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DIESEL DADDY

Page 22

by Naomi West


  That gets a small giggle out of her.

  “What are you doing here, anyway? Oh, wait, I know. You’re here to let me out. You’ve decided that you can’t stand idly by and let them keep me here anymore. You’ve decided that standing by would make you just as evil as these evil, evil men, and you can’t stand it!”

  “Wow,” G says. I can hear her shaking her head. “You really are something else, Yazmin.”

  “Call me Y!” I blurt.

  “Is that what your friends call you?”

  “You’re my only friend and I’m asking you to call me it, so, yeah.”

  “Okay, Y. I’m not here to let you out. Sorry. I’m here to check that you’re doing okay. The boss asked me to before he left.”

  “The boss.” I let out a laugh, though it’s somewhat forced. The last boss I knew was Snake. “Do you mean Spike?”

  “Yes, Spike. You’re okay, then? I better get going.”

  “Wait.” I check the clock. It’s two o’clock now, which means whatever’s going down is going down right now. “Wait a sec, G. Can you tell me something?”

  “Um, depends what it is. I’m not going to tell you how to break out of that room, if that’s what you’re going to ask.”

  “No, it’s not that. I was just wondering. Spike, is he a good man?”

  G pauses, and then says, “It depends what you mean by a good man.”

  “A good man is somebody who never hurts innocent people. If he does bad things, he only does them to people who’ve done worse things. A good man is somebody who won’t cause harm if he can help it, I guess.”

  “Spike’s a good man, then, as good a man as a one percenter can be, anyway.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  “Why do you ask?” G’s smiling, I’m sure of it, smiling like we’re teenagers at a slumber party discussing boys.

  “No reason.” I return the smile through the door. “Just wondering.”

  “Right, okay. See you later.”

  “Talk to you later, you mean.”

  She giggles again and then leaves. I go to the dresser drawers and check for a change of clothes. There are women’s as well as men’s underwear, sweatpants and shorts and T-shirts for both sexes and a variety of sizes. I guess they can never know who they’re going to be keeping down here. I take a shower, washing away the smell of the woods, the dirt and the leaves, and the sweat of being tied to a chair for hours. When I’m dried and changed, my running gear in a heap at the end of the bed, it’s half past two and I can barely keep my eyes open.

  I let them fall closed, dreaming my first happy dream in months. Mom and I are at the park, Mom pushing me on the swing. I’m screaming at her to push me higher, higher. I can almost touch the clouds. Then I fly out of the seat and up into the sky, flying through the clouds. I wake to another knock on the door, this time heavier. The clock tells me it’s half past five in the morning.

  “G?” I whisper, still groggy from sleep, still half-believing that I’m flying through clouds.

  “It’s Spike.” His voice is heavy, gruff with whiskey and smoke. “I’m coming in.”

  It’s not a question. I step back as the heavy door swings open and Spike steps in. He’s wearing his leather, boots, and jeans, his hair mussed up from his helmet. He closes the door behind him, smiling at me sideways. “Maybe you’re thinking that since the door ain’t locked, you’ll make a run for it. I’d advise against that. There’s a guard posted on the first floor.”

  I flash him my cockiest smile. “You’d advise against it, would you?”

  “Yes.”

  We sort of dance across the room, Spike walking at me and me walking backward until we’re in the miniature kitchen, next to the tiny table and chairs. We sit at the table and watch each other for a moment.

  “You were gone for a while,” I say. “I’m guessing my intel turned out good.”

  “Yeah,” he says. “It turned out good. It turned out perfect, in fact. It turned out so good, so damn perfect, that it’s got me thinkin’ if I’m the biggest asshole in the world for trusting you. Maybe Snake told you to feed me this intel. Maybe he was ready to sacrifice those men.”

