Bonus Scene #3
Diesel
The sun is bleeding orange across the horizon when I roll the bike out of the garage.
Willow's already outside, leaning against the porch rail in her cut and tank top, both clinging just right.
Her jeans look painted on, so tight, and her boots scuffed from so many rides on the bike.
Her braid's loose, strands catching the last light, and the way she looks at me makes my blood run hot.
It’s been a year and a half since I slid that ring on her finger at the overlook.
A year and a half of waking up to her curled against me, her laugh filling the cabin at dawn, her body arching under mine whenever I can't keep my hands off her, which is damn near every day.
She's still got that fire, the same one that had her whispering "Daddy" in a storage closet like she was daring me to break, but she's softer now, too. She’s settled and mine in ways that make my chest ache when I think about it too long.
I kill the engine in the driveway, kick the stand down. She pushes off the rail and walks over, hips rolling slow and deliberate.
"Ready?" she asks, voice low, eyes flicking to my mouth.
"Been ready since I first saw you.” I hook two fingers in her belt loop, yank her flush against me, kissing her hard. My tongue sweeping in, tasting cherry ChapStick and the faint salt of her skin from the heat of the day. She moans into my mouth, fingers curling in my cut, nails scraping leather.
"Thought we were riding," she breathes against my lips.
"We are." I bite her bottom lip, tug. "We’re going for a long ride, taking the scenic route. I’ve got plans for the overlook."
Her pupils blow wide. Willow knows what it means when I take her to the overlook. “Our spot?”
"Exactly." My hand slides down, squeezing her ass through denim. "Bike's ready. Get on."
She swings her leg over and settles behind me. Her thighs clamping my hips, arms wrapping tight around my waist, palms flat on my stomach under the cut. Her chin rests on my shoulder for a second, breath warm against my neck.
"I love this," she murmurs. "The way you feel between my thighs.”
I twist, kiss her quick and filthy. "Love you more, little fox. Hold on."
I fire the engine. The bike wakes with a deep, throaty growl that vibrates through our bodies. Willow's grip tightens, chest pressing to my back, breasts soft against my cut. I ease off the clutch, roll down the gravel drive, and hit the blacktop.
The road opens up into a two-lane highway slicing through pine forests, wind whipping past, the world narrowing to the roar of the pipes, the heat of her against me, the stretch of asphalt ahead. I take it easy at first, letting Willow settle. Then I open the throttle.
She laughs into the wind. It’s wild and bright, carrying over the sound of the engine. Every time her hands slide lower, fingers splaying over my abs, tracing the V of muscle disappearing into my jeans, I feel it straight to my cock. She knows exactly what she's doing. Always has.
We ride for an hour, maybe more. There’s no rush.
Just us, the bike, and the road. I take the turns slow enough she can lean with me, her thighs flexing around my hips.
The sun drops lower, and the sky turns a deep indigo with the first stars pricking through.
I feel her shift behind me, her hips rocking once, grinding against my ass like she can't help it.
"Keep that up," I call over my shoulder, voice rough, "and we won't make the overlook."
She laughs again, breath hot on my neck. "Who says I want to wait?"
Fuck. My cock throbs against the seam of my jeans.
The overlook turnoff appears on the right, a gravel path cutting through the trees.
I signal, slow, ease us onto the dirt. The bike bumps over ruts until the clearing opens up.
We’ve finally arrived at our spot, which is good because I don’t think I could take more of her moving against me and not being inside her.
I kill the engine, and silence rushes in. All I can hear is the wind in the branches and our breathing.
Willow slides off first, takes off her helmet, shaking out her braid. Her cheeks are flushed from the ride, lips parted, eyes bright with want. She looks like sin in moonlight.
"God, I love this place," she says, voice husky.
I swing my leg over, set the kickstand, and pull her in by the waist. "Me too. First time I brought you here, I knew you were trouble."
She grins, wicked. "Good trouble?"
"The best." I kiss her, my tongue sliding against hers, hands roaming under her jacket. She tastes like wind and freedom and everything I never thought I'd have.
She pulls back just enough to whisper, "You thinking what I'm thinking?"
"Been thinking it since we left the house. I want you, right here, on the bike or in the grass. Wherever you want."
Her eyes darken. "Yes."
I don't waste time. I spin her, back her against the bike, hands shoving her jacket open, palming her breasts through the tank. She arches, moaning into my mouth, nipples pebbled under my thumbs.
