Chapter 11
DIEGO
I’m bricked up. Can’t remember a time I’ve been more turned on and let down with a raging case of blue balls. College women are easy. Once I get past the first kiss, there’s no stopping or shutting me down. But easy isn’t always good. Most times, easy is just easy.
You love the climb more than the view.
Dom’s damn words echo in my fucking brain. Maybe I do like the fucking climb more. But with her, it would be different. With her, I’d relish the fucking view.
How the fuck will I make that happen?
My dumbass is chasing after the unattainable. I’ve put myself out there twice, in two different ways, and finally got a kiss out of her.
I haven’t worked this hard to get a woman’s attention in all my years in Boston. Yet, I’m not looking for easy and shallow with her.
She’s different in every way.
Older, mature, intelligent. A PhD who doesn’t even insist we call her Dr. Rossi. But from how things were left, I doubt I’ll ever be enough for her.
I pull away from the curve, my cock like carbon and my balls aching with need.
The road calls to me, needing to ride or work out to expel the testosterone flooding my body.
I could head to the bar, pick up a random college woman, and pound into her, but the thought brings with it an immediate repulsion.
The only one I want to pound is Isabella. I want to watch my cock divide those fucking plump lips and slide inside her.
Kokami.
With the road darkening at the end of her street, I park under a busted streetlight and kill my headlights.
The need for instant relief is overwhelming.
The buckle of my seatbelt is the only sound in my cab as I toss it off my shoulder, unbutton my jeans, and yank my underwear down.
I grip my cock, already leaking a bit from that fucking kiss of hers.
Kokami.
I’m turning into a fucking pussy if I’m letting a basic ass kiss get me this horny. I tug my clothing further down, giving my balls some breathing room before spitting on my palm and wetting my cock.
The seat squeaks when I adjust my legs, spreading them wider and closing my eyes to envision her hand instead of mine.
My thoughts turn to the moments before the kiss, her interrogation, and my frustration.
And there was the solution to all my problems. A simple kiss.
Just one kiss that would unravel everything in me.
As I stroke myself with an unyielding rhythm, anger, and lust fuel every movement. Anger at wanting her and the possibility of not having her. Anger that she didn’t cave so easily when others have.
And lust.
Fucking lust for a brilliant, older woman letting a hot young guy fuck the shit out of her. Own her repeatedly until she limped into her lab, standing at the front podium, giving instructions and knowing I was the reason for that limp.
Shit.
I’d make that a daily occurrence if we were together. My fist pumps faster, and my body tingles with the bliss that is about to come.
Imagining her eyes wide with desire for me. Those plump lips parting and the soft moans escaping that hot little body dance behind my eyelids.
A dream that I need to make a reality.
My pace speeds up, and my breathing quickens. My body aches with each stroke, coming short and faster with a sense of urgency I chase. My orgasm radiates from my balls, up my cock, and over my entire being. A groan slides from me as I spurt into my hand.
I pant while stroking out more and more until it overflows my fingers and drips onto my jeans. Not that I care. I’m heading home to shower, change, and ride. But if I could coat her soft body in my cum, tons of it to stake my claim.
My driver’s side window is foggy. The heat penetrates my body as I ride out my release. The cum gets stickier and less fluid across my cock, pulling at the skin until it’s nearly painful. With my hand coated, I reach for my gym bag and awkwardly unzip it to grab my dirty shirt.
My phone rings through the car, my gaze flickering to the dashboard to see Holli calling. Without thinking, I hit “answer” and then curse. I don’t need to be talking to my bro with my cock still hanging out and cleaning jizz off my hand.
“Diego, where ya at? We’re already at Muddy Charles, and everyone’s here.”
Holli’s voice is barely audible over the blaring background noise, and I struggle to free my hand to turn down the volume in my truck.
“Go on without me.”
I yell too loudly in hopes that he can hear me.
“What?”
I quickly finish cleaning up my hand and cock, tossing the shirt in the gym bag, now sitting in the passenger seat. With the edge taken off and feeling relieved, I fix my underwear and jeans. The heat from earlier is blowing even hotter, lighting me up, and I quickly switch to air conditioning.
I crack the window to let the cool air rush in and freshen up the cab so the smell of what I did doesn’t linger when I park my truck.
“What?” he repeats, yelling even louder. “I can’t hear you.”
