Page 64 of Forever & Always You
I chew my lip in concern, because clearly he is too distracted to be in control of my literal life. “Would you like me to drive? You can take this last hour to relax. Maybe close your eyes for a bit?”
Austin flashes me a cynical look. “You? Drive?”
“Excuseme. Just because my car is a pile of rust doesn’t mean I’m not a good driver. The dent in my bumper? That barrier hitme.” I smile sweetly and bat my eyelashes, but still Austin’s nerves won’t let up. I drop my shoulders and turn serious. “I won’t crash your car, Austin.”
He contemplates the offer for a few moments and then pulls into the next rest stop. As we switch positions, he rattles off some spiel about torque and power to the rear that I completely ignore because I’m too excited by all of the controls in front of me.
“I regret this so much already,” Austin mumbles, propping an elbow up against the door and resting his head in his hand. As I merge back onto the highway, I am way too enthusiastic with the gas pedal and the engine growls aggressively as we’re thrown back into our seats. “Gabby,” he warns. “I don’t need us getting pulled over. Light foot, please?”
I flash him a pout, my hands gripping the wheel like a race car driver, because that’s exactly what I feel like right now and it’s so goddamn fun. “But when do I ever get to drive a fast car? Let me play a little.”
Austin glares at me through narrowed eyes, but his lips betray him with a smile. He sinks into the passenger seat and folds his arms over his chest as he watches me floor it down the outside lane, making fast progress toward Charlotte. “Hmm,” he says after a while.
I glance sideways at him. “What?”
“You look so good driving my car,” he murmurs, sitting up.“Too good, actually.”
Austin reaches for my right hand on the wheel and moves it to his lips, his kisses brushing my knuckles as he works his way down my arm. By the time he reaches my shoulder, I have goosebumps, and I care less about the thrill of driving a fast car and more about the thrill of his touch. He runs a hand up my bare thigh until his fingers reach the button of my jean shorts.
“Austin,” I gasp. “I thought you were stressed.”
“I can think of a way to distract myself,” he mumbles, his lips still trailing over my skin.
“But I’m driving,” I say, my heart racing as Austin undoes the button, pulls down the zipper. I make no attempt to push his hand away even though the road ahead blurs, and suddenly his hands are in my panties and he’s touching me in all of the ways he absolutely shouldn’t be.
I bite my lip hard, blinking manically as I try my damn hardest to focus on the road when all I want to do is embrace the pleasure of his touch. “I may actually crash your car now.”
Austin nips my shoulder with his teeth and hisses, “Then crash it.”
“Austin, please,” I beg, bracing my head against the headrest, fighting the urge to roll my eyes. “I can’t .?.?. I can’t focus on the road.”
“Concentrate, Gabby. You handle the road, and I’ll handle you.”
His words alone are enough to weaken me at the knees. I do as I’m told, locking my eyes on the highway in front of me as my breaths grow shallow. I’m convinced Austin has magical powers, because how the hell does he make me come so easily? The moan that escapes me is involuntary and my thighs twitch. I turn to Austin, lips parted, stunned.
“You scare me,” I confess as he very kindly buttons up my shorts again. “How do you do that?”
Austin shrugs with a smug smirk. “It’s easy when you’re that wet for me,” he says, then slouches back in the passenger seat again, closes his eyes, and naps the rest of the drive as though he didn’t just make me come in less than a minute.
The hotel where the awards are being held tonight is thankfully already plugged into the navigation, so I tour my way through downtown Charlotte and expertly park the car in the hotel parking lot all before Austin’s eyes ping open. He seems rather impressed that I got us here in one piece.
It’s the kind of hotel you’d expect business awards to be held in. Upscale, luxurious, expensive. Austin carries our bags and his protected tux to our room, pushing open the door to reveal the grand suite he’s booked for the night. It’s a special occasion, after all, and our first weekend away together. I throw myself onto the huge, plush bed as Austin pops open the bottle of champagne on the dresser. I could get used to this life. The past two months, we have been living in our own little bubble, spending most of our time at Austin’s house each weekend, but perhaps it’s time we made this relationship more public.
As Austin sits on the edge of the bed next to me and passes me a glass of champagne, I clink my glass against his and say, “Cheers to being a sexy wealth manager with a booming business. You’re amazing.”
I swear, absolutely positively swear, that the tips of Austin’s ears turn red. He takes a swig of the champagne and smiles. “I’m really glad you’re here with me, Gabby.”
“I’m really glad you invited me,” I say, my smile mirroring his. I lean into him and press my lips softly to his, tasting the champagne. “Whatever happens, I’m proud of you.”
There are only two hours until the event starts, so we share a couple of glasses of champagne in celebration before I hop into the shower. It’s been a long, long time since I’ve attended an event of any kind, and I’ve become far too comfortable workingbehind the bar in sneakers and tank tops. I’m not sure when I last wore a pair of heels. Or a dress, for that matter. But Carly scoured the mall with me before our shift at the bar one morning, offering her opinion on every dress I tried on, until I found the perfect one that is equal parts classy and sexy.
Austin sits up from relaxing on the bed when he notices me pull my hot iron out of my bag. “You’re straightening your hair?”
“You don’t want me to?”
“I don’t mind,” he says. “I just haven’t seen your hair straight since high school.”
And clearly he is invested, because he watches me in the mirror in front of the dresser the entire time I straighten out my curls. It takes forever, since I’ve embraced my natural curls for years, and my arms ache by the time I’m done. My reflection takes some adjusting to: once upon a time I would never have been caught dead with my curls, but now I miss them already.
