Chapter Fourteen
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Aria
The go-kart track smelled like hot rubber, burnt fuel, and the sharp metallic tang of overheated brakes.
Aria stood on the pit lane in borrowed overalls that were slightly too big, sleeves rolled to her elbows, helmet tucked under her arm like she actually knew what she was doing.
The Brisbane sun hammered down, turning the asphalt into a shimmering black mirror.
She could feel sweat already gathering at the small of her back.
Jax looked infuriatingly comfortable—hair mussed from his own helmet, fireproof suit unzipped to the waist, revealing the dark T-shirt underneath clinging to his chest. He was grinning like this was the most normal thing in the world.
“You sure about this?” he asked for the third time, though the amusement in his eyes said he already knew the answer.
“No,” she said honestly. “But I’m doing it anyway.”
He laughed—that low, easy sound that always made something warm uncurl in her stomach—and took the helmet from her hands. He fitted it carefully, fingers brushing her jaw as he fastened the strap.
“Rule one,” he said, voice dropping to the tone he used when he was teaching her something. “Listen to the car. She’ll tell you what she wants.”
“She?”
“All the good ones are girls.” He winked. “Trust me.”
They started with the slowest kart—electric, quiet, meant for beginners. Jax climbed in first, showed her the pedals, the steering wheel, the kill switch she prayed she’d never need. Then he helped her settle in, leaning over the side to adjust the harness until it hugged her ribs snugly.
“Feet flat, back straight,” he said. “Throttle is your friend, but don’t punch it. Smooth. Like you’re coaxing her.”
She rolled her eyes behind the visor. “You talk about cars the way other men talk about women.”
“Exactly.” He tapped the top of her helmet. “Now go.”
The first lap was terrifying.
The kart felt alive under her—twitchy, responsive, vibrating through her bones. She took the first corner too wide, clipped the kerb, and nearly spun. Her heart slammed against her ribs. Jax’s voice crackled through the in-helmet radio.
“Easy on the exit. Breathe. You’ve got this.”
She gritted her teeth and pushed the throttle again.
Second lap was better—straighter lines, less panic.
By the third she was laughing inside the helmet, the fear turning into something giddy and bright.
The wind tore at her suit, the engine sang, and for once she wasn’t thinking about headlines or schedules or the careful version of herself she usually wore in public.
When she finally pulled into the pits, Jax was waiting, arms crossed, proud grin splitting his face.
“Not bad, superstar.”
She yanked the helmet off, hair sticking to her damp forehead. “I almost died three times.”
“You almost died zero times. That’s progress.”
He pulled her out of the kart and into a quick, sweaty hug that smelled like adrenaline and sun-warmed skin. She laughed against his shoulder, high on the rush, the noise of the track fading behind them.
“Again?” she asked, breathless.
His eyes darkened just a fraction. “Careful what you ask for.”
They stayed until the sun dipped low, turning the sky bruised orange.
She improved—faster lines, cleaner apexes, the kart responding to her like it finally trusted her.
Jax rode beside her for the last few laps, matching her speed without effort, occasionally nudging her kart with his in playful little bumps that made her shriek and laugh through the radio.
By the time they left the track, her legs were jelly and her cheeks hurt from smiling. In the car on the way back to the condo she kept stealing glances at him—profile sharp against the late-afternoon light, one hand loose on the wheel, the other resting on the gearshift.
She liked this version of him best: unguarded, in his element, teaching without making her feel small.
She liked how he looked at her when she got something right—like she’d just won something bigger than any race.
Back at the condo, Nan had already turned in early. “Old bones need rest,” she’d said with a tired smile, pressing kisses to both their cheeks before disappearing down the hall.
The guest room door clicked shut behind them.
Jax locked it.
Dimmed the bedside lamp to a warm amber glow.
And continued her lessons.
He started slow.
Pulled her into a deep, unhurried kiss that melted her against him, fingers threading into his hair.
The white sundress she’d changed into was already half-unbuttoned—easy to slip off her shoulders.
He tugged it down her arms, let the soft cotton pool at her feet, leaving her bare under the warm lamplight.
He picked up the dress again, a slow smile curling his mouth.
“Close your eyes,” he murmured.
She did.
