Chapter 30 – Diesel
Axel would probably charge Diesel a late fee to use his shower.
He’d already waited up for Diesel. By now, he was probably asleep.
Added to that late fee would probably be another one for disturbing ‘a man’.
Diesel had given that brat enough of his money, so he gathered his toothbrush, shaving kit, and pajama bottoms, made his way to the third floor, and knocked on CJ’s door.
If CJ didn’t answer, he’d use the shower in the pool house, though he didn’t relish wasting that much time. Maybe he’d go without tonight. Rebel was waiting for him.
CJ swung his door open and yawned, his gaze zeroing in on what Diesel held. He stepped aside. “Axel closed his bathroom to you?”
“I took too long,” Diesel explained, walking into CJ’s room.
The space was a refuge, a place where CJ sought solace, especially during periods of family crisis.
In that sense, it wasn’t unlike Diesel’s bedroom, only larger, with the hallmarks of a teenage boy who loved Nintendo, football, and motorcycles.
Diesel liked minimalist luxury for his private space in gray, black, and red, but CJ’s color scheme projected his warmth and kindness.
Caramel wood floors, terracotta and moss-colored walls, mustard yellow and muted orange accents.
Sliding back into bed, CJ yawned again. “He would’ve gotten another five bands from you.”
Diesel didn’t miss his little brother’s sourness, even though fatigue curled through the statement. “It’s too late to argue that point.”
Or try to win it after that little motherfucker bamboozled a thousand dollars from him.
“Turn the lock on my knob on your way out, bro,” CJ said groggily, reminding Diesel of years past and all the times he found CJ deep in Orpheus’s embrace.
Rebel always demanded Diesel’s complete and utter attention. CJ was happy with electronic devices and intermittent check-ins.
Shaking his head, Diesel went to CJ’s bathroom, noting the differences in their styles here as well.
While CJ’s shower wasn’t considered small, it wasn’t anywhere near the size of Diesel’s.
CJ’s bathroom was more traditional with wood and marble with a sink set into a vanity with cabinets and drawers, while Diesel had chosen glass, marble, and floating sinks, and extra closet space to hold his toiletries, towels, and toilet paper.
Diesel began removing his clothes and noticed the time on his watch. 1:17a.m. He needed to get a move on. He brushed his teeth, then hurried through his shaving, counting it as a blessing that he didn’t nick himself.
The moment he stepped under the warm spray and closed his eyes, he saw Rebel on her bed. He snapped his eyes open again, telling himself he’d comforted her as his little sister. He’d stay up and text with her as his little sister.
She’d been so fragile, like a delicate little flower, and he…he…
Fuck it all.
Clenching his jaw, he closed his eyes again, squeezing them tightly, trying to forget…no, wanting to remember…
Trying to forget her naked body but wanting to remember her importance to him. Aside from her naked body.
He swallowed, regret welling in him. But regret for the wrong fucking reason. It was the deep regret of missed opportunity. The insane kind that left him wishing he’d kissed her mouth. It drowned out his pride that he’d managed to hold onto his decency.
Diesel heaved in a breath, torn inside. Sick inside. Seeing the perfection of her naked body.
No, no, no. He was better than that. Growling, he popped his eyes open and grabbed CJ’s body wash. He poured a fair amount into his hands, then swiped his fingers over his face, his eyes, hissing at the burn, but not caring. He wanted to torture himself. He deserved to torture himself.
Tears stung his abused eyes, slid down his cheeks. Her image remained.
He punched the side of his head, so hard stars danced in front of him. She would not fucking go.
The memory of her taut nipples, her sweet pussy, and her gorgeous figure, left him hard and hurting. He’d planned to jerk off when he was in her room. Except it felt so fucking wrong. Illegal.
Filthy.
Somehow, the burning in his eyes had subsided and he hadn’t even realized it. He considered using more and would have if he thought it would help. It was only wasting time.
His breath coming in short pants, he wrapped his hand around his straining cock and squeezed, throwing his head back. The water beat down on his face. He opened his mouth, drinking, thinking, fisting his dick.
Imagining she was eighteen.
Sixteen.
Dreaming of her underneath him, clinging to him, crying out his name. Driving him insane.
In bed. Out of bed.
In his head. Outside, in reality.
Her mouth was on him, touching him hesitantly, sliding downward, raining kisses across his chest, down his stomach, and to his cock.
He gasped, smelling her, feeling her, tasting her. Licking her nipples, between the valley of her breasts, to her seam. Spreading her lips and exposing her clit. Bringing her to orgasm and burying himself inside of her.
Filling her with his cum and leaving a baby inside of her. Julia.
