I can’t help my laugh because his words cause a certain comment to come back to me. “When we first met, Haddie wondered if you fucked like you drive.”
He snorts out a laugh, a mischievous grin gracing his lips and leaving that dimple I love. “And how’s that?”
“A little reckless, pushing all the limits, and in it until the very last lap …” I let my voice trail off as I tease a fingernail over the midline of his chest, his muscles flexing as he anticipates my touch.
He angles his head to the side and his arrogant smile grows wider. “Well, was she right or do I need to take you for another spin around the track to refresh your memory?”
I love seeing the Colton I know, the Colton I missed, so vibrant that I decide to have a little fun—play him at his own game. He wants sex that I’m not going to give him, but that doesn’t mean I can’t put on a good show to tide him over. Give him a little something to ease the burn.
Or intensify the ache.
I run my fingers back down his chest and then to my parted knees and up and over my thighs. His eyes follow their wanton progression as they sit on top of the triangular swatch of fabric covering my sex. “Not sure I remember, Ace. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you in action.”
He sucks in a hiss of breath and the reaction drives me, spurs me to go one step further. I rub my hands over my naked stomach and up to cup my breasts already weighted with desire. I purposefully drag my lip over my bottom teeth, breathing out a soft moan as I pinch my nipples between my thumbs and forefingers, the sensation ricocheting through my every nerve. Colton’s eyes darken, his lips part, and I feel his cock throb under my core at the sight of me pleasuring myself.
His reaction empowers me, allows me to have the courage and confidence to carry this out. A few months ago I would have never done this—touch myself so brazenly under the scrutiny of his stare—but he’s done this for me, shown me that my curves are sexy; the body I used to readily criticize is something he desires, something that turns him on. Is more than enough for him.
And because of that knowledge, I can give him this gift with steady hands and complete confidence.
I let another moan fall from my mouth, and as much as I can see the desire swell in green eyes, I can tell the minute he’s on to me. The slow, lopsided spread of a smile turning up one corner of his deliciously handsome mouth. He just shakes his head subtly, mirth dancing over his expression as he shows me he’s more than willing to play this game.
“Baby, if you’re trying to get me to stop, then you shouldn’t throw around comments like that.”
He rolls his hips beneath me, his rock hard length pressing exactly where I ache for it to fill—where I’m silently begging for it to stroke—and feeds my pleasurable pain. I try to stifle the reaction on my lips, try to play coy, but it’s no use when he does it again. My mouth falls lax, a satisfied purr comes from deep within my throat, and my hands fall without thought to press against the outside of my damp panties. Needing something to stifle the urge to take what I so desperately need, so desperately want.
Him.
When his hips settle, my fingers dig into the flesh of my thighs to prevent me from taking what I want—fingers ripping down boxer-briefs, taking his steeled length in my hands, guiding him into me, stretching me to sublime satisfaction—I gain enough composure to raise my eyes back up and lock onto his. To feign that I have a tight hold on the control that’s begging to be snapped.
He reaches a hand up and draws a line down the middle of my chest at an excruciatingly slow pace. His smirk spreading to both corners when my nipples pebble from his touch, proving that despite my strong façade, I’m affected by him in every possible way.
“Well, if you think I fuck like I drive, you should see me drop the hammer and race you to the finish line.”
I can’t help the breath that catches in my throat. It has to be coincidence that he uses the term race—it is his profession after all—but every single part of me hopes momentarily that I’m wrong. That he’s using the term to tell me he remembers. But as quick as the thought soars with hope, it burns out, shutters the breath in my lungs. So I do the only thing I can, to help to make me forget, and help him remember.
It’s time to give him the show I’ve been tempting him with.
As his eyes flicker back and forth between my eyes and my fingers, I spread my legs further apart wanting to make sure he can see everything I’m doing. My fingers slip just beneath the waistband of my panties and then stop, my own body aching for my touch as much as I can see he is by the look in his eyes and his own fingers rubbing together, itching to touch me himself. But he’s still in control. Still so calm.
Time to test that restraint.
“I thought racing wasn’t a team sport,” I say from beneath my lashes. “You know, more of an every man for himself kind of thing.” I make sure he’s watching, make sure he sees my fingers slide a little farther south. And I know he does because his Adam’s apple bobs as he works a swallow down his throat.
“Every man, yes,” he finally says, his voice strained. “Racing can be a dangerous sport too, you know?”
“Oh really?” I respond.
I take it upon myself to give into the sweet torture of parting myself and rubbing the evidence of my arousal around so I can apply the much needed friction to my clit. And as good as it feels—the pressure, the friction, his hardened dick rubbing against me—nothing turns me on more than the look on Colton’s face. Undeniable arousal and complete concentration as he watches movements he can’t see but can only guess at through the silky red fabric.
I want more from him. I want that stoic restraint snapped, and so I give into the feeling, into the eroticism of the moment—of him watching me while I pleasure myself—and I do the one thing I know will help push him over the edge, pull that hair-string trigger I know he has so tightly wound. I lift my head back, close my eyes, and let “Oh, God!” slip from my lips.
“Sweet Jesus!” he swears, restraint snapped right along with the strings of fabric holding my panties together.
I keep my head back knowing he’s watching me move my fingers—absorb the pleasure—because there is something unexpectedly liberating about him stripping my clothes so he can see. I am unbound, unashamed, and utterly his for the taking, both physically and mentally.
I feel my pulse quicken. Warmth spreads through me like a tidal wave of sensation that I willingly want to be drowned in. Colton groans out in front of me and I come back into the present, lift my head up, and open my eyes to find his trained on the delta between my thighs. I hiss a moan as I bring my hand out for him to see the evidence of my arousal glistening on my fingers. I struggle to control the burning fire spreading through me, igniting places I didn’t even know exist and try to find my voice.
“Well, Ace, danger can be overrated. It seems I know how to handle a slick track perfectly well,” I purr, unable to fight the smirk that plays as his fingers dig deeper into the flesh at my hips. I keep my eyes locked and taunting on his as I bring my fingers up to my lips and suck slowly before withdrawing them.
The muscle in his jaw tics. His dick pulses beneath me in reaction. His breath rasps out. “Slippery and wet, huh? Danger has never been more fucking tempting,” he drawls before his tongue darts out and wets his lips as he tracks my hands sliding back down my torso, over my breasts, down my stomach, and back down to between my thighs. This time though, I spread my knees wider as I use one hand to part my cleft so he can see my other hand slide down between the swollen, pink flesh. I can see the struggle flicker across the magnificent lines of his face, watch the desire swamp him, and the knowing smile that curls up his lips somehow fits him with absolute perfection.