  “You think I’m lying.” I sigh, shaking my head. “Spike, come on.” As I say it, I realize that ‘Spike, come on,’ is something somebody who’s known him for a long time would say, somebody he’s intimate with would say. But sitting close to him in this private room, the party upstairs a distant din, I feel close to him. My pussy tingles, my nipples ache. It seems Spike has the ability to make my horny no matter the circumstances. “Don’t forget that I didn’t come here and offer myself. You kidnapped me, and I’m making the best of the situation. If I’d skipped up to the clubhouse and offered my intel, that’d be one thing. But that’s not what happened, is it?”

  He flinches, and I know I’m making sense to him. But then his face hardens and his eyes go cold. A man like Spike, I’m learning, doesn’t trust easily. I wonder why that is. I wonder if something horrible happened to him just as it happened to me.

  “What do you want from me?” I say, when he just stares at me.

  “I want you to convince me that you’re not lying and you truly want our protection in exchange for intel. I want you to explain why.”

  “I told you!” I snap. “He killed my mom! What else do you need? Do you want the details, is that it? Do you want to know how I came home and the door was squeaking on its hinges and I was laughing at first, thinking Mom had kicked the door down because she’d forgotten her keys? Mom always forgot her keys. Once when I was a kid, she kicked the door down. She was stronger than she looked. So as I went into her bedroom, I was laughing. When I saw that her bed had turned red, I was laughing. Is that what you want to hear?”

  His face stays hard. “That doesn’t explain everything,” he says. “If you hated him so much, why did you go to him?”

  “I had nowhere else,” I mutter, but his words are getting to me. I feel rotten, dirty. I feel like something you leave out for the trashman.

  “Sure,” Spike says. “But that doesn’t really explain it, does it? If he killed your mom, you wouldn’t care about being homeless. You’d hate him anyway. You’d rather be homeless than go and stay with her killer—”

  “How do you know?” I say, spite in my voice. “You know nothing about me. How the hell would you know what I was feeling? Do you think people are that simple? Do you really think it’s just black and white? I hated him, and I wanted him to be my father, okay? Ever since I was a kid, I dreamed I’d find my dad, and I did, and I thought I could make it work. I thought one day he might break down and apologize for killing her. Yeah, yeah, I know. It’s screwed. You want to know why I want revenge, why I want to work with you? Because after everything, he wants nothing to do with me.” I explain to him about Dad’s ultimatum, stripping or marriage. I fight back tears. “So maybe you can call me selfish if you want, but there it is.”

  We’re both silent for a time as I get a hold of my emotions. When I’ve calmed down—or maybe it’s because I haven’t really calmed down at all—I look over Spike again. There’s no question about it. He’s the sexiest man I’ve ever laid my eyes on.

  “I’ll earn my keep,” I say, my voice taking on a sweet note. I can’t help it. My mind may be confused, but my body isn’t. My body knows exactly where it wants this to head. “It wasn’t Dad wanting me to be with someone that pissed me off so much. It was Dad trying to force me to be with somebody without giving me a choice. If I had a choice . . .” I eye him suggestively. I see the moment understanding clicks into place. Animal lust fills his bright green eyes.

  “Maybe this is part of the plan,” he says stiffly, but his voice is heavy. I can tell he wants it as badly as me.

  “It isn’t. There is no plan. There’s only us.” I lean forward. His eyes move to my breasts, looking down the T-shirt. I’m not wearing a bra. My body is alive with tension, everything hot and buzzing, everything with added importance. “I’ve seen you looki
ng, Spike. Ever since you picked me up in the woods. And I won’t lie. I’ve been looking, too.” I reach forward and place my hand on his knees. His body tightens. “I choose. Not Dad, not anybody else. Me. And I choose you, Spike.”

  Chapter Ten

  Spike

  “And I choose you, Spike.”

  Her hand feels so damn good on my leg, not especially ’cause I like being touched on the leg or anything, but because I know all she would have to do is slide her hand up and then she’d be grabbing my prick. I can see her tits in her cleavage, perky as hell. Her face is flushed and her hair is curly around her shoulders from her shower. She looks vulnerable and yet strong at the same time. I keep telling myself that this could be part of the trick, that seducing me could be a big game, but it’s difficult to reason when I’ve got Yazmin looking sexier than any woman I’ve ever seen before right in front of me.

