Page 35 of First in Line

I’m facing away from him as we’re spooning in the dark, which is good because I don’t have to control my expression. “Yeah, it was worth it,” I agree.

But was it?

Those few minutes of madness in the bathroom have completely messed with my head. With his treacherous lips and deft fingers, Jax planted a seed of doubt in my mind.

Being pressed against him like that felt amazing. So much better than I remembered it. And infinitely better than anything I’ve experienced since leaving him. Nathan isn’t the first man I’ve been intimate with after I walked out of my marriage. But neither he nor any of those other men ever conjured even a tenth of the pleasure Jackson can so easily trigger.

He taught me sex. Together, we discovered what I like, what makes me come the hardest, what has my knees shaking and my eyes tearing up… We spent hours, and hours, and hours exploring everything that could be explored. He knows me better than I know myself because he essentially made me who I am.

Thinking about it is enough to awaken those lustful needs again. The tingling between my legs that took almost an hour to die down is quick to resurface. But this time, when I arch my back into the hips behind me, those very sparks that drove me mad remain elusive.

“What are you doing?” Nathan asks when I grind into him.

I don’t answer. Instead, I take his hand draped around me and lower it over my shorts, between my legs. Nate is quick to understand what I have in mind, and he presses on me the same way Jax did.

He isn’t as alarmingly precise as Jax was, but it still feels good. Good enough for me to release a shaky breath.

Without being prompted, my fiancé’s lips come to my neck, kissing a line all the way to my lips. I twist my face to accept his kiss and spread my legs a little more to allow him better access. Nate makes good use of it, drawing circles right where I need them.

This is good. This is enough. It’s predictable and comfortable. I don’t need more than that.

I’ve had more in the past, and it didn’t work out well.

CHAPTER

SEVEN

Jackson

My skin prickles with adrenaline, the rush of the win making my ears thump with every beat of my heart. In the mirrors, I see the checkered flag still being waved to signal my final pass over the finish line.

I’m so high on everything that I forget to lift my foot from the gas, only doing it when I arrive at the turn. People on the other side of the wire fence are shouting with excitement, clapping for me.

I do the entire cooldown lap on cloud nine, still in disbelief of what just happened. I won. I fucking won my first regional SCCA race. I made it on the podium the first two times, but it’s the first one I won. And it was televised. This is it. This is where it all starts.

Now, I’ll be noticed. Sponsors will want to work with me. Scouts will put me on their radar. People will start knowing my name.

When the track official motions for me to enter the pit lane, I comply and drive all the way to the impound. Once the car is parked, I unclip the strap of my helmet. I’m suffocating in there.Or maybe I’m just barely able to breathe because this doesn’t feel real. I fucking won.

Someone taps on my window, so I dismiss my stupor and step out, but not before I tug at the hood release. As soon as I’m out, I pull the helmet off, the cool air feeling amazing on my sweaty and overheated face. My hair is soaked with sweat, and because it’s braided, shaking it doesn’t help. I guess I’ll have to deal with it dripping down my neck.

Winnie smells like burnt rubber and hot steel, and I promise myself I’ll be gentle with her on the ride back home. I’ll definitely have to change the tires, and maybe even the brake pads.

“Jesus, he’s just a kid,” someone lets out.

“Great driving there, bud,” another one congratulates me, tapping on my shoulders.

“Thank you.” Shit, my throat is dry, I’m so thirsty.

It must be a common side effect because one of the race officials hands me a water bottle. I open it and down it all in one go.

A couple of them are looking under Winifred’s hood, confirming I haven’t cheated. I should probably make sure they don’t touch anything, but some serious-looking men in tan suits are making their way toward me.

“How old are you, kid?” one asks.

“It’s my birthday, actually. I just turned seventeen.”

“Happy birthday, boy. I can’t remember the last time I saw someone drive like you. You beat everyone by over half a lap. And in this old thing?”