Stacy Vs. SEAL

“Do you guys wanna get a room?” Kendall would ask if we were sitting at the same table. “I’m seriously debating about barfing here or waiting till I get home.”

“Don’t judge, babe, I used to be just like you,” is my standard response. Kendall would just roll her eyes and mutter to herself.

I mean, I really can’t blame her. She works in event planning so she deals with all sorts of people I’m sure. That kinda pressure cooker is enough to make anyone get a thick skin.

But despite the thick skin, Kendall is still really sweet.

I could go on and on about her, but don’t worry - you’ll get plenty of time with her. Right now is all about me, remember?

And it better be, because a part of me is starting to worry.

“Diesel,” I say looking at him and feeling my heart thump a bit. “Where exactly are we going?”

He just shrugs and says, “Somewhere dangerous.”

It’s my own fault. I kept needling him. I kept pressuring him. I couldn’t have left well enough alone. I couldn’t be happy with dinner at Per Se and drinks at Top of the Rock. I wanted more than just weekends at Fire Island and Sunday afternoons at the Boardy Barn.

Well, Diesel sure delivered.

He woke me up gently this morning.

“Babe, lets go,” he said to me. I began to drift awake, feeling his cock pressed against my ass. I smiled to myself and scooched back a bit, wiggling and wriggling my ass to let his python burrow into my ass.

But he wasn’t having any of it.

“We can’t be late, we gotta hurry, babe,” he said as he pushed me awake.

That opened my eyes.

But when I asked him where we were going, the only answer I got back was the same one I’ve been hearing all day.

“Somewhere dangerous,” he said.

I swear, unless we’re going to Syria or Iraq, I don’t understand the secrecy going on.

But Diesel is more tight lipped than I’ve ever seen him.

I could just look out the windows, right?

Wrong. The windows on the limo are custom tinted and adjustable, and Diesel has tinted them to the point where I can barely make out anything outside.

All I can do is try to place myself with the movements of the car.

But this is New York City. The streets are filled with potholes and we never go more than 30 miles per hour.

I can’t tell anything, and I’m not like

some sort of secret agent that’s trained in this.

I’m just a girl. Who used to be looking for love. But who found it.

The car comes to a stop.

“Want to see where we are?” Diesel asks me.

I nod my head, sufficiently chastened by this stern man. I can see now the hardness in him and how he carried himself in his MC. Sure, he loves me, but when he’s firm, he’s firm.

“And you’ll stop bothering me about going somewhere dangerous after this?” he asks me.