30. Wes
As Elizabeth steps into my personal motorhome, I suddenly understand what people mean when they say they’re having an out-of-body experience.
I didn’t think she’d say yes when I asked her to stay the night. But I had to ask. Elizabeth Jacobs was all I was thinking of as I spun out on that track—and for the first time in a car, fear gripped me so tightly I couldn’t breathe.
I’m not sure what this thing is between us.
But I trust her. I feel safe with her. And the more I get to know her, the more I crave her.
I want her time and attention. I want to make her laugh.
I want to be the one person this tough-as-nails woman who demands control can relax with.
The one she can trust and feel safe with in the rare moments it turns out she has no control.
So whatever the hell all of that is, I want to figure it out.
“I don’t know what I expected, but this was not it,” Elizabeth says, looking around my luxury RV, which is decorated in creams and dove greys, as if it’s an alien planet.
“I’m aware my vibe is more wood-paneled Winnebago,” I quip.
With a master suite, a spacious living area, a kitchen, and two bathrooms, I recognize that it is outrageous.
But for the European races that aren’t centrally located, having a comfortable motorhome that can be parked near the track is a better use of my time than commuting to and from a hotel.
After a beat, I remember that I need to be a good host. “Would you like a drink?”
“Sure,” she says, examining the built-in shelves where I’ve stashed a few well-worn sci-fi paperbacks and some framed photos. I force myself to tear my gaze away.
“There’s still water, sparkling water, an assortment of juices, white burgundy, and Champagne,” I rattle off as I look around the fridge.
“There’s also a liquor cabinet, if you’re in the mood for something harder.
” If it were just me here tonight, I have a feeling I’d end up at the bottom of a bottle of whisky.
“Wine sounds amazing,” Elizabeth says, and I move as if I’m a sommelier who suspects they’re serving a Michelin inspector.
After uncorking the wine, gathering glasses and a bottle coaster, and then setting them on one of the small modular tables, I feel like it’s still not enough.
Food. We need something to eat. A cheese platter. That’s what you have with wine.
It isn’t until I open the refrigerator again that I remember Camden has me on a no-dairy diet—a testament to how completely frazzled my brain is right now.
“I don’t have a cheese platter or anything,” I say.
“But there are some mixed nuts. And a ton of fresh fruit and veggies, if you’d prefer that. ”
“Don’t worry about it,” she says, taking a seat on the couch. “I ate at the paddock.”
“Are you sure?”
“Wes,” Elizabeth says, her gaze dropping to where I’m literally wringing my hands. “Are you nervous?”
“A little.”
“Because of me?” she asks, tilting her head to the side, her high ponytail swinging to brush her shoulder.
I want to reach out and play with the ends of her hair, to run my fingers down her arm, to place my thumb against her bottom lip before leaning in and kissing her there.
The fact that I’ve tasted her pussy but not her mouth suddenly feels criminal.
“You do realize you’re incredibly intimidating, right?”
Her lips quirk up. “I might’ve heard that a time or two.”
I reach for the wine and pour two glasses, mostly to buy myself time to think of something to say. But when I hand her a glass, my mind is still filled with white noise. It’s like I’ve forgotten how to function simply because Elizabeth Jacobs is voluntarily in my personal space.
She holds her glass up. “To Stas Dubinsky.”
“What?” I ask, gobsmacked.
She shrugs, but doesn’t elaborate. “It’s a terrible toast, isn’t it?”
“I just don’t really know why we’re toasting to Stas,” I say, laughing.
“But, fuck it. I can’t think of anything better.
” I clink my glass against hers and we both drink.
We sit in silence for two full breaths before Elizabeth titters.
Somehow, that opens the floodgates and we both start laughing uncontrollably.
“This is absurd,” Elizabeth says as she gasps for air.
“It is,” I say, my abs starting to feel sore from how hard they’re being worked.
But the fact that the two of us are sitting in my RV, drinking wine, and toasting to my former teammate who is involved in a high-profile criminal investigation after a race where my new teammate who is nearly half my age crashed into me is basically the definition of absurd. “It really is.”
“He called me.”
Suddenly, nothing is funny anymore.
“Stas?” I ask, focusing intently.
Elizabeth nods and my mind goes into overdrive. Stas called Elizabeth. They had a conversation. “Why?”
“Because I asked him to,” she says simply, as if that’s not a huge bomb to drop. “I didn’t like that he used you to get to me. So I had a contact who owed me a favor get a message to him.”
