The Man I Shouldn’t Want (3)

~ Diesel ~

The needle hums steady in my hand, ink sinking into skin in perfect lines as I draw a broken heart on the shoulder of my first client.

But my focus isn’t here, It’s across the street.

I’ve been trying like hell to stay away but it’s like there’s this magnetic pull I can’t fight. And I know she feels it too, that kind of tension doesn’t just sit between two people without both of them feeding it.

It’s been four years since that night. Four years since she was nineteen and I was too fucking weak to keep my hands off her. She wanted it and it made me lose every ounce of self-control I’d built over decades. And I’d be lying if I said I regretted the way she came apart under me.

What I regret is what came after.

Her calling it a ‘mistake.’

It was a like a blow to my heart and pride, it hollowed me out and made me feel like I’d crossed a line I could never uncross. I never would’ve touched her without her consent. Ever. As much as I wanted and crave her, there were lines I swore I wouldn’t cross.

But that night?

It just… happened.

She’d come home from choir practice heartbroken and called me crying, voice shaking so hard I could barely make out the words and I was at their house in minutes.

Her boyfriend, some tone-deaf idiot who didn’t deserve her had just broken up with her. Didn’t even have the decency to wait until after the song they’d been rehearsing for weeks, the one she was supposed to lead in two days.

She was wrecked when I got there. And somehow, between trying to calm her down and telling her she was worth ten of him, one thing led to another…

I had to go through series of therapy to get over the obsession and guilt. It was only a matter of time before I did the only thing that could heal me: coming back to Rosie.

Things have never been the same with her dad ever since. Not that he suspects a thing. Why would he? What sane man leaves his only daughter with a grown ass man with a dick. Not like he was ever gone for work—he was out chasing women, same as he’s always done.

So I stepped up. I gave her the attention and protection he never did.

The truth is I’ve never wanted a wife. Never wanted kids. People aren’t supposed to own other people or be tied to them forever.

Humans aren’t possessions to me, and bringing a child into this world when you’re fucked up is a crime in itself. My parents weren’t exactly role models and John sure as hell wasn’t, either. I’ve known him my entire life. He had Rosie when we were twenty-three and not once has he stepped up to his responsibilities. I watched him and her mother fight constantly until she finally left.

That’s part of why this doesn’t make sense.

Because with Rosie… I want it all.

I want to buy her pretty things.

I want to fuck her senseless.

I want to worship her, own her, and keep her where no one else can touch. But there’s twenty-three years between us.

A relationship doomed from the start.

I realize my hand’s been pressing too hard on the same spot of my client’s skin when he flinches.

“Shit, sorry,” I mutter.

He shakes it off, but I can’t

I look across the street as I finish up the broken heart tattoo. I can see her clearly from my shop. She’s putting on a pink dress, the light fabric hugging her slender body, making her look so fucking graceful as she leans over to talk to an older customer.

She takes the woman’s bags to her car, all soft smiles and that natural kindness that kills me. Then her eyes meet mine across the street.

I can see the heat in her cheeks before she looks away.

And I remember last night…

I followed her home. Told myself I was just making sure she got in safe, but the second I was about to knock, I heard it… my name.

She was moaning it.

I nearly lost my fucking mind. It took everything not to kick the door in and bury my cock inside her. Just the memory has my dick swelling now.

I adjust myself under the counter, jaw tight.

Maybe I should just go over there.

I clean my station and tidy the inks. I’m reaching for the lights when I see a man in her shop leaning in close, his hand brushing her arm. She laughs but I can tell it’s fake as her body’s angled away.

Then the fucker tucks her hair behind her ear.

My hands tighten into fists.

‘Don’t. Stay the hell where you are. You’re just going to make her hate you…’ a voice in my head says.

But my pulse is already in my ears, and that fake smile she’s forcing makes something primal snap inside me. By the time I realize I’ve moved, I’m already in the street, boots pounding the pavement toward her door.

“Back the fuck off,” I growl as I barge in.

They both turn.

The man straightens, puffing his chest. “We’re just talking.”

“You had your hands on her.”

“Diesel—” Rosie’s voice cuts in, sharp. “Don’t—”

Too late. I grab him by the shirt and slam him into a rack of scarves. The wood shakes against the wall.

“You don’t touch her. You don’t talk to her. You don’t even fucking look at her.”

His hands come up. “You’re insane!”

“I’ll show you insane.”

I shove him toward the door so hard he stumbles into the street. People start staring, some even lift their phones to record. I don’t care.

My fist connects with his cheek again and again until blood smears across his skin but I still don’t stop.

Rosie’s cheeks are flushed, her eyes wide.

“Diesel!” she shouts. “You need to stop!”

But all I see is red.

Two men run in from the sidewalk and grab me on each arm, their muscles straining as I fight to break free. My chest is heaving, my knuckles split and slick with his blood.

I hear Rosie’s shop door slam.

He staggers to his feet, holding his jaw. His eyes are full of anger but there’s fear in them too.

“You’re insane,” he rasps, blood running from the corner of his mouth. He wipes it with the back of his hand and glares at me. “Who the hell are you anyway?”

I lunge forward but the men hold me back. “Go anywhere near her again and I’ll finish what I started.”

He flinches then spits a thick string of red onto the pavement. “You’re a goddamn psycho,” he mutters, backing away toward the curb.

“Keep walking,” I growl.

He glares at me one last time before turning and disappearing down the street, muttering curses under his breath.

The two guys finally let me go, one of them shaking his head like I’m a lost cause. “You’re lucky no one’s calling the cops, man.”

I don’t answer. I’m already looking inside the boutique. The door is shut tight and blinds are drawn. I know she locked it the second she ran inside.

I wipe my bloody knuckles on my jeans, not feeling the pain with the fire still burning in my chest. It’s pointless trying to get her to open the door so I just leave.

I only realize I’ve fucked up once I’m back in my shop. Shit.

Rosie’s pissed. Having her will be more difficult now. But what else was I supposed to do? Sit there and watch that asshole put his hands all over her when she was clearly uncomfortable? Not a chance.

I grab a bottle from the counter and hurl it at the wall, growling when it shatters.

Just then the bell over the door jingles.

I turn.

Rose.

Green eyes, ginger hair, that round face looking up at me.

For a moment I don’t know how to react. She doesn’t look mad or sad, she just stands there staring at me with a blank expression.

I start walking toward her slowly. “Rosie, I’m so sorry you had to see that.”

Then she’s closing the distance, her scent hitting me first—warm vanilla and something else. Before I can even think, her mouth is on mine.

For a split second, I freeze. My brain scrambles to catch up, to believe this is actually happening.

Then instinct takes over. I grab her hips, holding her tight and pulling her in until we’re pressed together.

She grips the front of my shirt and pull me down, letting out a low, needy sound that hits me straight in the chest. I kiss her back with everything I’ve kept in for four years… deep, hard, hungry, like I’m starving and she’s the only thing that could fucking satisfy me.