Chapter 43
MINNIE
AUSTIN, TEXAS
Today marks the third anniversary of Luca’s death.
It’s bound to be heavy for Jack, he said about six words this morning before we went to the track, so tonight I’ve resolved to give him space.
He’s made it very clear he doesn’t see me as remotely close to being his girlfriend so having me around would probably feel a bit intrusive.
I get it, I like my own company too when things get tough.
I’ve just walked into my hotel room after an eventful practice day – well, for everyone but me, despite it being three races and seven weeks since picturegate in Monza – when I get:
Jack: where are you
Me: At my hotel
Jack: why
Me: Giving you space
Jack: why would I want space. stop being weird and come over
Jack: please
Jack’s hotel is a prime example of why America beats Europe at hospitality.
Everything is bigger – the rooms, the bathrooms, the beds, the air-conditioning units.
Service is delivered with a smile, not a gruff insult they assume you can’t understand.
The Four Seasons in downtown Austin is a feast of neutral colours and refreshing minimalism. Even the back stairs are on theme.
‘Are you o—’ I can’t even get through the door before his lips are on mine. It’s the kind of drugging kiss that makes heat flood my body. He pulls me flush against his arousal and I forget all about space. What is space? Why did I think it was a good idea?
‘Let’s not talk,’ he whispers, shutting the door and spinning me so my back’s pressed against him.
While his lips rain on my neck, he works my skirt open and I watch it pool around my ankles.
His hand slips down until he’s reached the top of my thong where, instead of diving underneath, he draws it up so it squeezes me.
I close my eyes and surrender to it. ‘I always want you around,’ he murmurs. ‘You know that.’
All I know is my hips are rocking of their own accord, wanting the pressure tighter, harder, all-encompassing.
I can feel every inch of his cock straining against the zip of his jeans, already raring to go.
Before I can reach for him, his fingers slip under my thong and glide over my folds, tracing my slit, stroking my clit, winding me higher and higher, but not quite entering me.
It’s seconds before I’m throbbing with the force of wanting; wanting to be filled and stretched and freed from this torture.
I’m hovering on the brink, exactly where he wants me. I claw at his hand to end this agony.
His chuckle’s hoarse. ‘So impatient, Roberts.’
Three fingers fill me and it’s almost instant. I’m crashing over the edge, crying so loudly the neighbours are sure to come knocking. But I don’t care. He’s grasping my tits and stuffing my pussy and whispering sweet nothings in my ear.
It’s not enough. I need more. I need to serve the hardness pressing against me. I need to feel him. I need his taste lingering on my tongue.
I drop to my knees and unbutton his jeans, sliding them down his legs. His impressive length strains behind his boxers and I unsheathe it with hungry eyes. It’s beautiful and veined and thick in my hand, and it jerks as I stroke it.
Jack reaches down to peel off my top, and I can’t wait any longer.
I take him in my mouth with long, starved sucks, wanting to fit him to the hilt, wanting to swallow all of him.
A gag breaks free and he sighs admiringly, burrowing his hands in my hair.
I suck his balls and he lets out an animalistic groan that makes my thighs wet.
He calls my name but I ignore it – I want him dripping down the back of my throat. He does it again but this time pulls back, and before I can argue he’s lifted me with an arm around my stomach, and launched me onto the bed.
His shirt disappears in one smooth motion and he’s hovering over me, looking like… like he can’t believe I’m real. His hands run along my stomach, my breasts, my hips, the tops of my thighs.
His eyes never leave mine as he finds my entrance and buries himself deep inside. He pumps into me, slow and thorough, tracing the folds stretched tightly around him. I never feel more whole than when he’s fucking me. Like I’m normally gasping for air but when he’s inside me, I can finally breathe.
His lips are millimetres from mine but don’t touch, like he wants to absorb every whimper, every shallow pant, every whispered moan.
The grip he has of my body is tight, almost to the point of pain, like he’s claiming me.
I revel in it. I want him tighter, so tight I can’t think of anything but him.
I push him onto his back and climb on top.
This isn’t athletic sex, or creative sex, or ravenous sex, this is something new.
My usual positions feel inappropriate, so I close the space between us and spread myself on top of him.
His arms circle around my back and hold my neck to him as he thrusts from beneath.
His kisses find my hair, my neck, my shoulder. I’m trapped and I savour it.
When I return to my back, he grips my neck and jaw in one hand and, as he pushes in, kisses me so thoroughly I see stars. He holds at the hilt, and I stop breathing as he trails his thumb across my cheek.
‘My Minnie,’ he mouths.
At those words, my body opens for him on a fundamental level. The most incredible feeling of being loved showers over me. I feel him deeper than I’ve ever felt.
He pulls out so slowly I think I might die from aching. When he slides back in, I’m quivering, teetering on the cusp of release. His heart thrashes against mine and I send a silent promise to take care of it.
