Her lips tilted. “Is that a bad thing?”
“You don’t want a minuteman for a lover, darlin’.”
She leaned forward, raising her butt as she slid her breasts along his chest. When she lowered onto his shaft again, she quivered, inside and out. The sensation was shattering. “I have every confidence you’ll last as long as I need you to.”
He would, too, because he wanted her to come apart around him again, wanted to feel her pussy grip his dick as if it would squeeze the very life out of him. Only then would he let go and come inside her. He reached for her hips, lifting her up and down as she nuzzled against his chest, licking and biting at his nipples.
She made his hair stand on end as she wriggled against him, pumping her pussy up and down on his dick, running her hands over his body in a way that could only be described as . . . possessive.
He loved it. He could never tire of her touch, the way she seemed to enjoy every moment of the experience. She wasn’t the least bit passive. Instead, she’d thrown herself headlong into sex as if she knew they had a limited time together and she wanted to feel everything she could.
So did he. He snaked an arm around her waist and flipped her over onto her back, then slid his arm down to grab on to her ass, pulling her hard and tight against his body.
Jessie gasped, her eyes widening as Diaz drove hard into her, not once, not twice, but over and over again, refusing to stop even to let her catch her breath. She held on to his arms, her nails digging grooves into his skin as he pumped thrust after thrust into her body. She whimpered, moaned, then lifted into him, urging him deeper.
“More,” she cried, her voice no more than a throaty whisper as her pussy began to tighten around his shaft.
He reared back, powered deeper, grinding against her clit until she shattered, convulsing around him in wave after wave of climax. She let go with a loud scream, arching against him, crying out his name and raking her nails against his skin. Watching her, feeling her, was too much and he couldn’t hold back, catapulting with a loud groan, grasping her hair to tip her head back so he could take her mouth, meld with her while they shared this orgasm and fell together.
Spent, sweating, he lightened the kiss, sipping from her mouth while she caught her breath. Her heart still pounded against his chest with fierce, ramming beats. She was wheezing, every inhalation a struggle.
He’d been too rough, too violent. He rolled off her, started to move away, but she caught hold of his arms and pulled him toward her.
“Where are you going?”
Her voice sounded raw, no doubt from all the panting and screaming. How could he be both proud and appalled by that?
“I hurt you.”
“You did not. It was . . . oh my God, Diaz, I didn’t know I could come like that. No, you didn’t hurt me at all. Now get back here.”
He slid back onto the bed and pulled her against him, stroking her hair, listening to the sounds she made.
Contented sounds. She ran her hand down his arm.
“I hurt you,” she said, smoothing her hand over his arm, the marks she’d made with her nails.
“I didn’t even feel it. I was concentrating on your pussy.”
She shuddered, sighed, and eventually her breathing returned to normal. Calm, even, until her eyes closed and he realized she’d fallen asleep. Still he continued to stroke her body, surprising even himself when his cock began to harden again.
Christ, he was a goddamn beast. Insatiable, wanting her again even though he knew she had to be worn out.
He was capable of hurting Jessie because he was mindless when it came to her. She brought out violent emotions in him, including passion—a passion that wasn’t at all restrained.
He looked down at her, her lips swollen from his kisses, her face red and raw from his beard. Her pussy was probably sore from the pounding it had taken. So much for his desire to be gentle. Wanting and doing were two different things, weren’t they?
He’d completely lost it with her, had thought only of himself. He’d been so into fucking her, he hadn’t stopped to think about the possibility of hurting her. Yeah, who did that remind him of?
This thing between them was a nightmare, was never going to work.
Of course he already knew that.
But was Jess clear on it?
ELEVEN
JESSIE INHALED THE CRISP NIGHT AIR, READY FOR ANYTHING tonight.
She was charged, energized after last night with Diaz.
He’d stayed with her, held her all night long. First thing this morning he’d run a bath for her, put her in the tub, and ordered her to soak while he went downstairs and brought them both a cup of coffee.
Apparently he was convinced she’d be so sore she wouldn’t be able to walk.
She couldn’t help it—she’d actually laughed when he said that.
A real-life dick was different than her vibrators or her fingers. Wow, was it ever different. He’d fucked her good. Her body heated in a flash of desire remembering how it had felt to have him inside her. Pulsing, swelling, filling her. And when he moved against her, she’d connected with him in ways she’d never imagined possible. Even now, everything sexual inside her quivered in anticipation of doing it again.
Any soreness she’d felt was welcome. She’d do it again in a heartbeat.
She wasn’t sore. She told him the bath was heaven, but she’d sure wanted to have sex with him this morning.
He’d looked at her like she’d asked him to boil small kittens on her behalf. He’d told her she should take it easy today. It was really sweet how he was so tender with her, and so unlike the normally gruff Diaz.
They spent the day taking in the sights, hanging out with Crush and the gang, and taking some time alone to talk about the case and figure out different scenarios, like what would happen if they didn’t get asked to go through initiation. Which Jessie didn’t think was an option. Crush would ask them, she knew he would. But if he didn’t, they intended to follow him and his gang, at a discreet distance, and see where they were going. Not the best plan, but Jessie felt it was unnecessary anyway. They were going to be asked. She was 100 percent confident. Diaz wasn’t, so he wanted to make sure they had another option.