He draped the folded fabric over her eyes like a blindfold—soft, still warm from her body, tied loosely at the back of her head so it blocked the light but didn’t press too hard.
Her breath hitched instantly, the sudden darkness sharpening every other sense: the faint salt on his skin, the low hum of the air-con, the rustle of sheets as he guided her back onto the bed
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Jax
He lay down behind her, pulling her close so they were spooned together—her back flush to his chest, his arm draped possessively over her waist. One big hand slid up to cup her breast, thumb circling the nipple slowly until it pebbled under his touch and she arched with a quiet sigh.
The other hand drifted lower, fingers tracing lazy patterns across her stomach, then slipping between her thighs.
He found her already slick and swollen, and stroked gentle circles over her clit—light at first, teasing, then firmer, matching the rhythm of his thumb above. She pressed back against him, a soft moan escaping her lips as his hardening length nudged insistently against her ass.
He kissed the side of her neck, teeth grazing her pulse. “Feel good?”
“Yes…”
He kept the slow build—fingers sliding inside her now, curling gently while his palm pressed in just the right place.
She rocked into his hand, breath coming in short pants, body trembling on the edge.
When she was close—hips stuttering, small whimpers—he eased his touch away, rolled on protection one-handed, and shifted her slightly.
Still spooned, he lifted her top leg over his, hooked it back, and entered her in one slow, smooth glide.
The angle felt devastatingly intimate—deep, every inch of him stretching her open while his chest stayed pressed to her back, arm wrapped around her, hand returning to circle her clit with perfect pressure.
He moved slow and deliberate—long, rolling strokes that dragged against every sensitive place inside her. She sighed with every pass, reaching back to grip his hip, urging him closer. He picked up the pace gradually—deeper, steadier—skin meeting skin in soft rhythm, her moans growing louder, freer.
She came like that—sudden and hard—body tightening around him in rhythmic waves, a sharp cry muffled against the pillow.
The feel of her clenching pulled him right to the edge, but he held on, slowing just enough to let her ride the aftershocks, whispering against her ear, “That’s it… give me everything.”
Then he eased out, rolled her onto her hands and knees—gentle but firm. Blindfold still in place, she braced on her forearms, hips lifted, thighs trembling. He knelt behind her, hands settling on her hips, thumbs spreading her open just enough to see how wet and swollen she was for him.
“Fuck, look at you,” he rasped, voice wrecked. “So ready for me.”
He slid back in—deeper this time, the new angle letting him reach every place that made her gasp.
He moved with controlled power—steady, insistent—hands guiding her back to meet him with each thrust. One hand slipped around to circle her clit again, matching his rhythm.
She pushed back instinctively, breath ragged, body shaking.
“Jax—god—”
He leaned over her, chest to her back, mouth at her ear. “Come again for me, Aria. Let me feel it— like you can’t get enough.”
The words—combined with the blindfold stealing her sight, the slow grind of his hips, the relentless pressure on her clit—tipped her over.
She came harder than before—back arching, cry raw and broken, body fluttering around him in long, rolling pulses.
The intensity dragged him right to the edge—thrusts turning short and urgent, hips pressing forward as he followed her with a low, guttural groan, burying himself deep and pulsing inside her.
They collapsed together—sweaty, panting, tangled in sheets. He reached up, untied the blindfold gently, let it fall away. Her eyes were glassy, cheeks flushed, lips parted.
He brushed damp hair from her face, kissed her temple.
“Lesson one,” he murmured, voice wrecked. “Complete.”
She laughed weakly, still trembling. “You’re going to kill me.”
“Worth it.”
He pulled her close again, tucking her against his chest, legs entwined. Her heartbeat thumped against his ribs—fast, then slowing, matching his own.
Outside the cicadas kept their endless song. The pool lights flickered through the blinds in soft turquoise pulses. Jax stared at the ceiling, one hand tracing idle circles on her bare back, and felt something settle inside him—quiet, certain, and terrifying in its simplicity.
The word “fake” had started to feel like a lie he no longer wanted to tell.
The touches lingered longer now. The silences between them were comfortable, easy. Quiet. Dangerous. Impossible to ignore.
He pressed his lips to the top of her head, breathed her in—salt, sunscreen, and the faint sweetness that was just her.
Yeah.
Worth it.