I let my brain wrap around that slowly. I knew she was good at her job and that she was well-connected. But I somehow didn’t realize she could get in touch with someone who has gone off the grid. “That is both completely terrifying and ridiculously hot.”
Elizabeth laughs, and I don’t miss how her cheeks turn a little pink, how she tucks a wisp of hair framing her face behind her ear.
“What did you two talk about?”
“Oh you know,” she says breezily. “We gossiped about Tilly Monroe and her novelist boyfriend then compared notes on your thrust technique.”
“I’m guessing you mean in bed and not on the track.”
She shoots me a wicked smile that has my heartbeat skyrocketing. “Guess you’ll never know.”
“Are you fucking with me right now?”
“Obviously,” she says, smiling wide. “Do you seriously think I’d ask him about hooking up with you?”
“I have no idea!”
“I am a bit curious,” she admits, tugging on the end of her ponytail and wrapping it around her index finger. It’s something I’ve never seen her do before. It’s mesmerizing.
“If you want the horny details, I’ll give them to you.”
“Really?” Her eyes are bright with curiosity.
Holy hell, she actually wants to know. And I’m not about to deny her a damn thing—even if I suspect she’ll be disappointed.
“I’m a little worried I might have oversold things,” I say slowly.
“At first, Stas didn’t want anything to do with me, though he was happy to share and enjoyed watching.
But there was one night where our partner wanted to watch us make out.
I never thought he’d do it. But then he grabbed the back of my head, pulled me to him, and kissed me.
From then on, he was more adventurous, but I never made the first move.
I didn’t want to assume and end up doing something that made him uncomfortable. ”
Elizabeth nods, as if this makes complete sense. Considering I’ve so quickly adapted to her preferences, I guess it does.
“But that story the woman posted,” Elizabeth says. “The one where—”
“They got me off together?” I ask, the white-hot memory of his fist around the base of my cock while her mouth worked the rest of me floating to the surface. “That’s true.”
“That’s incredibly hot,” she says, and I feel myself go hard. I meant it earlier when I said I’m not interested in sex tonight, but damn, the idea of her being into that rather than thinking it’s some deviant aberration is a turn on.
“Have you ever…?” I start to ask, but she shakes her head immediately.
“No. In theory, I’m into it. But I’m….” she trails off. “You know how I am.”
“You like control.”
“I don’t just like it,” she says. “I need it. I thought there was something wrong with me for a long time because if I wasn’t in control during sex, I felt violated even when I was consenting.
” She pauses. “Any time I asked friends for advice, they would say I needed to relax and get out of my head. But that never worked for me. I genuinely thought I was broken. I knew I wasn’t asexual, so I explored sex with women.
Though it was better in certain ways, it wasn’t fully satisfying.
One day I found this online forum where women were discussing being dominant.
Let’s just say it resonated.” She meets my gaze, her cheeks flushed and a little grin playing at her lips.
“I worked up the courage to ask someone I trusted if he would let me try being fully dominant with him, and he agreed.”
“And here you are now.”
“Sort of,” she says. “Figuring out what works best for me has been a journey.”
“How so?”
She gives me a long look. “I typically use an app to find partners, and I have a lot of rules. We only communicate via the app. If we decide we’re compatible, we mutually agree on the scene we want, then we meet at a hotel room and split the cost. They get there first and we don’t talk.
I basically walk into the room, we do what we agreed to do, and then I leave. And I don’t repeat partners.”
Well that sheds a lot of light on what happened that night in D.C. But it’s also so different from how things have been between us.
“But…what about…”
“You?” she asks, laughing a little. “Yeah. What about you.”
“We don’t have to talk about it,” I say, giving her an out, but she shakes her head.
“No, we should. That night in D.C. was not normal for me. I desperately needed to feel in control. It was this all-consuming need. But there wasn’t time to vet someone on the app, and…I knew where you were.”
“But why me?” I ask. “I mean, other than being fine as hell and completely irresistible.”
Elizabeth arches a brow, then smiles. “Based on some context clues, I had this sense that you would be into it.”
“Context clues?” I ask. “Like what?”
“You literally got hard when I refused to let you tease me into submission and called you a good boy,” she says, and I burst out laughing. I didn’t realize it was that obvious. “And then there was that whole speech you trotted out in Monaco.”