Cum jetted from him and Diesel grunted, falling to his knees, tears sliding down his cheeks. Only then remembering he didn’t want children, not with anyone.
If Rebel ever had a daughter named Julia, he wouldn’t be the father. Fuck, if Rebel ever had a daughter…who else would make that baby?
Fuck. No, no, and no.
Just no.
Diesel: Still awake?
It was just after two. Diesel had finished his shower not long after he’d given into his darkest, most shameful desire.
But he’d needed a moment, so he’d gathered his belongings, and slipped out of CJ’s room, heading to his own.
He’d almost left Rebel alone and not texted her, shaken to his core at how vivid his fantasy had been.
Especially that last part, where she was pregnant by him.
Rebel: Waiting for you.
Just as he suspected, though he hoped he’d taken so long, she’d fallen back to sleep.
Rebel: I’ve never stayed up texting all night with a guy.
That intrigued him. They were texting with yards and doors between them. It was innocent. He’d make sure of it.
Diesel: Even with Kaia?
Rebel: Not even with him. We’ve texted into the early morning hours. Does that qualify?
It could. If Diesel allowed it.
Diesel: No.
Rebel:
Rebel: Let’s start our game.
Diesel’s mind was so filled with shit he had no business thinking, he’d forgotten about ‘Would You Rather’.
Diesel: Me first.
Games such as these were ice breakers, Q&As he’d long used with girls he wanted. Usually, they were shy or intimidated by him. He liked to go first and set the tone, ease the little birds into comfort.
Diesel: Would you rather vacation near the beach or in the mountains?
Rebel: Depends on my mood.
Diesel: You have to choose. It’s called would you rather for a reason.
Rebel: I answered. Accept it and move on.
Gritting his teeth, Diesel dropped it. Otherwise, she’d argue for the next hour and still not give him the answer he sought.
Diesel: Your turn.
Rebel: Not until you answer the question.
Diesel: That’s not how this works. It’s my fucking game. So I set the rules.
Rebel: Joke’s on you, fuck face. We each have to answer our own questions. That’s MY fucking rule.
He debated on challenging her. Except it wasn’t worth a major argument.
Diesel: You’re so fucking spoiled. Beach vacation for me.
Rebel: Was that so hard? Fun in the sun, huh?
Diesel: It was torturous. Yes, you know it. Now ask your question.
Rebel: I can ask anything?
Diesel: As long as you frame it in the correct format, yes.
Rebel: Would you rather cuddle in bed or take a walk and hold hands?
Diesel shoved away the images that question conjured.
Diesel: Neither. I’m not into sappiness.
Rebel: That’s romance. Not sappiness.
Diesel: Instead of arguing over something else and wasting more time, we can move on. Tell me your preference.
Rebel: Cuddling. I think. I’ve never done that.
She was purposely fucking with him, trying to goad him into any inappropriate conversation. It was exactly how Diesel once used the game. No one had ever turned it around on him.
Fucking brat.
Diesel: Would you rather cook for the rest of your life or order takeout forever?
Rebel: Neither.
Diesel: You’re fucking cheating.
Rebel: I don’t like your fucking questions. They’re boring.
Diesel: Well I sure the fuck can’t ask if you’d rather spit or swallow.
Normally, that’s where the game ended up, on sexual questions that led to hookups and great fucking.
Rebel: What does that mean?
The question almost popped Diesel’s eyes out of their fucking sockets.
Rebel: Spit or swallow?
Diesel: Never mind. Don’t worry about it.
Rebel: That means it’s about sex.
Diesel: Forget I brought it up.
Rebel: What do you spit or swallow?
Diesel: Cum, Rebel. Now drop the fucking subject.
Rebel: How would I know if I should spit or swallow?
His breathing coming in short pants, Diesel started to sweat.
She liked to crow about watching porn. He thought she’d know what spit and swallow meant.
That she didn’t reminded him of what an innocent she was.
He almost threw his phone aside. Later, he’d claim to have fallen asleep, That was a chickenshit move that she didn’t deserve.
Diesel: You find out when the time is right. Let’s get back to the game.
Rebel: No. Either you tell me or I’ll ask Kaia.
Fucking. Little. Bitch. She knew how the fuck to push his buttons. Playing Kaia against him? Diesel gritted his teeth, almost admiring her manipulation tactics. To do so meant falling for her fucking bait. How the fuck was she using tricks from HIS playbook?
However, if he didn’t say something, she would ask Kaia.
Diesel: Spit or swallow. That’s what it is. It should be self-explanatory if you know the goddamn definition of spit or swallow.
He expected a snarky response. What he didn’t expect was her next question. A repeat of her previous question. He should’ve known better. This was Rebel, after all.