“I said, go on without me. I’ll catch up later,” I shout back, competing with Emilio’s loud ass laughter, overriding Holli. The phone sounds like it’s dropped, and then there is a string of curse words until I hear heavy breathing.
“Micro dick, you better be on your way because this place sucks. Holli won’t let us go until you get here,” Em whines into the phone. “I want to go to Silhouette. The drinks are cheap, and so are the women.”
Em fucking loves that dive bar.
He loves to play pool shark, bets girls they can’t beat him, and then runs the table, convincing them it’s pure luck.
His dumbass somehow fools them into another round on them and another game until they are either shitfaced and willing to go home with him, or he loses interest and brings the pitcher of beers over to our table.
It can be pretty entertaining, but I don’t have it in me tonight for stupid tricks and cheap thrills. I already know who I want, and she won’t be found in a dive bar, plastered with drinks and getting fucked in the bathroom or alley behind the bar. I’m taking a page from Dom’s book. Ride and chill.
“Nah, man. I’m good,” I yell back, louder than I like, but with Em, his normal hyperactivity, and the noisy bar, I’m not sure he’ll hear or is even paying attention. “Tell Holli I’ll call him later.”
I end the call, not wanting to hear that noise. Feeling relieved from my release, I put the truck in drive and take off toward my house to change into my riding gear.
Arriving home, I quickly shower, change, and grab my helmet and bike keys before leaving.
The night air has dropped several degrees, and a welcome coolness washes over me as I start my bike.
I rev the engine, much to my neighbor’s hatred, and launch off into the night.
Freedom and peace send away any nagging worries for now.
It’s just me and the open road.
The hum of the bike beneath me vibrates through my body and spikes my adrenaline. The streets are quiet, and my head feels clear for the first time tonight.
No distractions.
No noise.
I pass by Silhouette, spotting the lineup of bikes out front, Holli’s bright red bracketed by the twins’s clown bikes, and Dom’s bike noticeably missing. I shake my head, smirking at the thought of Em swindling some poor woman out of drinks with his fake pool hustle while his brother eggs him on.
I twist the throttle harder, letting the speed take over. The bike responds, surging forward as I lean into the curves. My heart thunders from pure bliss. The trees blur past, shadows stretching across the asphalt under the pale moonlight.
There’s a flash of pink.
Her bike is unmistakable as it hugs the curve ahead of me. I twist the throttle again, pushing my bike to close the distance and not lose her like I did the last two times. The engine roars, cutting through the stillness. She knows I’m here, glancing back once.
She leans deeper into the next turn.
Her movements are sharp and calculated, daring me to keep up. Just like she did before, careening past the train the other night, a grin spreads across my face as I rise to the challenge. My bike eats up the road, twisting and turning in an effort to catch up.
She doesn’t let up. That pink rope hair dances wildly behind her helmet. She’s fast. Smooth and confident.
She doesn’t slow.
Doesn’t falter.
We’re locked in a game only she and I are playing, going curve for curve and accelerating on the straightaways.
It’s exhilarating, a throwback to my racing days when competition was everything.
The only thing that mattered. It’s why I chase the feeling now.
Nothing in my current life compares to the thrill this brings me.
If my back weren’t for shit, I’d still be racing.
My forearm flexes to the max, the strain familiar and nostalgic. The wind whips past me as the bike rumbles beneath me as an extension of my body. We hit the last curve before the steep decline ahead.
Everything feels fucking amazing.
The world narrows to just us and the road. Then, suddenly, it happens. Her bike wobbles. The rear tire skids out of alignment.
Horror washes over me as I watch her wrestle with the machine, fighting to keep control. My heart leaps into my throat as I instinctively back off the throttle. My focus is razor-sharp on her every move.
“Shit,” I mutter under my breath, my own grip tightens.
My mind races as fast as my engine did moments ago, calculating the distance, the angles, and the odds of what will happen next.
She’s barely holding on, but the bike’s instability is undeniable. One wrong move and this could end badly. Very badly. Her bike wobbles harder, the back end fishtailing as she struggles to regain control. My stomach drops, and time slows to a crawl.
“Hold on.”
The words are barely audible over the pounding of my heart. She takes the decline too fast. The weight of the bike is working against her. The pink streak of her helmet dips to one side, and I know she won’t recover.