  With a considerable effort, I stand up, watching her. “Maybe I’ll let this happen,” I say, trying to keep my voice firm, the firm, solid voice of a man in charge. But as Yazmin climbs to her feet, the sweatpants hugging her perfect legs, her body looking like it was made for fucking, I’m finding it difficult. “But I’m going to keep you away from the meetings, away from the men. You won’t hear a single thing you can run back to Snake with.”

  “I won’t. I don’t want to.” She dances forward on her tiptoes. I’m so hard right now that my cock aches, the tip pressing urgently against the inside of my jeans. She stands close to me, tilting her head up in the most innocent, naïve way possible. It’s a performance, I know. She’s not trying to hide that it’s a performance. Her blue eyes are playful and fun. And yet I’m falling for it, hard. “I just want to choose, Spike. That’s all. We’ve been eye fucking each other all day.”

  I reach out, my mind becoming foggy now. I always find it difficult to think when I’m horny. It’s like the whole world hones down to lust. But this is different. This is even more difficult. Yazmin is like no woman I have ever met. I reach for her pussy. She stands there, legs slightly apart, pouting up at me like the hottest little slut I can imagine. When I press my hand on her pussy, I’m lost to the world. She’s not wearing underwear. I can feel her lips through the fabric of the sweatpants. I rub fast, unable to stop myself, watching her face.

  Her lips twist and her eyes roll back. She isn’t embarrassed or ashamed that we’ve just met, that I’m her kidnapper. She rides the pleasure, her eyes flitting open and closed. I push her back to the bed, nudging her in the shoulder, loving the control I have over her. She follows each of my movements as though we’ve choreographed it. I will enjoy her while I can, I tell myself. If this all turns out to be a trick, I’ll take the chance to enjoy her now.

  “You’re a horny little fucking freak, aren’t you?” My voice is not my own. My prick is telling me what to say. I just want to make her dirty. I want to see her down and dirty and fucking hot. I’m so hard I could explode. I keep rubbing her pussy. She lies on the bed, legs spread.

  “Yes,” she moans, her toes curling.

  “You’re going to come for me.” I growl, feeling like an animal. I feel like a caveman, taking her right here. I feel like a wild man. I want her so fucking badly but for some reason it’s important that I see her come first. I have to watch her beautiful face as it twists into ecstasy. I have to know that I’m a musician and she’s my instrument, the song that fills the air only mine. This has never been important with any other woman but it is with Yazmin. I don’t know why. I can’t pretend to know. I just know that it is. “Come for me. Come for me. Hard.”

  I rub her so fast her sweatpants get wet with how horny she is, her body writhing, her eyes half-lidded as she looks down at me. Then she stops. Everything stops. She freezes and holds her breath, her toes curling so they turn red. I keep rubbing. She gasps silently. When she releases in a long moan, I feel the pleasure rippling down my hand and my arm. I feel the pleasure as her whole body gyrates, her breasts bouncing, her lips contorting as irrepressible moans escape her.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” I’m on my feet, unbuckling my belt and pulling my pants down. I need her. That’s what it feels like. An animal need. We’re way past desire here. I pull my pants and underwear down around my ankles, my cock springing up. Her eyes go wide when she sees it. Maybe it frightens her, ten inches and thick, but that’s not my concern. My only concern is her mouth, her perfect, sweet mouth, a mouth with plump lips which are driving me wild.

  “Come here.” There’s command in my voice, command she can’t ignore.

  She leans up, bringing her mouth to my cock. If there’s a sweeter image than this, I’m yet to see it. She looks up at me with her big blue eyes the second before she takes my prick in her mouth, looking frightened and willing all at once, her face all the more gorgeous for the lack of makeup. This is real. This is genuine. There’s nothing fake about this. I put my hands on her head, my fingers sliding through her hair, and guide her mouth to my cock.

