Page 65 of Speeding Hearts

The warmth of her breath there set off a chain reaction of snapping synapses down my whole body.

“I was going to suggest we head back home for the afternoon,” she said.

“To rest before the big night, right?” I asked, teasing.

“Is that what they call it?” She brought her teeth down on my earlobe.

I groaned, my cock pressing painfully against my zipper. Running my hands over Stella’s ass, I slipped my fingers into her underwear and tugged it down. When it dropped to the ground, I gripped her hips and pulled her against me. She moaned as I met her, tipping her head back. I pulled her away from the railing—there was no one down on the track right now, not that they could see us from down there—but there could be at any moment. I lifted Stella up off her feet so her legs straddled mine and walked over to the far wall, our lips testing and toying as we went.

This wall would be demolished later, but not before fireworks blasted off of it and I came out over the loudspeaker to ask her to be my wife.

“Take me right now,” she said.

“You don’t have to tell me twice.” I unbuckled my jeans and pulled myself out. She was wet, ready for me, and I plunged into her in one quick movement. I let out a breath at the feel of her against me. We moved in unison, our breath and hearts and bodies moving as one. When she came, I had to press my hand against her mouth to keep her moans from echoing across the space.

“I love you, Stella Archer,” I whispered in her ear. The release was more explosive than any fireworks could ever be.

As we made our way down the stairwell together, my arm around her shoulder and every part of me still buzzing, I told Stella I was going to go back to our place to clean up before heading back for the race.

“Do you ever wish you’d pursued racing?” she asked me as the wail of the first cars warming up on the track began to sound.

As a teenager I’d thought about it, but it had never occurred to me to make it a career. Not like her. “Never,” I said as we came down the last of the stairs. “I always preferred working under the hood of regular cars. Keeping regular people moving. It was fun, though, I’ll give it that.” I squeezed her against me, knowing she’d probably asked the question because she was feeling sentimental. “Do you?”

She looked up at me as she pushed through the door into the sunshine. Her face glowed as if she were some kind of angel, the sunlight catching strands of her hair. She smiled, giving me that gorgeous, crooked-tooth grin. I swear to God, if she’d asked me to take her to the truck for round two, I’d have done it. Instead, she threaded her hand through mine and looked out onto the track. A car sped by, engine roaring, spitting dirt at us and narrowly missing her fancy—and slightly rumpled—suit.

She giggled. “No,” she said. “Racing brought me here. To you.”

---