Page 23 of Diesel’s Second Chance

Only us.

"How much time do we have?" I ask.

Jackson checks his phone. "About sixteen hours."

Sixteen hours. It's not enough. It'll never be enough.

But it's what we have.

"Then let's not waste a single minute," I say.

Chapter 7 - Diesel

*Let's not waste a single minute.*

Fuck wasting time. We've done that for twenty years. Wasted opportunities, wasted chances, wasted every moment we could've had together because we were too scared, too guilty or too loyal.

Not anymore.

I've got sixteen hours until I ride into something that might kill me, and I'm not spending another second holding back.

I kiss her again, and this time I pour everything into it. Twenty years of lust, seven years of grief, every single feeling I've buried so deep I convinced myself they'd suffocated. My hands slide into her hair, tilt her head back, and I take her mouth like I've got the right to it. Like she's mine and I'm hers and nothing else matters.

June makes a sound against my lips—half gasp, half moan—and her fingers dig into my shoulders hard enough to bruise. Good. I want her marks on me. Want to ride out tonight knowing exactly what I'm coming back to.

Because I am coming back. No fucking question.

I've spent my whole life alone. Losing my mother at twelve, losing my father at thirty-two, losing Tommy seven years ago. Convinced myself that's just how it worked for me. Everyone I loved disappeared eventually, so why get attached?

But June changes the equation. June makes me want to fight harder, come back bloodied and broken if I have to, just to have more of this. More of her.

The kiss goes on forever. Longest kiss of my life, and I don't want it to end. Don't want to pull away, don't want to do anything except stay right here with her mouth on mine and her body pressed against me.

But eventually we both need air. We break apart breathing hard, foreheads pressed together, and June's looking at me with dark eyes, flushed cheeks and swollen lips.

"Jackson," she whispers, and my name in her voice does things to me that shouldn't be legal.

"Yeah?"

She takes a step back, and for a second I think she's running again. But then I see her expression, all that lust and determination mixed together.

"If you keep kissing me like that," she says, voice shaky, "I'm not sure I'll be able to control myself."

A smirk pulls at my mouth. "Good. Because I'm not controlling myself either."

Her eyes go wide. "Jackson…"

I kiss her again, harder this time, backing her toward the stairs. She goes willingly, hands fisting in my shirt, pulling me closer. We break apart long enough to navigate the first few steps, then crash together again.

Clothes start disappearing. My flannel hits the banister. Her cardigan lands on the lamp. We're making out against the wall halfway up the stairs, and her hands are under my t-shirt, nails dragging across my skin in a way that makes me groan into her mouth.

"Bed," I manage to get out between kisses. "Need to get you to bed."

"Upstairs," she gasps.

We make it three more steps before I pin her against the wall again, can't help myself. She tastes too good, feels too perfect, and I've wanted this for so goddamn long that restraint isn't possible.

My shirt comes off somewhere near the top of the stairs. Her T-shirt follows. I catch a glimpse of black lace underneath before my brain short-circuits and all I can think is *June, June, fucking finally June.*