like now?
Caught between Amber at home, and the mystery surrounding her, and my regular life here where everyone looks at me with fondness and love?
I’ve never done much in my life to be proud of, but this was the start of turning myself into someone better.
No drugs. No risk to life. No losing weeks and months at a time chasing a high that would never be as good as the one previous.
I cleaned myself up, turned it all around, and scraped my way up to manager in a bar owned by someone in another country, which basically leaves me in charge.
Can I keep all of this and help Amber get her life back?
Two hours into my shift, I text Amber to make sure she’s doing okay and take a quick break in the backroom, guzzling water like I haven’t drunk in years.
“Boss?” Mags, one of my loyal bartenders, pokes her head through the door and waves at me.
“What’s up?”
“Uhm…”
The strange look of concern on her face makes my stomach twist and I lower my water bottle as she jerks her head backward. Water clings to my lower lip as Mags edges into the room and speaks in a hushed voice.
“There’s a cop here looking for you. Should I send him through?”