I’ve adjusted to the dark and can make out the glistening of her eyes. The scent of vanilla coming from her is intoxicating, and we’re standing so close I can feel her breasts moving against me as she breathes heavily after her rant.
She hasn’t answered me, but I find myself asking a different question.
“And what about the other guys?”
“What about them?”
“Is that true?”
“Why do you want to know?” she asks.
Shit… why do I want to know?
“I just can’t imagine it,” I say.
She scoffs. “Fuck you, Diablo. Just because you can’t imagine fucking someone like me, it doesn’t mean that other men don’t find me attractive.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean it like that, princess. I can imagine there are plenty of guys who wanna fuck you… like I said, you’re fucking perfect.”
We’re so close, and before I can even work out what’s happening her lips are on mine, she’s kissing me. I’m in shockso don’t react straight away, but she must take my hesitation as a sign I’m not into it and pulls back. She takes a breath as though she’s about to speak, but I wrap my arms around her and pull her tight into me, claiming her lips with mine. She lets out a soft moan as I press my hips against hers.
How the fuck am I getting hard already?
Her hands are around my neck, as she lifts onto tiptoes to get closer to me, I move my hands under her ass to lift her, but she must hear the scrape of the lock before I do. The next thing I know I’m being pushed away and blinded by the light of the clubhouse. Elizabeth is already out of the closet, and the last I see of her is her back as she races from the main doors and out into the night.
Chapter 3
Diablo
UsuallywhenI’mriding,my head is clear; the only thing I’m aware of is the roar of my engine, the smell of the gas, the road ahead of me. But tonight…
It’s been nearly a week since Donovan’s leaving party, nearly a week since I kissed Elizabeth. And I haven’t been able to stop fucking thinking about it. I never kiss girls; I can’t even remember the last time I did. Fuck a girl? Sure. Get my dick sucked? Great. But I stay away from anything else.
That’s probably why this has stuck in my head, it’s different, that’s all this is. It has nothing to do with the way her hair smelled like vanilla, or the way her thick body felt pressed up against mine. Nope, nothing to do with that.
When the guys suggested we go for a ride, I jumped at the chance, hoping I could forget about her for a moment, but no, here I am, still fucking thinking about her. They must know something is going on with me, I’m sure they’ve noticed I haven’t fucked any of the girls this week, and it’s unusual for me not to. Hopefully they just think I’m getting sick, and they haven’t guessed what’s actually runningthrough my head when I jerk off in my shower every morning and night, my younger brother’s best friend. Fuck.
Tank signals that he’s going to stop, so we slow to follow him, pulling into the parking lot of some roadside diner. I’ve never even heard of it, so I’ve got no idea why we’re stopping, but we park and dismount, taking a moment to stretch after the ride.
“What the fuck are we doing here?” I ask.
“I’m hungry,” Tank says.
“Hungry? It’s 10 p.m. and we had food before we left, how are you always so fucking hungry?”
I don’t really need to ask, as his name suggests, Tank is tall and built, he doesn’t have those defined gym muscles, but he’s solid, the kind of guy who most men wouldn’t even square off against in a fight.
“Fuck you!” he says, laughing as he makes his way into the diner.
It looks pretty standard inside, classic American diner. Red fake leather booths line the walls and there’s a bar with stools in front of the kitchen. We’re the only people in the place until a man’s head appears in the kitchen hatch, obviously hearing the door.
He calls behind him, “Hey! We’ve got customers.”
He nods to the booths, suggesting we take a seat. I sit in first with Tank opposite me, knowing Slim won’t want a window seat, and Pretty Boy sits last before we each grab a menu. Hearing the server approach, I look up and I’m shocked to see Elizabeth standing in front of us.
She must be wearing the diner uniform because she never usually dresses like this. A tight black mini skirt accentuates her hips, her legs are covered in sheer black tights, and she wears a white tee, tucked in at her waist, with her usual DrMarten boots completing the outfit. Her hair isn’t in its usual messy bun either, instead it’s braided down her back.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
