Page 72 of You, Me, and Lucky Number 13

“Then take me,” she whispers, her voice a breathy plea against my lips. “Take me now.”

I waste no time. My hands work quickly, shedding her clothes and my fire suit, discarding them on the floor like meaningless distractions. The cool air of the garage kisses her bare skin, and I see goose bumps erupt on her arms, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from her body, the heat that mirrors the inferno raging inside me.

“You’re stunning, every inch of you,” I murmur, my voice thick with awe and desire. I trace the line of her collarbone with my fingertip, marveling at the smoothness of her skin, the way she shivers beneath my touch.

Her eyes, those incredible emerald pools, lock on to mine, and I see a vulnerability there that steals my breath away. This is more than just lust, more than the heat of the moment. This is trust, a surrender I’ve never experienced before.

I lower my head, my lips brushing against hers, teasing, tasting. I want to savor every moment, to etch every sensation into my memory. Her hands find my back, her fingers digging into my skin, pulling me closer, urging me on.

“Cole,” she breathes, her voice a broken whisper against my lips. “Please…”

I need no further encouragement. I lift her, her legs wrapping around my waist, and she clings to me, her body a perfect fit against mine.

My hands find the clasp of her bra, and, with a swift movement, I take the delicate lace and toss it onto the pile, revealing the soft curves of her breasts. Her breath hitches, and her nipples stiffen to peaks as my gaze sweeps over her, my heart pounding against my ribs like a race car engine revving at the starting line.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” I growl, my voice rough with desire.

I lower my head, my lips finding hers again, the kiss deep and hungry, fueled by years of unspoken longing and the knowledge that this is real. And as I move between her legs, feeling the heat of her readiness, the urgency of her need, I know that this race, this moment, this woman… it’s all I’ll ever need.

Her hands find their way to my Nomex pants, her fingers fumbling slightly, and the sight of her struggling with the simple task sends a fresh wave of desire crashing through me. I help her, my own hands shaking with anticipation as I peel off the last layer between us, discarding it on the floor alongside the rest, another casualty in this battle of wills we both know I’m going to lose.

I pull back slightly, needing to see her, to savor the sight of her beneath me. I should be accustomed to this look, her skin flushed, eyes dark with desire, and lips parted in a silent plea, but I’m in awe every time. She’s breathtaking, a vision of raw beauty that makes my chest ache. This incredible, strong, brilliant woman is all mine.

Tonight feels different, heightened with the intensity of the impending race. This is pure, unbridled passion.

I lean down, my lips brushing against hers, a silent promise sealed with a groan that echoes in the quiet garage. And thenI’m moving, pushing into her, filling her with a force that’s both gentle and possessive.

She gasps, a sharp intake of breath that turns into a soft moan as I fill her completely. Her eyes flutter closed, her head tilting back against the Viper’s metal frame. A wave of protectiveness washes over me, a fierce urge to shield her from everything, even the shadows that dance across the garage walls.

I hold myself still for a moment, giving her time to adjust, to savor the feeling of our bodies joined, our breaths mingling in the space between us. Her hands clutch at my shoulders, nails digging into my skin, a delicious reminder of the intensity of her desire.

“Cole,” she whispers, her voice a breathless plea against my lips. “Move.”

The single word is all the encouragement I need.

I start to move, slowly at first, savoring the way she welcomes me, the heat of her surrounding me, the soft moans escaping her lips as I set a rhythm that echoes the pounding of my heart. Every thrust, every sigh, every gasp that escapes her lips is a symphony of pleasure, a testament to the connection that binds us together, body and soul.

The world outside the garage, the pressure of the championship, and the whispers and expectations of the racing world fade away. There’s only Lola, her scent, her touch, and the way she makes me feel like I can fly without ever leaving the ground.

Her nails dig into my shoulders, her body arching into mine as the pleasure builds, a storm gathering force inside her. I watch her, mesmerized by the way her face transforms, the delicate flush of her skin, the way her lips part with each breath, and the raw need in her eyes.

“Cole,” she gasps, her voice a broken whisper. “I… I’m close…”

Her words are like a shot of adrenaline, pushing me over the edge. I drive into her, harder, faster, losing myself in the feel of her body clenching around mine, the sound of her cries echoing in the quiet garage shatters the last vestiges of my control.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

LOLA

The air isthick with anticipation, a palpable energy that crackles alongside the static in my headset. The roar of the engines reverberates through the pavement, vibrating up my legs, making my pulse pound in sync with the high-octane melody outside. Abu Dhabi, the final race of the season, the culmination of months of blood, sweat, and carefully calculated risks. Everything we’ve bled for, all wrapped up into one final showdown. And Cole,myCole, is out there on the grid, strapped into the Viper, ready to chase the championship title.

“Radio check, Lola.” His voice crackles through the headset, a familiar rumble that sends a shiver down my spine, a mix of excitement and something dangerous, something that lingers from our encounter in the garage not long ago.

“Loud and clear, hotshot,” I reply, my voice crisp and professional, though my insides are a swirling mess of nerves and desire. I force myself to focus on the data streaming across my monitor, the track map, the tire temperatures, the wind speed—all the variables that could mean the difference between victory and defeat.

But it’s hard to concentrate, to keep my mind on the race when the memory of Cole’s touch, the taste of his lips, the raw hunger in his eyes, burns brighter than the desert sun outside.

“Ten seconds to lights out, Cole,” I say, my voice steady, though my heart is hammering against my ribs.

---