Story cover for Saving the Deserter by beadifferent
Saving the Deserter
  • WpView
    Reads 118
  • WpVote
    Votes 14
  • WpPart
    Parts 6
  • WpHistory
    Time 56m
  • WpView
    Reads 118
  • WpVote
    Votes 14
  • WpPart
    Parts 6
  • WpHistory
    Time 56m
Ongoing, First published Apr 18, 2018
I noticed how encompassed with sweat she was. Every inch of her bed was drenched seamlessly in her vixens. I sat down slowly on the bed, causing it to dip.

Her voice was laced with whimpers as her lips parted slightly. Her back arched slightly, causing the blanket to fall down a couple of centimeters. Her hands laid on either side of her head, carefree.

Her whimpers began to die down and were replaced with soft moans. "H-harder," she breathed out softly. Her breath hitched in her throat and her lips parted a little more. Her back arched slightly more than last time. "R-right t-there" The moan that escaped her supple lips was tainted with pleasure.

I watched her intently as her body slowly shivered. She bit her lip slightly before moaning once more. The toxicity of that smell filled the air. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. There was something about that smell, her smell, that turned me on completely. It was sweeter than any of the other girls I've been with. It smelt so pure and untamed. I hated it.

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VELOCITY

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She steps around me, hips swaying like a predator's, her helmet fixed forward but her voice stalking me like a shadow. Slowly, deliberately, she slides one gloved hand down the metal tab of her fireproof suit. Her fingers curl around the zipper by her throat. With a tug, it dips lower over her chest. Not just a few inches, no, all the way. The neckline plunges into shadow, nothing hiding the fact that she's crossed the line from race-ready to reckless. From fierce to fucking dangerous. I lean in, my other hand rising. I press my fingers to the collar of her suit. Right at the edge where the zipper ends. Her breath catches, and even through the helmet, I hear it. "You wanna flirt, fine," I say. "But if you're going to look death in the eye and laugh, you better be ready for someone to call your bluff." I drag the zipper back up. "Maybe I want someone to call it," She says silkily. I don't let go of her wrist. Instead, I lean just a little closer, my voice barely a thread. "Then stop hiding behind helmets." -------------------------------------------- Even through the thick smoke, the helmet, through the roar of the engines- he sees her. Not 𝙀𝙡𝙤𝙞𝙨𝙚, the composed girl with the gentle eyes and kind smile. 𝙑𝙚𝙡𝙤𝙘𝙞𝙩𝙮. The ghost who races like a warning, the myth with steel in her veins. The one who's been haunting the streets and humiliating his crew, one win at a time. And he's obsessed.