Page 48 of Piston
Gently, Piston moves his hips, his member still hard as he runs his lips over my neck to my chin, before we lock eyes.
His gaze warms, seeing my tears. He runs his nose against mine silently, then presses his lips against mine in a soft, passionate kiss.
He moves his hips with slow, deliberate thrusts as he tangles his tongue with mine, making love to me on the carpet until I’m writhing underneath him, coming again and again. He’s showing me with his actions how much he’s missed me as well.
16
Piston
“Come on, come on, show the fucker’s face,” I growl at my computer screen impatiently as I tap my finger on my black desk.
I’m in my room at the clubhouse for the first time since hearing about the fucker who attacked my wife to get to me, not once, but fuckingtwice.
It’s also been two days since my wife and I reconnected intimately, and I’ve spent as much time as I can inside her since. If I didn’t want to find this fucker so badly, then I’d still be at her place.
It’s a Saturday, which means she’s home going through next week's lesson plan, and fuck, would I prefer to be with her, her feet on my lap while she works.
I didn’t realize how much I missed her, how much I was depriving us over the years.
In college, we just meshed perfectly. She got me, and I got her. It’s one of the reasons I couldn’t walk away from that one-night stand with her.
When we were together, we became one, electric, and I knew she’d become someone I’d rely on, and that thought scared the shit out of me. So, labeling us as a fling for three years was what kept me going back to her without running away.
I narrow my eyes as the computer starts analyzing the image, accepting the new codes I put in.
I found one neighbor with a dash cam that was pointed at my wife’s house last night while she was asleep. They automatically upload their videos to their server, which helps me.
I requested the video from the day of the attack, and they gladly gave it to me. I watch as the video plays, my wife kneeing the fucker in the balls before she runs, making me smirk, but my smirk soon fades when the guy turns in the direction of the car dashcam, a guy I recognize fucking well.
Aiden Fucking Mathews, my father.
My blood boils, anger like no other filling me as I grab my phone and send out a mass text.
Me: Emergency Church 10 minutes.
My own fucking father.
Did she know that’s who he was?
Is that why she wouldn’t give Steal the description of the guy, why she claimed she couldn’t remember?
Fuck. Did she?
I stand, panicking, linking my fingers behind my head as memories of late last night come back to me. The moments after Nat and I fu— No, after we made love. What she admitted….
Gently, I run my fingers up and down Natalie’s naked spine, and playing with her hair from where she’s sprawled out on top of my me after she rode me to orgasm, slowly. My cock is still inside of her.
It was fucking perfect—she’sperfect.
Carefully, the tip of Natalie’s finger glides along the tats on my chest, and I half smile when she tenses, her finger gliding over her name.
How in the fuck, in nearly six years, she’s not noticed it, I’ll never know.
I expect her to question me, but she whispers, “Why, the road name Piston?”
This girl surprises me every fucking day.
I have her name tatted on my skin, and yet she doesn’t question it. I gave her a bank card, she cut it up. I bought an apartment, she rents her own house.