Page 61 of You, Me, and Lucky Number 13

LOLA

We can’t keepour hands, or tongues, or mouths, to ourselves anymore.

It’s a dangerous, exhilarating, utterly addictive spiral of stolen moments and forbidden desires. Every surface in the garage has become a testament to our passion, every tool a potential prop in our games of seduction.

There’s no place safe from our conquests, including the simulator.

The low hum of the machine, usually reserved for fine-tuning racing lines and testing out new setups, has become the soundtrack to our most illicit encounters.

“Lola,” Cole groans, his voice a low rumble against my skin as his hands tighten on my hips.

I arch my back, pressing myself closer to the source of the heat that pulses between my legs. His touch is electric, igniting a fire in my veins that threatens to consume me.

“Not fair,” he murmurs, his breath hot against my neck. “You’re using all your best moves up here.”

I laugh, a breathless sound that’s swallowed by his next kiss. He tastes of motor oil and mint, a heady combination that sends my senses into overdrive.

The simulator, normally a sterile environment of data points and performance metrics, has become a playground of our shared desires. The smell of leather and sweat mingles with the faint scent of engine oil, creating a potent aphrodisiac that heightens our senses and fuels our need. The gentle rocking of the hydraulics, designed to mimic the g-forces of a high-speed turn, now mimics the rhythm of our bodies, a sensual dance that pushes us both to the edge of control.

I lean down, my lips brushing against his ear as I whisper, “Maybe I’m just trying to give you a run for your money.”

His grip tightens on my hips, pulling me closer until there’s no space left between us but the heat of our longing. “Oh, you’ve definitely got my attention, sweetheart.”

His hand slides up my shirt, his calloused fingers sending sparks across my heated skin. Every touch, every stolen glance, is a promise whispered in the darkness of this metal and leather cocoon.

But even as I lose myself in the sensations he’s drawing from me, a tiny voice in my head, a voice that sounds suspiciously like my own, whispers a warning.

This is dangerous, Lola. Playing with fire always ends in ashes.

But this isn’t the same. We aren’t those same teenagers from all those years ago, fumbling with first kisses and simmering resentment. We’re different now—mature, experienced, and fully aware of the stakes.

Aren’t we?

Although I’m fighting against it, doubt, is still a persistent shadow, flickering through my mind. It’s easy to get caught up in the heat of the moment, lost in the intoxicating cocktail of lust and adrenaline that defines our every encounter. But beneath the surface, the past lingers, a ghost in the machinery of our reawakened desire.

Cole’s reverent touch, the way his gaze seems to see directly into my soul, is unraveling years of carefully constructed defenses, exposing the raw, vulnerable heart I’ve sworn to protect.

I close my eyes, trying to shut out the doubts and the whispers of caution that threaten to steal the joy of this moment. Cole’s fingers trace the curve of my ribs, sending shivers down my spine. His lips find mine again, and the world shrinks until it’s just the two of us, the hum of the simulator, and the rapid beat of our hearts echoing in the darkness.

“That’s it, Lola,” he murmurs against my lips, his voice husky with desire. “Just let go.”

And I do.

I let go of the fear, the doubt, the years of holding back. I let myself get lost in the feel of his hands on my body, the taste of his kiss, the intoxicating rush of knowing that I can make him feel this way.

The simulator tilts, mimicking a banked turn, and I laugh, the sound breathless and free. The sensation is dizzying, exhilarating, a physical manifestation of the emotional freefall I’m experiencing.

Cole’s hand finds my breast under my bra, his thumb brushing over my nipple, sending a jolt of pure pleasure through me. I moan, the sound raw and unrestrained, and his grip tightens, pulling me closer until there’s not a millimeter of space between us.

“Fuck me,” he groans, his voice thick. “Like everyday.”

His words, spoken with such raw honesty, ignite a fire in my core that burns hotter than any engine ever could.

And as he leans down, his lips trailing a path of fire down my throat, I know I’m in way over my head. But for the first time in a long time, roughly six years, I don’t care. Maybe his assurances are finally starting to seep into my soul.

His lips move lower across my collarbone, down to the swell of my breasts. His tongue teases the sensitive skin above the edge of my bra, sending shivers of anticipation down my spine. I arch into him, desperate for more, my fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.

“Cole,” I whisper, my voice a breathless plea.

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