When he pumps in once more, I’m gone. Spiralling in uncontrollable euphoria. Jack’s lips crash against mine, taking in every quiver of my orgasm. He’s not long behind me, and thrilling warmth fills me while he groans into my mouth.
As we come to, my name falls from his lips and he kisses me softly. I don’t think he knows his hands haven’t stopped touching me; they seem to explore my body reflexively.
I shuffle out from beneath him despite his sweet confusion – I’m not done with him yet. I sit across from him on the bed, and splay my legs open wide. His cream slides down and I stop it dripping on the sheets with the tips of my fingers, and gently, leisurely, deliciously, rub it against my clit.
His eyes are the darkest I’ve ever seen them, watching my fingers with abject longing.
He looks like he doesn’t know what to do – take over, watch, join me, close the distance, speak.
The heat of his gaze between my legs is so powerful it’s almost hurting.
Flush spreads from head to toe. My nipples throb, yearning for his touch.
His come feels heavenly lubricating my hypersensitive sex.
When I return some of it inside my slick entrance, his fist finds his cock and works it, gaze never wandering from me.
My hips roll at the sight, wanting him so badly, but wanting him to watch me more.
My toes curl as relief flares bright once again.
I don’t think I have the strength to come a third time so soon, but I’ll do it for him. I’ll do anything for him.
The deprivation in his eyes makes my touch faster. He speeds up, and we moan in tandem from opposite sides of the bed. I inch towards him and he eagerly mirrors me. I edge more and so does he, and now we’re close enough to feel the desperation radiating off each other.
I’m almost there, circling his hot cream on my oversexed pussy.
Our eyes finally meet, and that’s it. Release seizes me and I throw my head back and scream.
Hot liquid spurts onto my stomach, my hips, my sex, and the satisfaction almost feels better than climaxing.
He usually needs half an hour to go again; that was barely ten minutes.
I scoop some with my finger and draw it into my mouth, and I’ve never seen a man look like such putty in a woman’s hands.
They say actions speak louder than words, but Jack’s words are saying one thing, and his actions are saying something entirely different. As we settle into a cuddle, I become surer and surer that was not friends-with-benefits sex. It was anything but.
The Dutch Grand Prix afterparty was two whole months ago. Could he have… changed his mind? I did it, would it be so impossible for him too? Bottomless wanting wells up inside me, exacerbated by his soothing hand drawing shapes on my back.
‘How was today?’ I ask.
He takes a moment to respond. ‘Ackland were looking really strong in practice. And Volare – god knows what breakthrough they had before Silverstone, but that car’s a bloody thunderbird. It’s going to be a fiery quali tomorrow, that’s for sure.’
He doesn’t want to talk about Luca. Makes sense. ‘What about Mart—’
‘I saw Tom coming out the garage in his race suit,’ he says, voice suddenly distant, ‘and for a split second I thought it was…’
I hold him tighter and rest my nose against his chest. Luca used to drive for Martinelli.
We lapse into silence for the longest time, so long I think he’s drifted off to sleep.
‘It was the Champions League semi-final,’ he says, and I start a little. ‘Juventus/Chelsea, in their stadium in Turin. I think Luc and I were… fourteen? I had such blind faith in my team I bet him an overtake. If Juventus won, he got to overtake me in the next race, and vice versa.
‘My first mistake was he agreed and I didn’t get alarm bells. I should’ve known better. See, I was all balls and bravado with nothing behind it, and Luc was softly spoken and quiet, but he had the confidence of Ronaldo.
‘So match day comes and it’s like Christmas on steroids. A once in a lifetime pairing. The stadium was something else. Made Stamford Bridge look like a Division 1 ground. I had to watch the match from Juventus hospitality – but I didn’t eat any of the food or use the toilets.’
I want to laugh. He’s so freaking sweet.
‘Luc barely watches it,’ he continues. ‘He’s off flirting with this pizza vendor while I’m chomping my nails down to stubs.’
‘Chelsea lost,’ I mumble. I don’t follow football but even I know where this is going.
‘Chelsea lost,’ he repeats grimly. ‘Luc walks out with a win, an overtake, and an eighteen-year-old’s number. His dad was weeping tears of joy. Weeping, Roberts. I’d never seen a grown man do that. At Chelsea, men only cry when police bring out tear gas.’
‘Did you let Luc have the position?’
He nods. ‘I nearly lost my seat at Pagari. Team principal almost strangled me. I don’t know how he knew, but I wasn’t as stealthy as I am now.’ I catch his wink in the darkness, and he starts laughing under his breath. ‘We were the worst for each other.’
I kiss his chest. ‘That’s what best friends are for.’
‘I miss him, Minnie,’ he says, barely audible. ‘I miss him all the time.’
‘I know you do.’
‘But you… you make it better.’
I hug him as tightly as I can and throw all my energy into trying not to take him to heart. But I fear that ship sailed long ago.