Page 119 of Racing for Redemption
When I finally break the kiss, I rest my head on his shoulder, breathing hard. “Fuck. I’m going crazy.”
“Join the club,” he murmurs into my hair, arms wrapped around me tight enough to anchor me. “Two months of membership, and all I got was this lousy, crushing sense of longing.”
The joke makes me smile against his shirt, but there’s truth in the words that squeeze my heart. When he wraps his arms around me, it feels right in a way that terrifies me—perfect, intense, brimming with unspoken emotions I can't even start to document.
“I have your watch,” I tell him, voice muffled against his chest.
He strokes my back. “Keep it. Looks better on you, anyway.”
I pull back enough to see his face. “You never told me why it matters so much to you.”
William’s eyes grow distant. “My grandfather gave it to me when I won my first karting championship. Said time was the only opponent that mattered in the end.” He brushes his thumb against my wrist where the watch usually sits under my suit. “When he died, it was the only thing of his I wanted.”
“And you left it with me.” The weight of that gesture settles on me anew.
“I wanted you to have something of mine. Something that mattered.” His voice drops. “In case you decided I didn’t.”
We stay there, pressed against the wall, until William chuckles softly. “As romantic as this hallway is, your room has a perfectly good bed.”
"I don't care where we are. I want you now." I say as we collide again, hands frantically working at buttons and zippers. His bow tie drops to the floor. My dress follows. His shirt tears—one button pinging against the baseboard—but neither of us care. His body is revealed, all lean muscle and tattoos snaking up his arms. I caress his chest with my fingers, then my tongue. I trail kisses down his torso, feeling his abs contracting as our contact intensifies.
I drop to my knees, looking up at him through my lashes as I tug his belt open.
“Violet—” His voice breaks as I free him, hard and ready.
“Let me,” I whisper, taking him in my hand. “I’ve thought about this.” More than I want to admit.
His head falls back against the wall with a thud as I take him into my mouth for the first time. He blindly grabs my hair, gentle at first, then more insistent as I take his cock deeper.
“Fuuuck, your mouth.” His voice is strained. “So perfect.”
I work him with my hands and mouth, watching his reactions, learning what makes his breath catch, what draws out those low moans that vibrate through me. He’s not quiet; every stroke ofmy tongue pulls a groan or curse from his lips. His honesty in pleasure is intoxicating.
He begins moving his hips in rhythm with my mouth, his hands cradling my head with surprising tenderness, guiding me. I look up to find him watching me, his pupils blown wide.
“You’re so beautiful,” he gasps. “So fucking good at this. I’m not going to last.”
I double my efforts, wanting to take him apart completely. His firm thighs tense under my hands.
“Violet, I’m—” He tries to pull back, but I hold him firm, wanting everything.
He comes with a shout, his hand tightening in my hair, holding me against him as he pulses into my mouth. Nothing goes to waste, and his face contorts in pleasure.
When I finally stand, my legs trembling slightly, he’s looking at me with something like awe.
“Are you okay?” he asks, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear as he helps me get up, his hand gentle and steady against my lower back.
I laugh, suddenly shy despite what we’ve just done. “I think I should be asking you that. You’re quite the moaner, William.”
“Proudly so.” He grins, pulling me against him. He grips my ass. “If I’m feeling that good, why stay quiet? That’s terrible feedback for my partner.”
He kisses my cheek, then my jaw, then my neck, roaming his hands over my body as he focuses on removing the last pieces ofclothing covering me. “Now,” he murmurs against my skin, “let me show you how much I’ve missed you.”
He guides me backward toward the bed, his hands never leaving my body. When my legs hit the mattress, he lays me down with surprising gentleness.
“Lie back,” he says, his voice husky. “It’s my turn to make you feel good.”
He follows me onto the bed, his body covering mine as he kisses me deeply, messily, our tongues sliding together. His hands move agonizingly slowly over my skin, skimming my ribs, the undersides of my breasts, my hips—everywhere except where I need him most.
