CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Asher
Stiff muscles were a small price for having Kaia pressed to me—her head in the crook of my neck, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on my stomach.
She glanced up, slipped her hand under the hem of my jeans, and my whole body went taut as she unbuttoned them and eased the zipper down.
She kissed the mark she’d left on my neck; blood flooded my cock.
I wanted her so badly I couldn’t remember a time I hadn’t.
Her mouth found my jaw, then my lips. I groaned when she wrapped her fingers around my shaft and stroked me slow.
“Like this?” she asked against my mouth, breath warm on my lips.
“Do anything you want,” I said. “I’m yours.” There was nothing she could do wrong.
She squeezed at the base, then ran her thumb over the tip, and a hot jolt shot through me. Fucking hell.
Kaia kissed the center of my chest. “I love how smooth you are. And how big.”
I found the back of her thigh and squeezed. “Hope you’ll like it more when I’m inside you. Kiss me.”
Her strokes grew bolder as our mouths meshed. Her fist moved up and down my cock with a steadiness I didn’t expect; I fought for air and kissed her harder. Like she was tuned to me, she matched her pace to the rhythm I set.
My spine tingled. She moaned into my mouth as if touching me turned her on. I tried to warn her I was close, but she must have felt it anyway.
Pleasure ripped through me; my muscles clenched, and I spilled over my stomach and Kaia’s hand. Fuck. I loved when she touched me. I loved her.
“Te quiero,” I whispered, pulling her closer.
“Y yo a ti,” Kaia said.
We lay quiet for a beat, then I cleaned us up and helped her into her clothes.
“We should get some sleep before you take me back,” she said, yawning. “You can’t race without sleep.”
She could barely keep her eyes open. I held her as we settled into the backseat; moonlight landed on the delicate skin of her neck. I kissed the mark I’d left and she smiled, content.
In a few hours she’d be back at Willowbrook, far from me. My chest tightened at the thought. I hugged her like I could keep goodbye from coming.
***
Tarmac blurred under my bike’s wheels. Everything narrowed to this lap—the last one before the finish. The final curve rushed at me like a living thing.
Another rider loomed, closing fast.
Focus. I couldn’t afford to lose a fraction of a second rounding that corner. I opened the throttle. As the curve hit, I trail-braked and began to lean; my knee puck kissed the pavement and sparks flicked where leather scraped tarmac.
Eyes on the apex, I feathered the throttle.
The front tire clipped it, then I was upright and hauling for the line.
I blocked out wind, vibration, the riders behind me—only the finish mattered.
It stretched ahead with the promise of another victory.
When my front wheel crossed, I pressed two fingers to my heart and then to my helmeted mouth.
Then I raised my hand. It was for her—Kaia—even if she couldn’t see.
And for Dad, who I hoped watched from above.
I rode into Parc Fermé to the roar of the crowd, half-turning to the screaming fans as I raised my hands. As soon as I swung off and yanked my helmet free, the team was on me.
Dawson hugged me first. “That was your best timing yet.” He squeezed my shoulder, his gaze soft. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks.” I was still breathless. After the usual slaps on the back and handshakes, I threaded through a knot of journalists who angled microphones my way.
A middle-aged reporter with a gray ponytail offered his mic. “Garry Reed from Racing Today. Congrats on the win. That looked a bit too easy.”
I ran a hand through sweat-slick hair. “You should try it next time and see.”
He grinned. “I wouldn’t mind you as a teacher. You’ve been using your father’s technique in the corners. Is it safer than inventing your own?”
Heat scorched the back of my neck. Had I ridden like Dad without thinking? I’d watched his races until they’d become muscle memory. “I’m his son. Guess some things are in my blood.”
“Hopefully that helps you win the season.”
“Fingers crossed,” I said. Nothing sharper came to mind. I fielded a few more questions, then joined the other two winners on the podium. We shook hands; I stood on the top step as the anthem played and the mayor of Dorware handed me a trophy.
The trophy felt heavy in my hands, but not nearly as heavy as the weight of other people’s expectations.
Still, I raised it and drank the applause—Garry’s words dulled for a few perfect seconds.
I twisted a champagne bottle; foam geysered, soaking the guys beside me.
From the corner of my eye I spotted Ale talking to Dawson.
Then I saw Russell. My chest tightened. I hadn’t expected him here. I threaded through the crowd after the ceremony.
“Felicidades, mi nino.” Ale pulled me into a tight hug. “Great race. I was biting my nails.”
I smirked. “Garry what’s-his-face said it looked easy.”
“Pues que lo haga él,” Ale said. He can do it himself, then.
“That’s what she said,” Dawson cut in.
Ale raised a brow. “I didn’t know you were there when she did.”
I laughed. Ale tapped his neck, smug. “Did you celebrate before actually winning? Love the confidence. Maybe I should lend you my car more.”
Fuck. Kaia’s mark. The memory of her lips on my skin warmed me. I glanced toward Russell, and Ale chuckled. “I don’t think he’ll know,” he whispered.
As if summoned, Russell approached, Ethan on his heels. Tension tightened my every muscle.
“Good race,” Russell said.
Ethan extended his hand. “Congratulations, champ.”
Was he for fucking real? He hadn’t made the top fifteen, and he hated that I did. I didn’t need his hollow congratulations. I’d be happy if he ignored me for the rest of the season.
I crossed my arms. “Thanks.”
Russell scowled, eyes narrowing. Just when I thought I couldn’t despise him more, he proved me wrong. He couldn’t expect me to be friendly with someone who’d blackmailed me into paying him more than the team did.
“I didn’t see you at practice this morning,” Ethan said.
“Guess I didn’t need it.”
He pressed on. “Had a good night?”
Russell pivoted back to me like he was waiting for me to screw up—like he knew where I’d spent the night. He must’ve seen the mark on my neck. Fuck.
I shifted my weight. “Yeah. I did.”
“What about Kaia? I thought she’d be here to support you.”
What was his deal? Heat crawled under my skin, but a single warning look from Ale stopped me from answering in a way that would wreck the rest of the season—and maybe my career.
“Ask her father,” I said. “He’s right next to you.”
A shit-eating smirk curled Ethan’s lips. “But you’re her brother.”
“Except I’m not,” I said flatly.
“If you have a minute, Ash,” Ale said, cutting in, “I need to chat before I head out.”
I’d never been more grateful for a save. “Of course. Excuse me.”
Ale led the way toward the Parc Fermé exit. I followed, Russell’s stare burning through my gear.
In the motorhome, I unzipped my suit and flopped onto the lounge couch. “Thanks for saving my ass.”
“Anytime.” Ale sat beside me. “Ethan’s audacity is something else. You shouldn’t let his bullshit get to you, but you almost did.”
“That’s why I can’t be his teammate. I don’t trust myself not to snap.” No matter how many times I told myself my career came first, ignoring him hadn’t gotten easier. He knew mentioning Kaia provoked me, and he used that every chance he got.
Ale toyed with his shades. “Try not to do that for the rest of the season.”
“I won’t. Since you’re here, I need a favor.”
He folded his arms behind his head, smirking. “Can’t, mi nino. I need my car tonight.”
“Not that favor.”
“What then?”
“I want out of Russell’s place as soon as possible. Can you call a leasing agent and find me an apartment?”
Kaia was the only reason I’d stayed in that house. She wasn’t there anymore. If I had my own place, she could stay whenever she wanted. I pictured lazy mornings with her in my arms, and the image gave me something to fight toward.
“About time,” Ale said. “It’ll be good for you. I’ll send options once I’ve got a few.”