chapter 6. Full Throttle

The next heat was dirtier. Rain slicked the track under the floodlights and turned every corner into a gamble. I qualified third. When the lights dropped I went for the gap on the outside like the asphalt owed me blood. Two riders tangled behind me. I didn’t look back. By the final lap I was alone in front, throttle wide, heart slamming so hard I tasted metal. I took the checkered flag by almost two seconds.

The paddock exploded in noise. Someone shoved a bottle into my hand. I drank, wiped my mouth with the back of my glove, and scanned the crowd until I found him.

Alexander stood near the fence, coat dark against the rain, eyes locked on me like he had been watching every single lap. The second our gazes met the air between us caught fire.

I didn’t wait for the podium photos. I stripped the leathers in the trailer, pulled on jeans and a soft black sweater that clung to every curve, and walked straight to him.

“You won,” he said. Voice low. Rough.

“I always planned to.”

He glanced around the busy paddock, then jerked his chin toward the far end of the lot where his black SUV sat under a single light. “Get in.”

I did.

The doors locked the moment he slid behind the wheel. Rain hammered the roof. He didn’t start the engine. He just stared at me like a man who had already lost the fight and hated himself for it.

“This stops tonight,” he said.

I unbuckled, climbed across the console, and straddled his lap in one smooth move. The steering wheel pressed into my back. His hands flew to my hips on pure instinct, gripping hard enough to bruise.

“Then make it stop,” I whispered against his mouth. “Push me off. Tell me to leave. Do it.”

He didn’t.

I kissed him like I was starving. Open-mouthed, filthy, all tongue and teeth. He groaned into it, the sound raw and broken, and then his control snapped clean in half. One hand shoved under my sweater and cupped my breast, thumb scraping over the nipple until it peaked hard. The other grabbed a fistful of my ass and yanked me tighter against the thick ridge of his cock straining behind his zipper.

“Fuck,” he muttered against my lips. “You’re going to ruin me.”

“That’s the idea.”

I ground down on him, slow and deliberate, feeling every inch of that hard dick through the layers of fabric. He cursed again and bit my lower lip. I reached between us, freed his belt, dragged the zipper down, and wrapped my fingers around him. Thick. Hot. Already leaking at the tip. I stroked once, twice, watching his head fall back against the seat.

“Look at me while I touch your cock,” I said.

His eyes snapped open, dark and wild. I kept stroking, thumb swirling over the head, spreading the wetness. Then I slid off his lap, dropped to my knees in the tight space between the seat and the dash, and took him into my mouth.

He hissed like I had burned him.

I sucked him deep on the first pass, tongue flat against the underside, cheeks hollowed. The taste of him—salt and clean skin—flooded my mouth. I bobbed, slow at first, then faster, taking him until the head nudged the back of my throat. His hand tangled in my hair, not forcing, just holding on like he needed the anchor. I pulled off with a wet pop, licked a long stripe from base to tip, and looked up at him.

“You taste so fucking good,” I said, voice rough. “I’ve wanted this cock in my mouth since the night you agreed to teach me.”

“Isabella—”

I swallowed him again before he could finish the warning. I sucked harder, faster, one hand stroking what I couldn’t fit, the other cupping his balls and rolling them gently. His thighs tensed. A broken sound tore out of his chest. I felt him throb against my tongue and knew he was close.

I pulled off, climbed back into his lap, shoved my jeans and panties down just far enough, and lined him up against my soaked pussy.

“Condom,” he gritted out, fighting for the last scrap of sense.

“I’m on the pill.” The lie was easy. In this life I would deal with consequences later. Right now I needed him bare and deep. “Fuck me, Alexander. Right here. I need your dick inside me.”

He stared at me for one suspended second—guilt, lust, and surrender waring across his face—then he thrust up hard.

I cried out as he filled me in one thick stroke. Stretch. Burn. Perfect. My pussy clenched around him like it had been waiting two lifetimes for this exact cock. He groaned like the sound had been punched out of him and then he started moving.

There was nothing gentle about it. He fucked me hard and deep, hands locked on my hips, slamming me down to meet every upward thrust. The SUV rocked. Rain hammered louder. My sweater rode up and he leaned in, sucked one nipple into his mouth, teeth grazing, tongue flicking, while his cock pounded into me over and over.

“So tight,” he growled against my breast. “Fuck, your pussy is soaking my dick. You’ve been wet for this since the Hamptons, haven’t you?”

“Yes—god, yes—don’t stop—”

I braced my hands on the roof and rode him harder, grinding my clit against his pelvis every time he bottomed out. Pleasure coiled tight and vicious at the base of my spine. He felt it. His rhythm turned punishing, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the car. One of his hands slid between us and rubbed tight circles over my clit.

“Come on my cock,” he ordered, voice wrecked. “I want to feel this pretty pussy milk me dry.”

The words tipped me over. Orgasm ripped through me so hard my vision whited out. I came with a broken moan, cunt spasming around him in hard, rhythmic pulses. He cursed, thrust up once, twice more, and then buried himself to the hilt as he came. Hot spurts flooded me. I felt every pulse, every twitch, and it dragged another smaller climax out of me until I was shaking and gasping against his neck.

We stayed locked together, breathing hard, the windows completely fogged. His hands stroked slowly up and down my back, almost tender. Then reality crashed in.

He eased me off him carefully. Cum slipped down my inner thigh. I pulled my jeans up without cleaning it away—I wanted the reminder. He tucked himself back into his pants, jaw tight, eyes already full of the regret I had expected and planned for.

“This was a mistake,” he said quietly. “A dangerous one.”

I leaned in, kissed the corner of his mouth, and tasted the salt of my own sweat on his skin.

“Then we’ll make it again,” I whispered. “And again. Until you stop pretending you can walk away.”

He didn’t answer. He started the engine, drove me back to the city in silence, and dropped me two blocks from the townhouse so no one would see the car. Before I stepped out he caught my wrist one last time.

“Be careful, Isabella. People are watching.”

I smiled in the dark.

“Let them watch.”

I walked the rest of the way home with his cum still warm between my legs and the knowledge that the man who once only pitied me had just fucked me like he never wanted to stop. The war had started in earnest. And I had no intention of losing.