  She opens her mouth as wide as she can, but still I fill her completely. She gags, her choking noises rising into the air. Her eyes turn red and her cheeks bulge as I push my cock right to the back of her throat. When I pull out, she lets out a breath and then starts sucking, bobbing her head up and down. It’s not even the feeling which makes this so damn good—though it does feel incredible—it’s the way she looks when she’s doing it, too. So pretty, so beautiful, so dirty. The combination of how beautiful she is and how dirty she is drives me mad. I want to unleash on her. I’m afraid I might come if she keeps going like this, and I’m not having that. I need to be inside of her.

  I pull out and take a step back, looking down on her. “Take off your clothes,” I say, my tone of voice leaving no room for argument.

  There’s whiskey and smoke in me, my bones ache from tiredness, and yet when she takes her clothes off I’ve never felt more alive. Her tits are big but perky at the same time, her legs toned with muscle and her ass, when she turns around to bend over for me, is round and bouncy. I smooth my hand over it, squeezing the flesh so it turns red, bringing my hand between her legs to the present in the middle. Her pussy is pink, tight, the sort of pussy which will hound me in my dreams for the rest of my life.

  “Tell me you want to be fucked,” I say.

  “I want to be fucked, Spike.” Her voice is high-pitched. I can tell she really wants it. We’re beyond the club scheming and all that, way beyond it. We’re just two people now, hungry for each other. She bends all the way over, presenting her pussy to me. “I want it. I want it bad. Please, Spike. Please.”

  If I was a strong man, I might have it in me to step away from her at this moment. I might think to myself: she’s my prisoner. This could all be a game. But I’m not strong enough to look at her right now, my cock hard and wet with her saliva, and do nothing about it. I’ll never be that strong. I step forward, one hand on her ass and one hand on my cock, my head so heavy I can barely think. That pussy, that ass, her body, her moans—my mind is on one track. I guide my cock to her hole, the tip opening her up. She’s damn tight, so tight that she bites down on the sheets to stop from screaming.

  I push in slowly, feeling the tightness around my shaft, and then near my balls. For a while, we fuck like that, slow, and then her pussy begins to loosen around my cock, giving into it, opening for it. Soon both of us are lost in a world of wet hot pleasure, my cock pounding deep inside of her. I look down, captivated by the way her ass bounces back and forth as I slam into her. She moans, biting down, gasping. The only sounds are our moaning and the fleshy slapping of our fucking, the unleashed pleasure of it. I thrust so hard that she collapses onto the bed, lying down. I keep fucking her, pounding her into the bed, smashing her into the mattress, the bedframe creaking and aching with the effort of supporting our frantic sex.

  I can’t stop looking at her ass, at the curve of her back, at her face as she twists her neck to half look at me. She’s as lost in the euphoria as I am, her eyes hardly seeing me and yet seein
g me completely, her lips in an O shape, slurring the words, “Yes, yes, fuck me, yes, Spike, fuck, fuck, fuck.” I grab onto her ass cheeks, squeezing them together, thinking there’s no better sight than her round ass cheeks pressed like that, my cock sliding in between them, disappearing.

  “Goddamn, goddamn, fuck.” I can’t hold it much longer, but I sense that she’s close, too. He body is seizing up. Her moans are trailing off into hollow gasps. She’s close. We’re both close. It’s a race to see if we can lose our pleasure at the same time.

  “Come, come, come.” I drill into her harder with each word. “Come.” I pound her so hard my abs slap painfully into her ass cheeks. “Come.” I pound her harder, my fingers digging into the flesh of her ass. “Come!” I bite her shoulder, unable to stop myself.

  She cranes her head back, crying out in pleasure, squirting all over my cock. I look down at the white come sliding down my shaft, and then sliding up between her ass cheeks. It’s too much for me. It’s too dirty. My balls ache with the desire to explode. I bite down on her shoulder again as I come inside of her, my head flooding with darkness, the muscles in my ass and my legs tensing up as I push one last time inside of her. I can’t think. I can hardly breathe. All that exists is the flesh of her shoulder and my dick inside of her. My cock pumps, come spilling inside of her.

 

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