Page 10 of Nitro
Silence stretched. A beat. Two. The fans hummed. The dyno ticked as the drum cooled. Somewhere out in the main bay, a tool clinked into a tray.
“I want this,” she ground out. Defiant and more honest than she probably meant to be.
“Good girl.”
Her whole body tightened like the phrase had a switch wired straight to her spine. Filing that away for later, I drove my hand harder—friction, slide, and pressure lining up like a well-timed detonation.
She went silent the way a sky goes quiet right before it cracks. Her lips parted. Her eyes tried to hold mine and failed, fluttering shut as the first tremor took her.
I kept the rhythm steady and just this side of rough, grinding my hand into her with the same patience I used when I wired a charge to drop a wall without touching the house next door.
“Come for me.” My voice was wrecked. “Right here. In my hand. Let me feel your tight little pussy squeezing my fingers.”
Her answer was a strangled sound that punched the air out of my chest. She arched, clamped down around my fingers with a grip that made my eyes blur, and came hard. Full-body trembles with a series of sharp, helpless pulses that kept my thumb moving like muscle memory. She tugged her bottom lip between her teeth, then bit my shoulder through my shirt when the second wave took her. My brain launched directly into the kind of heat that makes bad decisions feel like the only ones.
It would have taken nothing to free myself, shove those boy shorts aside, and bury myself inside her until the only thing left in the room was the sound of Jana saying my name.
Her legs went loose. I caught her thighs and hooked them high around my waist again, pressing her tighter against the wall. My hand kept working her relentlessly until she was sobbing my name.
“Nitro—” She gasped the word into my neck.
My road name.
The word gutted me.
I went still. Slowly, every muscle in me locked back into place like I was coiling a cable that had been deployed too fast. I eased my fingers out of her even though every muscle screamed at me to keep going. She made a tiny, shocked noise—a complaint at the loss—and I wanted to put my hand back immediately just to hear the sound she’d make when I did.
Instead, I braced my forearm on the wall near her head, put enough space between us that the denim at my fly wasn’t printing a blueprint against her heat, and forced my voice through a throat that didn’t want to let it out.
“Call me Torin.”
Her lashes fluttered. She blinked like she was trying to reset. “What?”
“My name,” I growled, rougher than I meant to be. “You call me Torin.”
Her mouth parted, still trembling from the orgasm I’d dragged out of her. Shock and something dangerous lit up behind her eyes. “But isn’t that reserved for?—”
“Yes.”
“Torin—” She stalled, awareness dawning. And with it, a kind of panic she wanted to pretend wasn’t there. “I don’t think?—”
“Stop thinking, Jana,” I cut in, my teeth gritted. Then I leaned in until my mouth brushed hers, just shy of another kiss. “I’m only gonna let you tell yourself this isn’t gonna happen for so long, baby. Nearing the end of my patience.”
She stared at me, chest heaving fast, nipples tight, tank shoved up, coveralls loose at her hips like an invitation, and her hair a mess of red flame and stubbornness. She wanted to argue, but the heat between us was too raw to deny.
Her fingers curled into my shirt like she didn’t know what to do with her hands if they weren’t on me. I kissed her again, deep and filthy, pouring every ounce of pent-up hunger into it. When I broke away, she was panting, eyes glassy, lips swollen.
“Why are you holding back?” It was an honest question, not a taunt.
I let the smile come—the crooked, dangerous one that felt like a fuse being shown a match. The kind that meant trouble.
“Baby,” I murmured, low enough to be private even in a closed room, “trust me. You’re not ready for what happens when I stop holding back.”
When she recovered—barely—the look she gave me could have set a man on fire.
Good.I was already burning.
I stepped back, pushed the tank back down, and tugged it straight. Then I zipped her coveralls up with a gentleness that made her eyes flare again—like the soft could mess her up worse than the rough. My hands shook once. I masked the tremble by smoothing the fabric under her ribs. Her skin still jumped where my knuckles grazed.
