Mess You Made

30.

Miguel.

I might actually fuck with this whole passenger princess thing. Because it's Malibu Adams in the front seat and her lilac thong's peeking out of the waistband of her tight ass flared jeans. The top she's wearing is basically a black string bikini and her excuse was that it's warm except it's only just warming up.

I'm very appeased, though because if I took a picture of this girl right now, it wouldn't be sufficient enough to capture how fucking good she looks. Unabashed, shameless temptation. It's who she is. She can't help it with brown waves and slender shoulders. And I'm trying not to run my eyes over her body for the sake of not objectifying the girl but she's moulded from a wet dream. Dream tits, never thought about them before - but those are my dream tits in a girl, jesus fuck.

I didn't have to teach her the workings of the car. It took me a while to get a grasp on the car when I first received it because of the wheel's sensitivity. A slight push on the accelerator and it throttles you forward. But she's leant her back against the leather seat, one perfectly toned arm extended to the wheel, the tips of her nails just grazing the leather and the open window's casting sun over her brown skin. She turns corners effortlessly, drifts through the city like it's nothing. Bit annoying how she's just owned my car. Give the girl a flaw or something.

I run a hand over my mouth as I look over at her. Tap my gold ring against my bottom lip, think about all the things I could do if we were alone because all I did was graze the tip of the iceberg. It's nothing — nothing in the spectrum of what I want to do to her body. Lay her out, fuck her long and hard until she can't begin to think of fucking anyone except me.

Diesel barks, snapping me out of it where I stole him. He's sat comfortably on me even if he's a heavy ass dog because of his height. A damn tragedy that him and I never got to be best friends before.

He nudges his nose against my chin and I run my hands over his head.

"Whose is he?" She asks eventually.

"Hudson's." I smile as he wags his tail, leaning his massive head into my hands, "He hid him from us for like nineteen fucking years, because he's Hudson, and him and his dogs have this weird soulmate kinship. Lets us dognap him sometimes now - but Diablo hates anyone except him and Val."

Diesel sniffs, leaning his head over the centre console towards Malibu. She lifts a hand from the wheel, runs a hand over the top of his head. Her eyes narrow a bit, "Is that a heart collar?"

I nod. Val's doing. You should see the girl. Dressed in bright yellow sundresses, feeding her fucking killer Doberman's every morning. She makes them dog biscuits, cuddles them like they're little princesses and treats them as her two other children - I don't know how she does it with Diablo, but Diesel's a cutie.

Mali gives me a look, "He could tear someone's head off."

"Yeah." I bring Diesel's head back over to me so he isn't shielding her view, "So could Hudson, and he might as well have a heart collar wrapped around his neck too. They all belong to one girl."

I give Diesel some love before he decides to lean his head out of the open window besides me. My gaze goes back to the girl in the driver's seat. Gaze can't stop going to her. She takes a sideways glance at me. I hate her, a little bit. Hate that someone's put my dream girl in one person and deposited her in Cherry's front seat, because how am I meant to stay sane?