Chapter 30
JACK
Ileap into the outstretched arms of my team, a beaming Georgie at the front. Everybody from the stands to the Paddock Club is chanting ‘JA-ACK JA-ACK.’ I don’t even get this reaction when I win. Maybe I should bomb quali more often.
The British national anthem’s distantly noticeable beneath the racket. Though Micah finally got his win, I bet he’s seething. The team have barely registered that we got a trophy. I squeeze Georgie and lift her off the ground. God I love karma.
As we filter back to the pits, I reply to Minnie’s congratulations text before anyone else’s.
Me: when do you finish? there’s a fat bottle of prosecco in my driver room. could have a little pre before the afterparty?
Minnie: Can’t, sorry! I have to work late
Me: how late
Minnie: Pretty late
Me: you’re coming to the party right
Minnie: Sorry I don’t think I can. I’ll make it up to you when you get back though
I try not to let my expression flicker – there’s a camera walking with me – but my eyes widen just a fraction.
Me: make it up to me how specifically
Minnie: That’ll ruin the surprise! Don’t rush though. Enjoy the party and I’ll be up when you get back. Be as late as you want
I head straight home after showing face and downing one glass of Nyetimber.
She can’t tease me like that and think I’ll return pissed and clumsy at 4am.
Does she know me at all? The glint in her eye when she called my drive a ‘masterclass’ in her post-race interview was all the encouragement I needed.
When I open my front door and switch the lights on, there’s a trail of her clothes to my bedroom. I lick my lips and follow them. Abba’s playing on loud and though it doesn’t set the tone I was imagining the whole drive back, I’m into it. I am, after all, a man after midnight.
The bedroom door’s jammed. I can make out a slither of bright light but not much else. I try again more forcefully and she squeaks, ‘Why are you back so soon?!’
‘What are you doing?’
The door shuts with a thud. Damn she’s strong. ‘Why aren’t you out celebrating?’
‘It’s rude to leave your house guests to fend for themselves, Roberts, and by the looks of this thong on the floor, I made the right decision.’
She tuts. ‘You should go for more than one at your own victory party.’
‘I had a better option.’
‘Well your better option isn’t ready yet. Leave and come back in twenty.’
‘I can’t leave – it’s my flat.’ I sound beggy but I’m holding her underwear. I’m ready to go right now.
‘Chill in the game den you were so excited to show me earlier.’
I drag my feet away muttering about congratulations and rudeness. Like you can play FIFA for twenty minutes.
After an eternity flipping through Netflix and landing on nothing, her sweet voice drifts from my bedroom, ‘You’re summoned, Mr Driver of the Day.’
I’m instantly hard.
I take a deep breath and force myself to think about Arsenal’s win yesterday before getting to my feet.
She’s lying on my bed, propped up on her forearms, dressed in illegal lingerie.
Black, lacy, suspenders dripping down her thighs, easy access to key areas.
The way it hugs her perfectly reeks of money.
I feel a foreign tug – I want to be the one who bought it for her.
‘I’ve been saving this for a special occasion,’ she says, stroking the fabric across her torso, voice pure sex.
Abba’s gone and the main light’s been swapped for candles. Dozens of them. Something in my chest clenches. No one’s ever done a gesture like this for me. I want to thank her the best way I know how: leaving her so wrung out, so weak-kneed, so swollen that she can’t move tomorrow.
I don’t know where to start. It’s like the most incredible feast’s been set before me.
Her little feet flex, and my starting point’s obvious.
I drop to my knees and kiss the soft underside of her ankle, working my hands over her feet which must be sore after running around the paddock all day.
I force myself not to look between her thighs where the lingerie has kindly left a gap, but fucking hell it’s tempting.
Her body’s becoming as familiar to me as my race car. I know she jerks when I lick the back of her knee, she purrs when I kiss the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, she squirms when I burrow my hands beneath her and squeeze her cheeks.
‘I’ve missed you,’ I whisper when we’re side by side.
She trails a thumb over my cheek. ‘You were so impressive today. I meant what I said in the interview.’
‘I know you did.’
‘I’m so proud of you.’
Warmth spreads inside me. Before I can read into it, her lips have found mine, drugging kisses that have the power to unlock my most restricted secrets.