Shaking her head, she placed her hands on her hips and searched among the main drag crowds for Spence, who’d made himself scarce all day long. Darkness swallowed the crowds, making everything a blur of nothing more than motorcycle lights and people milling about the sidewalks, crowded so close together you couldn’t differentiate one body from another. Diaz was down the street talking with Crush. Jessie had come out of the dense crowd to use the bathroom and get some air, and she’d told Diaz she’d see if she could spot Spence while she was walking around.
Not that she figured she’d have much luck finding him. When he’d called Diaz’s cell phone this morning, Spence had said he was busy with Stephanie and a few of the Devil’s Skulls. He’d explained he heard a few things from Stephanie last night that had made him curious, and he’d report in later.
They hadn’t seen him all day, and tonight was the initiation. Which they hadn’t yet been invited to, though they had run into Crush this morning, who’d asked them to ride with the gang today. Jessie took that as a sign of things to come. Crush seemed to be comfortable with the three of them. God knows Spence had ingratiated himself with Stephanie, who stood at the upper echelon of the group and was also a relative of Crush’s, so that at least gave Spence an in. And Jessie knew Crush liked her. He didn’t seem to have a problem with Diaz, either, so things looked promising for initiation.
And initiation meant gaining access into the inner workings of the Devil’s Skulls, which meant hopefully finding out how deeply Crush and his gang were involved with selling guns to the survivalists. If at all.
She kind of liked Crush. It was really too bad that a guy who seemed nice on the outside might be the leader of a tax-evading, gunrunning, God-only-knew-what-else kind of gang.
Appearances could be deceiving. She had to remember that. Still, she’d always let her instinct guide her, and she was rarely wrong about people. Her gut told her that Crush wasn’t a bad guy.
Then again, she was the novice in the Wild Riders, so she wasn’t about to go off half-cocked and try to save the day, insisting that Crush was the good guy. She could be dead wrong. But she still intended to reserve judgment until there was solid proof.
Either way, she was prepared for initiation and everything it entailed, as long as she had Diaz by her side.
DIAZ WAS ACTING WEIRD AS HELL, WHICH WAS NOTHING UNUSUAL for him, especially lately. He either treated her with kid gloves, loomed over her yelling at her like she was a ten-year-old, or threw her against the wall and fucked her brains out.
Ideally, she preferred the last option.
Giving up her attempts at finding Spence, she skirted through the ever-thickening crowd, taking her life in her hands by crossing the zooming, bike-heavy street, and made her way back to Diaz. He was in the beer tent, still engaged in heavy conversation with Crush, Rex, and a few of the other guys.
Rex was the only one who glanced up when he saw her. He looked her up and down, smiled, and nodded. She shivered and moved to Diaz’s side. He snaked his arm around her waist and pulled her down next to him, stopping only long enough to plant a quick kiss on her lips.
His public show of affection surprised her. He’d done it in such a distracted manner, she wondered if he was even aware of it. Him kissing her so naturally, without thinking about it, warmed her.
She sat quietly next to him and listened in.
“I was cornered by no less than ten guys,” Crush said. “My ass was on the line. It was fight or die.”
Diaz nodded. “Sucks to be in a situation like that, but not much you can do. You either fight and maybe get your ass kicked, or cry like a baby, beg for your life, and get branded a pussy.”
“Exactly. And no way was I going to beg, so I threw myself into the middle of it.”
Diaz grinned. “Got your ass kicked anyway, didn’t you?”
Crush laughed. “Yeah, but I kicked a few of theirs, too. And gained their respect.”
Jessie shook her head. Guy talk about battles fought and won. It figured. These types of conversations cropped up a lot at Wild Riders’ headquarters, too. She often had to sit through talks about fist or knife fights, speed races on deserted streets, gang initiations and the like. It was a show of bravado, a game to see which one was the bravest of the bunch.
Too much testosterone in action.
“So, tonight’s initiation,” Crush said.
That got her attention. She turned from scanning the crowd and focused on him.
“The Devil’s Skulls would like the two of you and Spence to come to the initiation tonight.”
Diaz nodded and lifted his lips in a half smile. “Thanks.”
“We’d love to,” Jessie said. “Thank you for the invite.”
Crush laughed. “You might not thank me after it’s over.”
Diaz leaned a forearm on the table, taking a lazy position. “Oh, I think all of us can handle it.”
“Good,” Crush said with a nod, then stood. “I’ve gotta go. Meet us back at the farmhouse where we had the bonfire last night. We’ll party for a while, drink a few beers, and start at midnight.”
“We’ll be there,” Diaz said.
After Crush left, Jessie turned to him. “We need to find Spence.”
“Agreed.” Diaz pulled his cell phone and tried Spence’s number.
“You rang?”
Jessie tilted her head back at the sound of Spence’s voice.
“Yes. We’ve been trying to get hold of you.”
“Where’ve you been?” Diaz asked.
Spence slid into one of the seats and leaned forward. “With Stephanie and a few of the others. I wasn’t in a place where I could talk.”