Chapter 16
JAMIE
The Paris event goes well—another luxurious suite, another standing ovation—and then we’re off to Germany.
This time, a driver doesn’t pick us up. Instead, Morgan leads me to a sports car.
A sleek, black, low, sexy sports car.
I’ve never really been a car person, but as Morgan slides into the dark leather and I see her framed by sleek black curves, I get it.
“What are you waiting for?” she teases, and I slip inside.
I don’t even have my seatbelt on before the engine purrs underneath us and we rocket away from the airport.
“Jesus, Morgan!” I gasp.
“I said, call me Mor.” She shifts gears, unruffled. I eye her nails against the leather shaft, and I have the most inappropriate thought.
Pull yourself together, Jamie. She’s your boss’s boss’s boss’s boss. All the fun ends if you’re a creep.
My brain chooses that moment to remind me I’ve already jacked off to videos of her speeches, and I’m glad her eyes are on the road as my cock tightens in my jeans.
At least the adrenaline of her wild driving offers an excuse for my racing heart.
The city fades out around us, shifting into countryside.
Morgan’s acceleration presses my back against the seat, and out of sheer terror I glance at the speedometer. The needle hovers at one hundred sixty kilometers per hour. In smaller print beneath is the conversion—100 mph.
“You’re gonna get pulled over!” I gasp, gripping the leather armrest.
“There’s no speed limit here,” she says with a wild laugh, shifting gears and accelerating again.
The lowness of the car adds to the sense of hurtling along the asphalt, and I’m shaking, and my heart is in my throat and…
Morgan whips around a corner, my stomach lurches with the shift in gravity, and I let out a choked laugh.
I’m… having fun.
This is insane and dangerous and fun.
I should be worried about ending up as a smear on the asphalt, but for some strange reason… I trust Morgan. Maybe I shouldn’t—I can’t tell if it’s my judgement or the omega in me responding to her alpha confidence, even despite the suppressants.
Maybe I should figure that out before spending more time with her. But I literally cannot worry about that now with my body overwhelmed by the sensation of speed.
The road is wide open, but in the space of seconds, a white car appears ahead of us. We whirr past, inches away, as Morgan shifts around it.
She lets out another whoop, then eases off the speed, bringing us down to a cruise that’s still exhilarating.
“And how does this cut costs?” I breathe as I get my lungs back under control.
“Oh this? This is me showing off. Everyone else knows better than to get in a car when I’m behind the wheel.” Her smug grin flashes her canines.
“Well, consider me impressed.”
“We’re not even there yet.”
“Where?”
“You’ll see.”
Deep green pines weave by, and Morgan takes us off the autobahn. A few minutes later, we drive through a gate near a low utilitarian building, then slip past a steel structure and back out into the open.
We’re on a racetrack. An honest-to-goodness racetrack.
Oh no.
Morgan slows the car to a stop, and it purrs underneath us.
“Ready…” She glances over at me, violet eyes bright with thrill. “Set… Go!”
Morgan slams on the gas, and my body presses back against the seat even harder than before. I can’t even breathe past the surging thrill. It reminds me of those roller coasters that go zero-to-sixty in a second, except this is zero-to-two-hundred-something in I-can’t-comprehend-numbers-anymore.
When my lungs move again, I whoop with glee and terror. Morgan whips us around the corner, and it makes the turn from earlier feel casual.
The concrete streaking by is dizzying, so I center my eyes on Morgan. Her face is a picture of focus, and I realize this is the first time I’ve seen her really challenged, working at full capacity.
My whole body tingles with electricity.
The car whips around another turn, and my stomach lurches as the track slopes downwards. There’s no time to settle, to think, between each mind-melting twist.
Something opens up in Morgan’s expression, and for the slightest moment, I see her without the mask. Her violet eyes blaze with raw, ravenous hunger.
The wheels scream as we skid around another turn, and I laugh as Morgan finally completes the lap and slows the car down, rolling to a stop.
My vision swirls.
We’re both panting, Morgan’s hands draped across the gear shift and the wheel, mine pressed across my knees.
Her scent hits me in the tight space—smooth and spicy bourbon.
“Was it as good for you as it was for me?” she croons.
My blood moves again, and it goes straight to my cock. Fuck. Fuck. I shift the thigh closer to her upwards, hoping it’ll hide any evidence of my current state.
I know she’s just trying to rattle me, just likes making me blush. It’s working. My cheeks are on fire.
“You’re insane,” I breathe.
“I know.” She rolls down the window, and a man in coveralls that I hadn’t noticed before jogs up to the car. “How’d we do?”
“That’s a new personal record, Ms. Hunter,” the man says with a German cadence. “Will you take another lap?”
“I dunno, I think my friend here is spent. How about it, Jamie, are you a cigarette-after or a sandwich kinda guy?”
Fuck. My toes curl in my sneakers.
“Speechless,” she reports proudly to the German man.
“You should be proud,” he says, leaning down to rest an elbow on the door. “Last person she brought out here passed out. Perhaps if you were given some warning…”
He shoots her a look.
“The surprise is half the fun,” she says, with a youthful flirtiness that surprises me. “Now Hanz, darling, I pay you to check the goods, not judge my life choices. Get to it.”
The man nods as he withdraws, dropping his eyes to Morgan’s tits for a lingering moment, as if she gave him permission by referring to the goods, before he does a circuit around the car.
Then Hanz pats the hood, gives her a nod. “Mind the tires, but you’re good to go.”
“Love ya, Hanz.” Morgan blows him a kiss, rolls up the window, and cruises back to the highway.