Minnie taking what she wants has to be in the top three sexiest things she does, right up there with losing control when she comes, and the way she looks in her glasses first thing in the morning.
I grab her waist and roll her on top of me. I want more than she can give. More weight, more touch, more everything. My fingers thread through her hair and hold her to me while I devour her like a man starved.
‘You know how you can reward me even more?’ I say when we come up for air.
‘Hm?’ She’s half in a daze. Good. I’ve got big plans and they don’t involve her being stuck in her head.
‘Sit on my face.’ I grin like the shameless pest I am. ‘Please.’
She blinks and the daze clears. I can see her weighing it up in her head. ‘Ok, but clothed boys don’t get fed.’
Well well well, look who’s got a filthy mouth. She wouldn’t have agreed to this so quickly a month ago. Progress, innit.
I sit up with her in my lap and in between kisses, we remove my clothes together. When I’m more naked than she is, I lie back. Like she’s mounting a bucking bronco that could start at any second, she gingerly lifts a leg over me. I’d find it funny if I wasn’t so horny.
‘I feel exposed,’ she moans.
‘That’s because you’re hovering a foot above my face.’
‘I don’t want to suffocate you.’
‘Please suffocate me.’
‘Asphyxiation isn’t a joke, Jack.’
Stop it with all this dirty talk. I seize her thighs and drag them down so she’s properly straddling my face.
‘Jack!’ she squeals, but I’ve already started, my tongue pushing inside her of its own volition, outrageously excited to taste her completion. I never knew a girl could taste this delicious. It’s a wonder I want to eat anything else.
The headboard clangs as she grasps it. Her weight eases little by little and it takes my tired brain longer than it should to realise she’s trying to support herself by hanging onto the railing. I grab her legs and yank her back down, holding them against me like binds.
I use my tongue, my lips, my nose, my face, anything at my disposal, and soon she’s rocking back and forth.
I wish I could see her riding me, but the view from down here isn’t too shabby either.
Her hoarse groans aren’t staged – they’re feral, and do more for me than any of those pornstar noises she used to make.
All thoughts of suffocation or feeling self-conscious are long forgotten. My girl’s not thinking anymore.
Release grips her suddenly, milking my face through every shockwave, chasing her orgasm until it fades to nothing. As she gets down, her cream’s all over me and I lick my lips stretched in the biggest beam. ‘That was fucking incredible,’ I breathe, pushing my hair back.
She lets out a self-conscious giggle and hides her face in her hands.
I drag them away. ‘You’re a rock star, Minnie Roberts. I nearly spilled over the sheets.’
She looks at me for a long moment, her expression somewhere between satisfied and ashamed. She’s getting less insecure every time, but we’re not there yet.
‘I made you all dirty,’ she mumbles, trying to wipe my face but I grab her hand and nuzzle against her chest.
‘You can make me dirty any time you like.’ And with that I kiss her. I want her to taste herself on me, how sweet and salty her pussy is. She softens, pulling me to her so possessively my cock jumps.
I drag her into my lap. The kiss deepens, and I almost lose it feeling the liquid heat of her exposed centre resting right where I want it.
It’s literally wide open. Her tongue laves over my cheeks, my chin, my nose, lapping up her own taste.
Her hands delve down, reaching for me, but tonight is all about Minnie.
I flip her on her back and her confusion is adorably sexy.
In my eternal quest to get her to come on my dick, I’ve tried almost everything (except resorting to vibrators which are an absolute last resort because they’re peak laziness).
I’ve tried different positions; letting her lead from start to finish; touching her almost to breaking point then shoving my cock in; flipping her unexpectedly so she comes before she knows she’s doing it; purposefully not letting her come to push her to new heights; squeezing my little finger up her back end when she’s almost there.
She can do it. She’s been tantalisingly close numerous times.
I’ve never backed down from a challenge and I’m not starting now.
She will orgasm on my dick, and I will celebrate like a loser.
I’ve boiled it down to a combination of her getting out of her head, and something more.
I have a theory about what that something more is. An inkling, if you will.
She reaches for my bedside table. ‘I’ll get the con—’
‘Wait,’ I say. ‘We, erm… don’t have to use a condom. From my side.’
She’s looking at me like I just declared I enjoy knitting. ‘Did you grow a vagina when I wasn’t looking?’