"Strip," I growl.
Her cut hits the ground, and she peels off her tank to reveal a sexy black lace bra underneath, her nipples straining against the fabric. Her boots follow, and then she shimmies her jeans down her hips, dragging her panties with them. She stands there in just the bra.
"Fuck, you're beautiful." I step back, eyes raking over her—breasts, waist, the soft swell of her hips, the slick shine already between her thighs. "Bra too."
She reaches behind, unhooking it slowly, and lets it drop. Her breasts are perfection, with full, tight nipples begging for my mouth. I groan, cup them, thumbs brushing the peaks. She gasps, head tipping back.
I strip fast, and my cock springs free. It’s thick and hard, already leaking at the tip. She looks down, licks her lips, and reaches for me.
I catch her wrist. "Not yet."
I spin her again. "Hands on the seat. Bend over."
She does with her palms braced on the warm leather seat, ass up, thighs parted, back arched. The chrome tank still radiates heat from the ride. She looks back over her shoulder, eyes dark. "Like this, Daddy?"
My cock jerks as I step up and slide the head along her slit. She’s so wet, it’s dripping down her thighs. "Exactly like this."
I thrust in slow, inch by inch, letting her feel every ridge, every vein stretching her. She moans long and low, pushing back, taking more. When I'm buried balls-deep, I still, hands gripping her hips hard enough to bruise.
"You feel that?" I rasp, voice wrecked. "How fucking deep I am? How wet you are for me?"
"Yes," she breathes. "God, yes. Please…"
I pull almost all the way out, then slam back in hard. The bike rocks with the force. She cries out.
"Faster," she begs.
I give it to her as hard and deep as she can take it. Each thrust drives her forward, breasts swaying, moans turning to sharp cries. I slide my hand around her body to find her clit. The little nub is swollen and slick. I circle it with rough precision. She bucks, her walls fluttering around me.
"Diesel, fuck…"
"Come on my cock, baby. Let me feel it squeeze me. Milk me dry."
She shatters. Her body clenches, and she screams my name into the night. I keep fucking her through it, drawing it out until she's trembling, her legs shaking.
I pull out slowly, my cock glistening with her come.
I spin her and lift her onto the seat, her legs spread wide open just for me.
I drop to my knees on the gravel and put my mouth on her pussy, licking long, slow stripes from the entrance to clit.
She tastes so sweet. I suck her clit hard, tongue flicking, two fingers sliding inside, curling against that spot that makes her sob.
She comes again, fast and violent, her thighs clamping my head. I lick her through it, greedy, until she's pushing at my shoulders, oversensitive.
"Too much, Diesel."
I stand, wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, pull her off the bike, and lay her down in the grass. The cool blades against her heated skin, stars overhead. I cover her body with mine and slide back in her heat. I go slow this time, face-to-face, hands linked above her head.
We move together with deep, rolling thrusts, our eyes locked on each other. Every slide in, every drag out, feels like worship.
"Love you," I whisper against her mouth. "So fucking much."
"Love you," she breathes. "Always.”
She wraps her legs around my waist, heels digging into my ass, urging me deeper. I shift angles, hit that spot inside her that makes her eyes roll back.
"Right there, fuck, don't stop."
I don't. I pound into her, hand slipping between us to rub her clit in tight circles. She comes again. Her nails raking down my back, leaving marks I'll feel tomorrow. I follow right after, groaning her name, spilling inside her in hot pulses.
We collapse together, both sweaty and trembling. I roll us so she's on top, still connected, my cock softening inside her.
She rests her head on my chest. "Jesus," she whispers. "I think you broke me."
I chuckle, stroke her back. "You okay?"
"The best." She kisses my chest, over the scar along my ribs.
We stay like that a long time. Tangled together in the grass. My fingers trace lazy patterns on her skin, over the curve of her hip, the dip of her waist, the swell of her breast. She traces the ink on my arms.
"I love this place,” she says.
"Yeah." I kiss her hair. "Me too.”
The night air cools our skin and she shivers. I help her up, brushing grass from her back while kissing the marks my hands left on her hips. We dress slow, sharing lazy kisses between buttons and zips. She climbs back on the bike behind me, arms tight around my waist.
I fire the engine. The rumble vibrates through us again.
"Home?" she asks against my ear.
"Home," I say.
I take the long way back. Because some nights, the ride never really ends and I hope it never does.