Page 68 of Hot Lap
My lady bits definitely notice.Me-oww.
"Lights out. Asleep by eleven." He says this like it’s the most normal thing in the world for a grown man to have a curfew.
I giggle. "You have a bedtime?"
He grins right back, unbothered. "Paid a hell of a lot to respect it, honeybee."
Tomorrow’s his first real day back on track since Vegas, and a knot forms in my stomach. Why? I haven’t even seen him race, aside from some footage. Which were crashes because that’s what the internet gods seem to love posting, the fuckers.
Reece smiles that lazy, devastating smile and steps closer to me. He cups my jaw gently, tilting my face up toward him.
The heat between us spikes again, but he doesn’t kiss my mouth. Instead, he leans in and presses his lips to my temple. Soft and steady. A promise.
Just like that, I’m absolutely wrecked.
He pulls back slowly, his fingers resting on my skin, his gaze holding mine. "Goodnight, Mai."
Before I can grab hold, he crosses the room and goes through the shared doorway into his room, easing his door shut with a soft click.
I exhale. “Fuck me.” His touch thrums on my skin.
I blink and realize I’m still holding the fork. The one he guided to his mouth. The one that touched his lips and his tongue.
I turn it in my hand, studying that stupid fork like it holds a secret.
Then…
I lift it to my mouth and slide it past my lips to press against my tongue.
There’s a trace of rich chocolate, a hint of sweet whipped cream and, God, this is stupid and I’ve gotta be hallucinating, but I swear I tastehim.
Jesus, could I thirst any more for a man?
Apparently, yes, because I close my eyes and let the fork and the tines and that… whatever it is… just sit with me.
I let the idea of him and my growing need for him linger.
Finally, I sigh and open my eyes and lower the fork, and I’m smiling like an absolute lovestruck dumbass.
Then I pick up the plate and finish the rest of the cake, savoring it like a secret, and it’s almost as incredible as this thing happening between Reece Pritchard and his wife.
When the plate is practically licked clean, I move through my nighttime routine on autopilot. Face cleaned, teeth brushed and flossed, hair brushed, skin moisturized. Before slipping into bed, I pause at the connecting door and close it, but I leave it unlocked again.
Just in case.
And, yes, I do put my hands down my pajama pants. The man’s charm is devastating, and my lady bits have been lonely for way too long.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
QATAR GRAND PRIX | FRIDAY | FREE PRACTICE AND SPRINT QUALIFYING
Reece tugsthe zipper shut on his duffel. Ona will bring his racing kit, but he usually takes charge of his helmet and a change of clothes.
Though the sun’s barely up, he’s already moving on muscle memory. Routine, precision, discipline — that’s what’s required to win.
He glances toward the connecting door.
It’s still unlocked, but Reece doesn’t knock or open it.
